Lynley saw in that nervous sweep of the eyes what would be said next. Corntel had heard Havers' distinct working class accent. If the Morants were being brought forward as the source of the problem - and were, as Corntel said, a top drawer family - then Matthew was no doubt, like Havers, from a distinctly different part of the chest.
"I think Matthew got cold feet," Corntel explained. "He's a city boy, this is his first year in an independent school. He's always been in the state schools before. He's always lived at home. Now that he's mixing with a different sort of people...it takes time. It's difficult to adjust." His hand moved out, open-palmed, in an appeal for mutual understanding. "You know what I mean."
Lynley saw Havers' head come up, saw her eyes narrow at the implication behind Corntel's words. She had, he well knew, always worn her working-class background like a suit of armour. "And when Matthew failed to show up for the journey on Friday? There must have been some meeting place where the boys gathered before they set off for their weekend together.
Didn't they wonder where he was? Didn't they report to you when he didn't show up?"
"They thought they knew where he was. We had games Friday afternoon, and the trip to Lower Slaughter was scheduled afterwards. The boys are all on the same hockey team.
Matthew didn't show up for the game, but everyone thought it was in perfect order because the third form hockey master - Cowfrey Pitt, one of our teachers - had received a note from the Sanatorium, saying that Matthew had become ill and wouldn't be there for the game.
When they heard this, the boys assumed that he wouldn't be going on the weekend either. It seemed logical enough at the time."
"What sort of note was it?"
"An off-games chit. Just a standard form from the Sanatorium with Matthew's name on it. Frankly, it looks to me as if Matthew set the entire situation up in advance. He would get permission from home to leave campus and arrange it to look as if he were going to the Morants'. At the same time, he would have in his possession an off-games chit indicating that he was ill in the Sanatorium. But because the chit wasn't legitimate, I would get no copy of it from the San. So I would think Matthew left with the Morants. The Morants, in the meantime, would think he was still at the school. Then the weekend would be his own to do as he liked. Which is exactly what he did, the little beggar!"
"You didn't check up on his whereabouts?"
Corntel leaned forward and crushed out his cigarette. The movement was unsteady.
Ashes spilled onto Lynley's desk. "I thought I knew his whereabouts. I thought he was with the Morants."
"And the hockey master - was it Cowfrey Pitt? - didn't inform you that he'd gone to the Sanatorium?"
"Cowfrey assumed the San would let me know. That's how it's usually done. And if I'd been told Matthew was ill, I would have gone to the San to see him. Of course I would have."
The strength of Corntel's protestations was curious. With each of them, the man spoke more intently.
"You've a head of house as well, don't you? What was he doing all this time? Was he in school this weekend?"
"Brian Byrne. Yes. A senior boy. A prefect. Most of the seniors were off on exeats - at least those who hadn't gone to a hockey tournament in the North - but he was there. Right in the house. As far as he knew, Matthew was with the Morants. He didn't check into that any more than I did. Why should he have done so? If any checking was to be done, it was my responsibility, not Brian's. I'll not foist it off onto my prefect. I won't."
Like the earlier protestations, there was peculiar force behind Corntel's declaration, child of a need to take all blame upon himself. Lynley knew that there was usually only one reason for the existence of such a need. If Corntel wanted the blame, no doubt he deserved it.
"He must have known that he'd be out of his depth with the Morants. He must have felt it," Corntel said.
"You seem certain of that."
"He was a scholarship student." Corntel seemed to feel that statement explained everything. Nonetheless, he went on to say, "Good boy. Hard worker."
"Liked by the other students?" When Corntel hesitated, Lynley said, "After