THE POTHUNTERS
by P. G. Wodehouse
1902
[Dedication]
TO JOAN, EFFIE AND
ERNESTINE BOWES-LYON
Contents
1 Patient Perseverance Produces Pugilistic Prodigies
2 Thieves Break in and Steal
3 An Unimportant By-product
4 Certain Revelations
5 Concerning the Mutual Friend
6 A Literary Banquet
7 Barrett Explores
8 Barrett Ceases to Explore
9 Enter the Sleuth-hound
10 Mr Thompson Investigates
11 The Sports
12 An Interesting Interview
13 Sir Alfred Scores
14 The Long Run
15 Mr Roberts Explains
16 The Disappearance of J. Thomson
17 'We'll Proceed to Search for Thomson if He Be Above the Ground'
18 In Which the Affairs of Various Persons Are Wound Up
[1]
PATIENT PERSEVERANCE PRODUCES PUGILISTIC PRODIGIES
'Where _have_ I seen that face before?' said a voice. Tony Graham
looked up from his bag.
'Hullo, Allen,' he said, 'what the dickens are you up here for?'
'I was rather thinking of doing a little boxing. If you've no
objection, of course.'
'But you ought to be on a bed of sickness, and that sort of thing. I
heard you'd crocked yourself.'
'So I did. Nothing much, though. Trod on myself during a game of fives,
and twisted my ankle a bit.'
'In for the middles, of course?'
'Yes.'
'So am I.'
'Yes, so I saw in the Sportsman. It says you weigh eleven-three.'
'Bit more, really, I believe. Shan't be able to have any lunch, or I
shall have to go in for the heavies. What are you?'
'Just eleven. Well, let's hope we meet in the final.'
'Rather,' said Tony.
It was at Aldershot - to be more exact, in the dressing-room of the
Queen's Avenue Gymnasium at Aldershot - that the conversation took
place. From east and west, and north and south, from Dan even unto
Beersheba, the representatives of the public schools had assembled to
box, fence, and perform gymnastic prodigies for fame and silver medals.
The room was full of all sorts and sizes of them, heavy-weights looking
ponderous and muscular, feather-weights diminutive but wiry,
light-weights, middle-weights, fencers, and gymnasts in scores, some
wearing the unmistakable air of the veteran, for whom Aldershot has no
mysteries, others nervous, and wishing themselves back again at school.
Tony Graham had chosen a corner near the door. This was his first
appearance at Aldershot. St Austin's was his School, and he was by far
the best middle-weight there. But his doubts as to his ability to hold
his own against all-comers were extreme, nor were they lessened by the
knowledge that his cousin, Allen Thomson, was to be one of his
opponents. Indeed, if he had not been a man of mettle, he might well
have thought that with Allen's advent his chances were at an end.
Allen was at Rugby. He was the son of a baronet who owned many acres in
Wiltshire, and held fixed opinions on the subject of the whole duty of
man, who, he held, should be before anything else a sportsman. Both the
Thomsons - Allen's brother Jim was at St Austin's in the same House as
Tony - were good at most forms of sport. Jim, however, had never taken
to the art of boxing very kindly, but, by way of compensation, Allen
had skill enough for two. He was a splendid boxer, quick, neat,
scientific. He had been up to Aldershot three times, once as a
feather-weight and twice as a light-weight, and each time he had
returned with the silver medal.
As for Tony, he was more a fighter than a sparrer. When he paid a visit
to his uncle's house he boxed with Allen daily, and invariably got the
worst of it. Allen was too quick for him. But he was clever with his
hands. His supply of pluck was inexhaustible, and physically he was as
hard as nails.
'Is your ankle all right again, now?' he asked.
'Pretty well. It wasn't much of a sprain. Interfered with my training a
good bit, though. I ought by rights to be well under eleven stone.
You're all right, I suppose?'
'Not bad. Boxing takes it out of you more than footer or a race. I was
in good footer training long before I started to get fit for Aldershot.
But I think I ought to get along fairly well. Any idea who's in against
us?'
'Harrow, Felsted, Wellington. That's all, I think.'
'St Paul's?'
'No.'
'Good. Well, I hope your first man mops you up. I've a conscientious
objection to scrapping with you.'
Allen laughed. 'You'd be all right,' he said, 'if you weren't so
beastly slow with your guard. Why don't you wake up? You hit like
blazes.'
'I think I shall start guarding two seconds before you lead. By the
way, don't have any false delicacy about spoiling my aristocratic
features. On the ground of relationship, you know.'
'Rather not. Let auld acquaintance be forgot. I'm not Thomson for the
present. I'm Rugby.'
'Just so, and I'm St Austin's. Personally, I'm going for the knock-out.
You won't feel hurt?'
This was in the days before the Headmasters' Conference had abolished
the knock-out blow, and a boxer might still pay attentions to the point
of his opponent's jaw with an easy conscience.
'I probably shall if it comes off,' said Allen. 'I say, it occurs to me
that we shall be weighing-in in a couple of minutes, and I haven't
started to change yet. Good, I've not brought evening dress or somebody
else's footer clothes, as usually happens on these festive occasions.'
He was just pulling on his last boot when a Gymnasium official appeared
in the doorway.
'Will all those who are entering for the boxing get ready for the
weighing-in, please?' he said, and a general exodus ensued.
The weighing-in at the Public Schools' Boxing Competition is something
in the nature of a religious ceremony, but even religious ceremonies
come to an end, and after a quarter of an hour or so Tony was weighed
in the balance and found correct. He strolled off on a tour of
inspection.
After a time he lighted upon the St Austin's Gym Instructor, whom he
had not seen since they had parted that morning, the one on his way to
the dressing-room, the other to the refreshment-bar for a modest
quencher.
'Well, Mr Graham?'
'Hullo, Dawkins. What time does this show start? Do you know when the
middle-weights come on?'
'Well, you can't say for certain. They may keep 'em back a bit or they
may make a start with 'em first thing. No, the light-weights are going
to start. What number did you draw, sir?'
'One.'
'Then you'll be in the first middle-weight pair. That'll be after these
two gentlemen.'
'These two gentlemen', the first of the light-weights, were by this
time in the middle of a warmish opening round. Tony watched them with
interest and envy. 'How beastly nippy they are,' he said.
'Wish I could duck like that,' he added.
'Well, the 'ole thing there is you 'ave to watch the other man's eyes.
But light-weights is always quicker at the duck than what heavier men
are. You get the best boxing in the light-weights, though the feathers
spar quicker.'
Soon afterwards the contest finished, amidst volleys of applause. It
had been a spirited battle, and an exceedingly close thing. The umpires
disagreed. After a short consultation, the referee gave it as his
opinion that on the whole R. Cloverdale, of Bedford, had had a shade
the worse of the exchanges, and that in consequence J. Robinson, of St
Paul's, was the victor. This was what he meant. What he said was,
'Robinson wins,' in a sharp voice, as if somebody were arguing about
it. The pair then shook hands and retired.
'First bout, middle-weights,' shrilled the M.C. 'W.P. Ross (Wellington)
and A.C.R. Graham (St Austin's).'
Tony and his opponent retired for a moment to the changing-room, and
then made their way amidst applause on to the raised stage on which the
ring was pitched. Mr W.P. Ross proceeded to the farther corner of the
ring, where he sat down and was vigorously massaged by his two seconds.
Tony took the opposite corner and submitted himself to the same
process. It is a very cheering thing at any time to have one's arms and
legs kneaded like bread, and it is especially pleasant if one is at all
nervous. It sends a glow through the entire frame. Like somebody's
something it is both grateful and comforting.
Tony's seconds were curious specimens of humanity. One was a gigantic
soldier, very gruff and taciturn, and with decided leanings towards
pessimism. The other was also a soldier. He was in every way his
colleague's opposite. He was half his size, had red hair, and was
bubbling over with conversation. The other could not interfere with his
hair or his size, but he could with his conversation, and whenever he
attempted a remark, he was promptly silenced, much to his disgust.
'Plenty o' moosle 'ere, Fred,' he began, as he rubbed Tony's left arm.
'Moosle ain't everything,' said the other, gloomily, and there was
silence again.
'Are you ready? Seconds away,' said the referee.
'Time!'
The two stood up to one another.
The Wellington representative was a plucky boxer, but he was not in the
same class as Tony. After a few exchanges, the latter got to work, and
after that there was only one man in the ring. In the middle of the
second round the referee stopped the fight, and gave it to Tony, who
came away as fresh as he had started, and a great deal happier and more
confident.
'Did us proud, Fred,' began the garrulous man.
'Yes, but that 'un ain't nothing. You wait till he meets young Thomson.
I've seen 'im box 'ere three years, and never bin beat yet. Three
bloomin' years. Yus.'
This might have depressed anybody else, but as Tony already knew all
there was to be known about Allen's skill with the gloves, it had no
effect upon him.
A sanguinary heavy-weight encounter was followed by the first bout of
the feathers and the second of the light-weights, and then it was
Allen's turn to fight the Harrow representative.
It was not a very exciting bout. Allen took things very easily. He knew
his training was by no means all it should have been, and it was not
his game to take it out of himself with any firework business in the
trial heats. He would reserve that for the final. So he sparred three
gentle rounds with the Harrow sportsman, just doing sufficient to keep
the lead and obtain the verdict after the last round. He finished
without having turned a hair. He had only received one really hard
blow, and that had done no damage. After this came a long series of
fights. The heavy-weights shed their blood in gallons for name and
fame. The feather-weights gave excellent exhibitions of science, and
the light-weight pairs were fought off until there remained only the
final to be decided, Robinson, of St Paul's, against a Charterhouse
boxer.
In the middle-weights there were three competitors still in the
running, Allen, Tony, and a Felsted man. They drew lots, and the bye
fell to Tony, who put up an uninteresting three rounds with one of the
soldiers, neither fatiguing himself very much. Henderson, of Felsted,
proved a much tougher nut to crack than Allen's first opponent. He was
a rushing boxer, and in the first round had, if anything, the best of
it. In the last two, however, Allen gradually forged ahead, gaining
many points by his perfect style alone. He was declared the winner, but
he felt much more tired than he had done after his first fight.
By the time he was required again, however, he had had plenty of
breathing space. The final of the light-weights had been decided, and
Robinson, of St Paul's, after the custom of Paulines, had set the crown
upon his afternoon's work by fighting the Carthusian to a standstill in
the first round. There only remained now the finals of the heavies and
middles.
It was decided to take the latter first.
Tony had his former seconds, and Dawkins had come to his corner to see
him through the ordeal.
'The 'ole thing 'ere,' he kept repeating, 'is to keep goin' 'ard all
the time and wear 'im out. He's too quick for you to try any sparrin'
with.'
'Yes,' said Tony.
'The 'ole thing,' continued the expert, 'is to feint with your left and
'it with your right.' This was excellent in theory, no doubt, but Tony
felt that when he came to put it into practice Allen might have other
schemes on hand and bring them off first.
'Are you ready? Seconds out of the ring.... Time!'
'Go in, sir, 'ard,' whispered the red-haired man as Tony rose from his
place.
Allen came up looking pleased with matters in general. He gave Tony a
cousinly grin as they shook hands. Tony did not respond. He was feeling
serious, and wondering if he could bring off his knock-out before the
three rounds were over. He had his doubts.
The fight opened slowly. Both were cautious, for each knew the other's
powers. Suddenly, just as Tony was thinking of leading, Allen came in
like a flash. A straight left between the eyes, a right on the side of
the head, and a second left on the exact tip of the nose, and he was
out again, leaving Tony with a helpless feeling of impotence and
disgust.
Then followed more sparring. Tony could never get in exactly the right
position for a rush. Allen circled round him with an occasional feint.
Then he hit out with the left. Tony ducked. Again he hit, and again
Tony ducked, but this time the left stopped halfway, and his right
caught Tony on the cheek just as he swayed to one side. It staggered
him, and before he could recover himself, in darted Allen again with
another trio of blows, ducked a belated left counter, got in two
stinging hits on the ribs, and finished with a left drive which took
Tony clean off his feet and deposited him on the floor beside the
ropes.
'Silence, _please_,' said the referee, as a burst of applause
greeted this feat.
Tony was up again in a moment. He began to feel savage. He had expected
something like this, but that gave him no consolation. He made up his
mind that he really would rush this time, but just as he was coming in,
Allen came in instead. It seemed to Tony for the next half-minute that
his cousin's fists were never out of his face. He looked on the world
through a brown haze of boxing-glove. Occasionally his hand met
something solid which he took to be Allen, but this was seldom, and,
whenever it happened, it only seemed to bring him back again like a
boomerang. Just at the most exciting point, 'Time' was called.
The pessimist shook his head gloomily as he sponged Tony's face.
'You must lead if you want to 'it 'im,' said the garrulous man. 'You're
too slow. Go in at 'im, sir, wiv both 'ands, an' you'll be all right.
Won't 'e, Fred?'
'I said 'ow it 'ud be,' was the only reply Fred would vouchsafe.
Tony was half afraid the referee would give the fight against him
without another round, but to his joy 'Time' was duly called. He came
up to the scratch as game as ever, though his head was singing. He
meant to go in for all he was worth this round.
And go in he did. Allen had managed, in performing a complicated
manoeuvre, to place himself in a corner, and Tony rushed. He was sent
out again with a flush hit on the face. He rushed again, and again met
Allen's left. Then he got past, and in the confined space had it all
his own way. Science did not tell here. Strength was the thing that
scored, hard half-arm smashes, left and right, at face and body, and
the guard could look after itself.
Allen upper-cut him twice, but after that he was nowhere. Tony went in
with both hands. There was a prolonged rally, and it was not until
'Time' had been called that Allen was able to extricate himself. Tony's
blows had been mostly body blows, and very warm ones at that.
'That's right, sir,' was the comment of the red-headed second. 'Keep
'em both goin' hard, and you'll win yet. You 'ad 'im proper then.
'Adn't 'e, Fred?'
And even the pessimist was obliged to admit that Tony could fight, even
if he was not quick with his guard.
Allen took the ring slowly. His want of training had begun to tell on
him, and some of Tony's blows had landed in very tender spots. He knew
that he could win if his wind held out, but he had misgivings. The
gloves seemed to weigh down his hands. Tony opened the ball with a
tremendous rush. Allen stopped him neatly. There was an interval while
the two sparred for an opening. Then Allen feinted and dashed in. Tony
did not hit him once. It was the first round over again. Left right,
left right, and, finally, as had happened before, a tremendously hot
shot which sent him under the ropes. He got up, and again Allen darted
in. Tony met him with a straight left. A rapid exchange of blows, and
the end came. Allen lashed out with his left. Tony ducked sharply, and
brought his right across with every ounce of his weight behind it,
fairly on to the point of the jaw. The right cross-counter is
distinctly one of those things which it is more blessed to give than to
receive. Allen collapsed.
'... nine ... ten.'
The time-keeper closed his watch.
'Graham wins,' said the referee, 'look after that man there.'
[2]
THIEVES BREAK IN AND STEAL
It was always the custom for such Austinians as went up to represent
the School at the annual competition to stop the night in the town. It
was not, therefore, till just before breakfast on the following day
that Tony arrived back at his House. The boarding Houses at St Austin's
formed a fringe to the School grounds. The two largest were the School
House and Merevale's. Tony was at Merevale's. He was walking up from
the station with Welch, another member of Merevale's, who had been up
to Aldershot as a fencer, when, at the entrance to the School grounds,
he fell in with Robinson, his fag. Robinson was supposed by many
(including himself) to be a very warm man for the Junior Quarter, which
was a handicap race, especially as an injudicious Sports Committee had
given him ten yards' start on Simpson, whom he would have backed
himself to beat, even if the positions had been reversed. Being a wise
youth, however, and knowing that the best of runners may fail through
under-training, he had for the last week or so been going in for a
steady course of over-training, getting up in the small hours and going
for before-breakfast spins round the track on a glass of milk and a
piece of bread. Master R. Robinson was nothing if not thorough in
matters of this kind.
But today things of greater moment than the Sports occupied his mind.
He had news. He had great news. He was bursting with news, and he
hailed the approach of Tony and Welch with pleasure. With any other
leading light of the School he might have felt less at ease, but with
Tony it was different. When you have underdone a fellow's eggs and
overdone his toast and eaten the remainder for a term or two, you begin
to feel that mere social distinctions and differences of age no longer
form a barrier.
Besides, he had news which was absolutely fresh, news to which no one
could say pityingly: 'What! Have you only just heard _that_!'
'Hullo, Graham,' he said. 'Have you come back?' Tony admitted that he
had. 'Jolly good for getting the Middles.' (A telegram had, of course,
preceded Tony.) 'I say, Graham, do you know what's happened? There'll
be an awful row about it. Someone's been and broken into the Pav.'
'Rot! How do you know?'
'There's a pane taken clean out. I booked it in a second as I was going
past to the track.'
'Which room?'
'First Fifteen. The window facing away from the Houses.'
'That's rum,' said Welch. 'Wonder what a burglar wanted in the First
room. Isn't even a hair-brush there generally.'
Robinson's eyes dilated with honest pride. This was good. This was
better than he had looked for. Not only were they unaware of the
burglary, but they had not even an idea as to the recent event which
had made the First room so fit a hunting-ground for the burgling
industry. There are few pleasures keener than the pleasure of telling
somebody something he didn't know before.
'Great Scott,' he remarked, 'haven't you heard? No, of course you went
up to Aldershot before they did it. By Jove.'
'Did what?'
'Why, they shunted all the Sports prizes from the Board Room to the
Pav. and shot 'em into the First room. I don't suppose there's one left
now. I should like to see the Old Man's face when he hears about it.
Good mind to go and tell him now, only he'd have a fit. Jolly exciting,
though, isn't it?'
'Well,' said Tony, 'of all the absolutely idiotic things to do! Fancy
putting - there must have been at least fifty pounds' worth of silver
and things. Fancy going and leaving all that overnight in the Pav!'
'Rotten!' agreed Welch. 'Wonder whose idea it was.'
'Look here, Robinson,' said Tony, 'you'd better buck up and change, or
you'll be late for brekker. Come on, Welch, we'll go and inspect the
scene of battle.'
Robinson trotted off, and Welch and Tony made their way to the
Pavilion. There, sure enough, was the window, or rather the absence of
window. A pane had been neatly removed, evidently in the orthodox way
by means of a diamond.
'May as well climb up and see if there's anything to be seen,' said
Welch.
'All right,' said Tony, 'give us a leg up. Right-ho. By Jove, I'm
stiff.'
'See anything?'
'No. There's a cloth sort of thing covering what I suppose are the
prizes. I see how the chap, whoever he was, got in. You've only got to
break the window, draw a couple of bolts, and there you are. Shall I go
in and investigate?'
'Better not. It's rather the thing, I fancy, in these sorts of cases,
to leave everything just as it is.'
'Rum business,' said Tony, as he rejoined Welch on terra firma. 'Wonder
if they'll catch the chap. We'd better be getting back to the House
now. It struck the quarter years ago.'
When Tony, some twenty minutes later, shook off the admiring crowd who
wanted a full description of yesterday's proceedings, and reached his
study, he found there James Thomson, brother to Allen Thomson, as the
playbills say. Jim was looking worried. Tony had noticed it during
breakfast, and had wondered at the cause. He was soon enlightened.
'Hullo, Jim,' said he. 'What's up with you this morning? Feeling
chippy?'
'No. No, I'm all right. I'm in a beastly hole though. I wanted to talk
to you about it.'
'Weigh in, then. We've got plenty of time before school.'
'It's about this Aldershot business. How on earth did you manage to
lick Allen like that? I thought he was a cert.'
'Yes, so did I. The 'ole thing there, as Dawkins 'ud say, was, I
knocked him out. It's the sort of thing that's always happening. I
wasn't in it at all except during the second round, when I gave him
beans rather in one of the corners. My aunt, it was warm while it
lasted. First round, I didn't hit him once. He was better than I
thought he'd be, and I knew from experience he was pretty good.'
'Yes, you look a bit bashed.'
'Yes. Feel it too. But what's the row with you?'
'Just this. I had a couple of quid on Allen, and the rotter goes and
gets licked.'
'Good Lord. Whom did you bet with?'
'With Allen himself.'
'Mean to say Allen was crock enough to bet against himself? He must
have known he was miles better than anyone else in. He's got three
medals there already.'
'No, you see his bet with me was only a hedge. He'd got five to four or
something in quids on with a chap in his House at Rugby on himself. He
wanted a hedge because he wasn't sure about his ankle being all right.
You know he hurt it. So I gave him four to one in half-sovereigns. I
thought he was a cert, with apologies to you.'
'Don't mention it. So he was a cert. It was only the merest fluke I
managed to out him when I did. If he'd hung on to the end, he'd have
won easy. He'd been scoring points all through.'
'I know. So _The Sportsman_ says. Just like my luck.'
'I can't see what you want to bet at all for. You're bound to come a
mucker sooner or later. Can't you raise the two quid?'
'I'm broke except for half a crown.'
'I'd lend it to you like a shot if I had it, of course. But you don't
find me with two quid to my name at the end of term. Won't Allen wait?'
'He would if it was only him. But this other chap wants his oof badly
for something and he's leaving and going abroad or something at the end
of term. Anyhow, I know he's keen on getting it. Allen told me.'
Tony pondered for a moment. 'Look here,' he said at last, 'can't you
ask your pater? He usually heaves his money about pretty readily,
doesn't he?'
'Well, you see, he wouldn't send me two quid off the reel without
wanting to know all about it, and why I couldn't get on to the holidays
with five bob, and I'd either have to fake up a lot of lies, which I'm
not going to do - '
'Of course not.'
'Or else I must tell him I've been betting.'
'Well, he bets himself, doesn't he?'
'That's just where the whole business slips up,' replied Jim, prodding
the table with a pen in a misanthropic manner. 'Betting's the one thing
he's absolutely down on. He got done rather badly once a few years ago.
Believe he betted on Orme that year he got poisoned. Anyhow he's always
sworn to lynch us if we made fools of ourselves that way. So if I asked
him, I'd not only get beans myself, besides not getting any money out
of him, but Allen would get scalped too, which he wouldn't see at all.'
'Yes, it's no good doing that. Haven't you any other source of
revenue?'
'Yes, there's just one chance. If that doesn't come off, I'm done. My
pater said he'd give me a quid for every race I won at the sports. I
got the half yesterday all right when you were up at Aldershot.'
'Good man. I didn't hear about that. What time? Anything good?'
'Nothing special. 2-7 and three-fifths.'
'That's awfully good. You ought to pull off the mile, too, I should
think.'
'Yes, with luck. Drake's the man I'm afraid of. He's done it in 4-48
twice during training. He was second in the half yesterday by about
three yards, but you can't tell anything from that. He sprinted too
late.'
'What's your best for the mile?'
'I have done 4-47, but only once. 4-48's my average, so there's nothing
to choose between us on paper.'
'Well, you've got more to make you buck up than he has. There must be
something in that.'
'Yes, by Jove. I'll win if I expire on the tape. I shan't spare myself
with that quid on the horizon.'
'No. Hullo, there's the bell. We must buck up. Going to Charteris'
gorge tonight?'
'Yes, but I shan't eat anything. No risks for me.'
'Rusks are more in your line now. Come on.'
And, in the excitement of these more personal matters, Tony entirely
forgot to impart the news of the Pavilion burglary to him.
[3]
AN UNIMPORTANT BY-PRODUCT
The news, however, was not long in spreading. Robinson took care of
that. On the way to school he overtook his friend Morrison, a young
gentleman who had the unique distinction of being the rowdiest fag in
Ward's House, which, as any Austinian could have told you, was the
rowdiest house in the School.
'I say, Morrison, heard the latest?'
'No, what?'
'Chap broke into the Pav. last night.'
'Who, you?'
'No, you ass, a regular burglar. After the Sports prizes.'
'Look here, Robinson, try that on the kids.'
'Just what I am doing,' said Robinson.
This delicate reference to Morrison's tender years had the effect of
creating a disturbance. Two School House juniors, who happened to be
passing, naturally forsook all their other aims and objects and joined
the battle.
'What's up?' asked one of them, dusting himself hastily as they stopped
to take breath. It was always his habit to take up any business that
might attract his attention, and ask for explanations afterwards.
'This kid - ' began Morrison.
'Kid yourself, Morrison.'
'This lunatic, then.' Robinson allowed the emendation to pass. 'This
lunatic's got some yarn on about the Pav. being burgled.'
'So it is. Tell you I saw it myself.'
'Did it yourself, probably.'
'How do you know, anyway? You seem so jolly certain about it.'
'Why, there's a pane of glass cut out of the window in the First room.'
'Shouldn't wonder, you know,' said Dimsdale, one of the two School
House fags, judicially, 'if the kid wasn't telling the truth for once
in his life. Those pots must be worth something. Don't you think so,
Scott?'
Scott admitted that there might be something in the idea, and that,
however foreign to his usual habits, Robinson might on this occasion be
confining himself more or less to strict fact.
'There you are, then,' said Robinson, vengefully. 'Shows what a fat lot
you know what you're talking about, Morrison.'
'Morrison's a fool,' said Scott. 'Ever since he got off the bottom
bench in form there's been no holding him.'
'All the same,' said Morrison, feeling that matters were going against
him, 'I shan't believe it till I see it.'
'What'll you bet?' said Robinson.
'I never bet,' replied Morrison with scorn.
'You daren't. You know you'd lose.'
'All right, then, I'll bet a penny I'm right.' He drew a deep breath,
as who should say, 'It's a lot of money, but it's worth risking it.'
'You'll lose that penny, old chap,' said Robinson. 'That's to say,' he
added thoughtfully, 'if you ever pay up.'
'You've got us as witnesses,' said Dimsdale. 'We'll see that he shells
out. Scott, remember you're a witness.
'Right-ho,' said Scott.
At this moment the clock struck nine, and as each of the principals in
this financial transaction, and both the witnesses, were expected to be
in their places to answer their names at 8.58, they were late. And as
they had all been late the day before and the day before that, they
were presented with two hundred lines apiece. Which shows more than
ever how wrong it is to bet.
The news continuing to circulate, by the end of morning school it was
generally known that a gang of desperadoes, numbering at least a
hundred, had taken the Pavilion down, brick by brick, till only the
foundations were left standing, and had gone off with every jot and
tittle of the unfortunately placed Sports prizes.
At the quarter-to-eleven interval, the School had gone _en masse_
to see what it could see, and had stared at the window with much the
same interest as they were wont to use in inspecting the First Eleven
pitch on the morning of a match - a curious custom, by the way, but one
very generally observed.
Then the official news of the extent of the robbery was spread abroad.
It appeared that the burglar had by no means done the profession
credit, for out of a vast collection of prizes ranging from the vast
and silver Mile Challenge Cup to the pair of fives-gloves with which
the 'under twelve' disciple of Deerfoot was to be rewarded, he had
selected only three. Two of these were worth having, being the
challenge cup for the quarter and the non-challenge cup for the hundred
yards, both silver, but the third was a valueless flask, and the
general voice of the School was loud in condemning the business
abilities of one who could select his swag in so haphazard a manner. It
was felt to detract from the merit of the performance. The knowing
ones, however, gave it as their opinion that the man must have been
frightened by something, and so was unable to give the matter his best
attention and do himself justice as a connoisseur.
'We had a burglary at my place once,' began Reade, of Philpott's House.
'The man - '
'That rotter, Reade,' said Barrett, also of Philpott's, 'has been
telling us that burglary chestnut of his all the morning. I wish you
chaps wouldn't encourage him.'
'Why, what was it? First I've heard of it, at any rate.' Dallas and
Vaughan, of Ward's, added themselves to the group. 'Out with it,
Reade,' said Vaughan.
'It's only a beastly reminiscence of Reade's childhood,' said Barrett.
'A burglar got into the wine-cellar and collared all the coals.'
'He didn't. He was in the hall, and my pater got his revolver - '
'While you hid under the bed.'
' - and potted at him over the banisters.'
'The last time but three you told the story, your pater fired through
the keyhole of the dining-room.'
'You idiot, that was afterwards.'
'Oh, well, what does it matter? Tell us something fresh.'
'It's my opinion,' said Dallas, 'that Ward did it. A man of the vilest
antecedents. He's capable of anything from burglary - '
'To attempted poisoning. You should see what we get to eat in Ward's
House,' said Vaughan.
'Ward's the worst type of beak. He simply lives for the sake of booking
chaps. If he books a chap out of bounds it keeps him happy for a week.'
'A man like that's bound to be a criminal of sorts in his spare time.
It's action and reaction,' said Vaughan.
Mr Ward happening to pass at this moment, the speaker went on to ask
Dallas audibly if life was worth living, and Dallas replied that under
certain conditions and in some Houses it was not.
Dallas and Vaughan did not like Mr Ward. Mr Ward was not the sort of
man who inspires affection. He had an unpleasant habit of 'jarring', as
it was called. That is to say, his conversation was shaped to one
single end, that of trying to make the person to whom he talked feel
uncomfortable. Many of his jars had become part of the School history.
There was a legend that on one occasion he had invited his prefects to
supper, and regaled them with sausages. There was still one prefect
unhelped. To him he addressed himself.
'A sausage, Jones?'
'If you please, sir.'
'No, you won't, then, because I'm going to have half myself.'
This story may or may not be true. Suffice it to say, that Mr Ward was
not popular.
The discussion was interrupted by the sound of the bell ringing for
second lesson. The problem was left unsolved. It was evident that the
burglar had been interrupted, but how or why nobody knew. The
suggestion that he had heard Master R. Robinson training for his
quarter-mile, and had thought it was an earthquake, found much favour
with the junior portion of the assembly. Simpson, on whom Robinson had
been given start in the race, expressed an opinion that he, Robinson,
ran like a cow. At which Robinson smiled darkly, and advised the other
to wait till Sports Day and then he'd see, remarking that, meanwhile,
if he gave him any of his cheek he might not be well enough to run at
all.
'This sort of thing,' said Barrett to Reade, as they walked to their
form-room, 'always makes me feel beastly. Once start a row like this,
and all the beaks turn into regular detectives and go ferreting about
all over the place, and it's ten to one they knock up against something
one doesn't want them to know about.'
Reade was feeling hurt. He had objected to the way in which Barrett had
spoiled a story that might easily have been true, and really was true
in parts. His dignity was offended. He said 'Yes' to Barrett's
observation in a tone of reserved _hauteur_. Barrett did not
notice.
'It's an awful nuisance. For one thing it makes them so jolly strict
about bounds.'
'Yes.'
'I wanted to go for a bike ride this afternoon. There's nothing on at
the School.'
'Why don't you?'
'What's the good if you can't break bounds? A ride of about a quarter
of a mile's no good. There's a ripping place about ten miles down the
Stapleton Road. Big wood, with a ripping little hollow in the middle,
all ferns and moss. I was thinking of taking a book out there for the
afternoon. Only there's roll-call.'
He paused. Ordinarily, this would have been the cue for Reade to say,
'Oh, I'll answer your name at roll-call.' But Reade said nothing.
Barrett looked surprised and disappointed.
'I say, Reade,' he said.
'Well?'
'Would you like to answer my name at roll-call?' It was the first time
he had ever had occasion to make the request.
'No,' said Reade.
Barrett could hardly believe his ears. Did he sleep? Did he dream? Or
were visions about?
'What!' he said.
No answer.
'Do you mean to say you won't?'
'Of course I won't. Why the deuce should I do your beastly dirty work
for you?'
Barrett did not know what to make of this. Curiosity urged him to ask
for explanations. Dignity threw cold water on such a scheme. In the end
dignity had the best of it.
'Oh, very well,' he said, and they went on in silence. In all the three
years of their acquaintance they had never before happened upon such a
crisis.
The silence lasted until they reached the form-room. Then Barrett
determined, in the interests of the common good - he and Reade shared a
study, and icy coolness in a small study is unpleasant - to chain up
Dignity for the moment, and give Curiosity a trial.
'What's up with you today?' he asked.
He could hardly have chosen a worse formula. The question has on most
people precisely the same effect as that which the query, 'Do you know
where you lost it?' has on one who is engaged in looking for mislaid
property.
'Nothing,' said Reade. Probably at the same moment hundreds of other
people were making the same reply, in the same tone of voice, to the
same question.
'Oh,' said Barrett.
There was another silence.
'You might as well answer my name this afternoon,' said Barrett,
tentatively.
Reade walked off without replying, and Barrett went to his place
feeling that curiosity was a fraud, and resolving to confine his
attentions for the future to dignity. This was by-product number one of
the Pavilion burglary.
[4]
CERTAIN REVELATIONS
During the last hour of morning school, Tony got a note from Jim.
'Graham,' said Mr Thompson, the master of the Sixth, sadly, just as
Tony was about to open it.
'Yes, sir?'
'Kindly tear that note up, Graham.'
'Note, sir?'
'Kindly tear that note up, Graham. Come, you are keeping us waiting.'
As the hero of the novel says, further concealment was useless. Tony
tore the note up unread.
'Hope it didn't want an answer,' he said to Jim after school. 'Constant
practice has made Thompson a sort of amateur lynx.'
'No. It was only to ask you to be in the study directly after lunch.
There's a most unholy row going to occur shortly, as far as I can see.'
'What, about this burglary business?'
'Yes. Haven't time to tell you now. See you after lunch.'
After lunch, having closed the study door, Jim embarked on the
following statement.
It appeared that on the previous night he had left a book of notes,
which were of absolutely vital importance for the examination which the
Sixth had been doing in the earlier part of the morning, in the
identical room in which the prizes had been placed. Or rather, he had
left it there several days before, and had not needed it till that
night. At half-past six the Pavilion had been locked up, and Biffen,
the ground-man, had taken the key away with him, and it was only after
tea had been consumed and the evening paper read, that Jim, thinking it
about time to begin work, had discovered his loss. This was about
half-past seven.
Being a House-prefect, Jim did not attend preparation in the Great Hall
with the common herd of the Houses, but was part-owner with Tony of a
study.
The difficulties of the situation soon presented themselves to
him. It was only possible to obtain the notes in three ways - firstly,
by going to the rooms of the Sixth Form master, who lived out of
College; secondly, by borrowing from one of the other Sixth Form
members of the House; and thirdly, by the desperate expedient of
burgling the Pavilion. The objections to the first course were two. In