passage.

He re-entered Scott's study at the double.

"Well?" said Scott. "What did he say?"

"Nothing."

"Get out your note-book, and put down, under the heading 'Trent':
'Suspicious silence.' A very bad lot, Trent. Keep him under constant
espionage. It's a clue. Work on it."

Pillingshot made a note of the silence, but later on, when he and the
prefect met in the dormitory, felt inclined to erase it. For silence
was the last epithet one would have applied to Trent on that occasion.
As he crawled painfully into bed Pillingshot became more than ever
convinced that the path of the amateur detective was a thorny one.

This conviction deepened next day.

Scott's help was possibly well meant, but it was certainly
inconvenient. His theories were of the brilliant, dashing order, and
Pillingshot could never be certain who and in what rank of life the
next suspect would be. He spent that afternoon shadowing the Greaser
(the combination of boot-boy and butler who did the odd jobs about the
school house), and in the evening seemed likely to be about to move in
the very highest circles. This was when Scott remarked in a dreamy
voice, "You know, I'm told the old man has been spending a good lot of
money lately...."