“Nothing, Mr Ingelow? Come, just cast your memory back.”
“Well, I mean I found nothing of importance, only a little matchbox,” “Ah-h! Two years and a half is a long time to look back across at your age,” said Mr Benham kindly, hitching his thumbs into the shoulders of his gown and looking smilingly superior. “Now, what did you do with this little matchbox?”
“I handed it to Mr Curtis.”
“Is this it?”
“Yes.”
There was a visible cloud on Eustace’s face as he held the silver matchbox in his hand, as if it would burn him. Heads craned forward to catch a glimpse of the article.
“Had you ever seen that matchbox before you found it at the bottom of—er—Smugglers’ Ladder,” asked Mr Benham impressively.
“I think so.”
“Where did you see it?”
“I had seen it—er—I had seen Roland use it.”