“Oh!” murmured Bony. “That’s interesting.”

“Yes, and I don’t see why Old Bilge should lecture us about him and tell us not to speak to him. Old Dick…”

“How many times have I told you not to call your headmaster Old Bilge?” irascibly demanded Walters. “I’ve a good mind to write and tell him what you call him. Here’s your mother and I scraping and saving to give you a good education, and you go around saying ‘jist’ for ‘just’ and ‘gunner’ for ‘going to’. Anyway, you’ll have much for which to answer tomorrow.”

“I’ve heard something about this Cave Hill College,” Bony remarked soothingly, and Mrs. Walters was not quite sure about his right eyelid when he glanced at her. “Very good school, isn’t it?”

Walters explained that Cave Hill College was considered among the best in Australia, drawing boys from as far distant as Perth as well as from the vast hinterland.

“Must be about five hundred boys there now,” he went on.“And only a few day boys too. We couldn’t afford the boarding fees.”

“There is, of course, a State school?” pressed Bony.

“Yes. Quite a large school. Nan goes there. Doing very well, too.”

“Good!” Bony smiled at the girl, who flushed and fidgeted. “Why, Keith, do you boys call your head-master Old Bilge?”

The boy hesitated, and this time Bony’s eyelid did flicker.

“His name’s Rose.”

“Ah! I see now the allusion. Rose…perfume… Bilge… evil smell. What form are you in?”

The subject of Cave Hill College and the rising education fees provided the subject for the remainder of the meal, and Bony was given word pictures of the seven or eight masters under Mr. Rose. It would seem that, in the opinion of his hosts, the only reason for Broome’s continued existence was its college.

An hour later, Bony was seated at ease with Walters and Sergeant Sawtell in the closed office, and Walters was voicing his assumption that Bony had read the official summary of the two murders and the more detailed statements gathered by the C.I.B. detectives.