And yes, I did. I saw it now. The tumblers had all fallen silent. Eric’s reluctance to testify during the Harry Clarke affair; his seven-year absence from St. Oswald’s immediately after the trial. His destruction of Harry’s box; his decision to retire; even his words to me that night: How well do we really know our friends? How do we know what they’re hiding?

“I’ll get you a cup of tea,” Winter said. I could see from his face that he was worried. He left me alone with Dr. Devine, still sitting stiffly in his chair, with Harry’s gnome under his arm.

“Don’t read it, Straitley,” he advised. “What use could it be, after all this time?”

I started to explain. The gnome looked at me satirically. “If we could prove that Harrington lied—that someone else abused Spikely—then maybe at last we could clear Harry’s name. Harry could have his memorial.”

“And then what? Get Eric arrested?”

I shook my head. “That doesn’t mean—”

“Listen to me, Straitley,” he said. “Think of what it would entail. Another scandal at St. Oswald’s. The Head accused of conspiracy. Another member of staff accused. The whole of that old story dragged up as if it happened yesterday. And Eric’s retiring. He said so himself. Besides—” The nose twitched fretfully. “Besides, it never happened again. Harry Clarke saw to that.”

“Harry?”

He nodded. “Oh yes, Harry knew. Seems young Spikely confided in him. Of course, he couldn’t tell the boy, but he dealt with it, in his own way.” Devine saw me staring, and bridled a little. “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he said. “Surely you must have suspected. I mean, you two were such old friends—”

“Never,” I said blankly.

My head had suddenly started to ache; my eyes were streaming. I reached for my pocket handkerchief, and found instead the conker I’d put there several weeks ago; shiny then, and glossy brown, now shriveled to a chrysalis. I haven’t played conkers in fifty years. And yet I still collect them, just as we did when we were boys, in the old days of St. Oswald’s.

“Did you ever play conkers, Devine? I mean, when you were a schoolboy?”

He raised his nose superciliously. “I was Junior Champion,” he said. “Both in Lower and Middle School.”

I have to say, I found it hard to imagine Devine playing conkers. But that was all so long ago. So much water under the bridge. David Spikely had been abused. All the experts said so. Could Eric Scoones have been the one? Could he have hidden this all these years?