Well-Schooled in Murder - By Elizabeth George Page 0,39

for the dinner Tuesday last. You're not to worry about how late I got back because I know the boy who saw me won't say anything. I still feel [crossed out] think I could beat your father at chess if he'd only give me some proper time to think out the moves! I can't see how he manages to think so far ahead. But next time I shall do better. Thanks awfully again.

Lynley removed his spectacles and looked towards the window where Chas Quilter still maintained his distance.

"Matthew has written a letter to someone named Jean," he said. "Someone with whom he had dinner. On a Tuesday, evidently, but there's no telling which Tuesday since he hasn't dated the letter. Have you any idea who Jean might be?"

Chas' brow furrowed. He took his time about replying, and when he finally did so, he excused the delay by saying, "I was trying to think of the names of the masters' wives. It seems likeliest that it might be one of them."

"It doesn't seem likely he'd be on a first name basis with one of the wives, does it? Or is that generally the accepted manner of address?"

Chas admitted that it wasn't and shrugged in apology.

"He also says that he got back late, that one of the boys saw him but won't say anything.

What do you take that to mean?"

"That he was out after curfew."

"Isn't that something his house prefect should have known?"

Chas looked uncomfortable. He studied his shoe tops before replying. "Should have. Yes.

Bed checks are generally done every night."

"Generally?"

"Always. Nightly."

"So someone - one of the senior boys or the house prefect - should have reported Matthew missing if he wasn't in his dormitory after curfew. Is that correct?"

The hesitation was marked. "Yes, someone should have seen he wasn't in Erebus."

He didn't mention the person at fault. But Lynley did not miss the fact that both John Corntel and now Chas Quilter seemed determined to protect the Erebus House prefect, Brian Byrne.

John Corntel knew that the police were at the school. Everyone did. Even if he hadn't seen Thomas Lynley walk into the chapel that morning, he would have noticed the silver Bentley on the front drive and, noticing it, he would have put two and two together. The police did not usually arrive in such automotive splendour, to be sure. But most of the police did not also lead secondary lives as belted earls.

In the masters' common room on the south side of the quad, Corntel watched the last of the morning coffee trickle out of the urn and into his cup. He tried to blot from his mind every image that threatened to crack the fragile composure he had developed to get him through the day. His mind swarmed with if onlys. If only he had phoned the Morants to see if Matthew was among their son's guests; if only he had thought to see the boy off personally in the first place; if only he had spoken to Brian Byrne and made certain that Brian had kept account of all the boys; if only he had visited the dormitories more frequently instead of leaving it to the senior boys; if only he had not been preoccupied...had not been mortified...had not felt trapped and naked and utterly humiliated.

On the table with the coffee urn lay the remains of the masters' breakfast. Three racks of cold toast sat among a silver tray of gelatinous eggs, five strips of bacon glistening iridescently with fat, corn flakes, a bowl of tinned grapefruit sections, and a platter of bananas. Corntel shut his eyes at the sight of all this, felt his stomach churn, and demanded cooperation from his body.

He couldn't remember for a certainty when he had last eaten anything substantial. He vaguely recalled looking at a meal Friday night, but nothing since then. It had been impossible.

He lifted his head to gaze out the window. Across an expanse of lawn, he could see the pupils at work in a classroom inside the technical centre, drilling and pounding and chiselling away in affirmation of Bredgar Chambers' philosophy that the creative urge within each child had to be stimulated rigourously. Not ten years old, the centre had long been a source of controversy on the campus, with staff members divided on its propriety at a school such as Bredgar Chambers. Some argued that it gave the pupils a necessary outlet for energies often stifled in a purely academic environment. Others claimed that afternoon games