01 The Pothunters Read online

  ‘Which brings us back to where we started,’ put in the Babe. ‘You were wondering what he did with himself.’

  ‘Yes, it can’t be anything good so we’ll put beetles and butterflies out of the question right away. He might go and poach. There’s heaps of opportunity round here for a chap who wants to try his hand at that. I remember, when I was a kid, Morton Smith, who used to be in this House—remember him?—took me to old what’s-his-name’s place. Who’s that frantic blood who owns all that land along the Badgwick road? The M.P. man.’

  ‘Milord Sir Alfred Venner, M.P., of Badgwick Hall.’

  ‘That’s the man. Generally very much of Badgwick Hall. Came down last summer on Prize Day. One would have thought from the side on him that he was all sorts of dooks. Anyhow, Morton-Smith took me rabbiting there. I didn’t know it was against the rules or anything. Had a grand time. A few days afterwards, Milord Sir Venner copped him on the hop and he got sacked. There was an awful row. I thought my hair would have turned white.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think the Mutual poaches,’ said Vaughan. ‘He hasn’t got the enterprise to poach an egg even. No, it can’t be that.’

  ‘Perhaps he bikes?’ said the Babe.

  ‘No, he’s not got a bike. He’s the sort of chap, though, to borrow somebody else’s without asking. Possibly he does bike.’

  ‘If he does,’ said Dallas, ‘it’s only so as to get well away from the Coll., before starting on his career of crime. I’ll swear he does break rules like an ordinary human being when he thinks it’s safe. Those aggressively pious fellows generally do.’

  ‘I didn’t know he was that sort,’ said the Babe. ‘Don’t you find it rather a jar?’

  ‘Just a bit. He jaws us sometimes till we turn and rend him.’

  ‘Yes, he’s an awful man,’ said Vaughan.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ said the Babe, encouragingly, after the silence had lasted some time. ‘It’s a treat picking a fellow to pieces like this.’

  ‘I don’t know if that’s your beastly sarcasm, Babe,’ said Vaughan, ‘but, speaking for self and partner, I don’t know how we should get on if we didn’t blow off steam occasionally in this style.’

  ‘We should probably last out for a week, and then there would be a sharp shriek, a hollow groan, and all that would be left of the Mutual Friend would be a slight discolouration on the study carpet.’

  ‘Coupled with an aroma of fresh gore.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s why he goes off in the afternoons,’ suggested the Babe. ‘Doesn’t want to run any risks.’

  ‘Shouldn’t wonder.’

  ‘He’s such a rotten head of the House, too,’ said Vaughan. ‘Ward may gas about my being headstrong and thoughtless, but I’m dashed if I would make a bally exhibition of myself like the Mutual.’

  ‘What’s he do?’ enquired the Babe.

  ‘It’s not so much what he does. It’s what he doesn’t do that sickens me,’ said Dallas. ‘I may be a bit of a crock in some ways—for further details apply to Ward—but I can stop a couple of fags ragging if I try.’

  ‘Can’t Plunkett?’

  ‘Not for nuts. He’s simply helpless when there’s anything going on that he ought to stop. Why, the other day there was a row in the fags’ room that you could almost have heard at your place, Babe. We were up here working. The Mutual was jawing as usual on the subject of cramming tips for the Aeschylus exam. Said it wasn’t scholarship, or some rot. What business is it of his how a chap works, I should like to know. Just as he had got under way, the fags began kicking up more row than ever.’

  ‘I said’, cut in Vaughan, ‘that instead of minding other people’s business, he’d better mind his own for a change, and go down and stop the row.’

  ‘He looked a bit green at that,’ said Dallas. ‘Said the row didn’t interfere with him. “Does with us,” I said. “It’s all very well for you. You aren’t doing a stroke of work. No amount of row matters to a chap who’s only delivering a rotten sermon on scholarship. Vaughan and I happen to be trying to do some work.” “All right,” he said, “if you want the row stopped, why don’t you go and stop it? What’s it got to do with me?”’

  ‘Rotter!’ interpolated the Babe.

  ‘Wasn’t he? Well, of course we couldn’t stand that.’

  ‘We crushed him,’ said Vaughan.

  ‘I said: “In my young days the head of the House used to keep order for himself.” I asked him what he thought he was here for. Because he isn’t ornamental. So he went down after that.’

  ‘Well?’ said the Babe. Being a miserable day boy he had had no experience of the inner life of a boarding House, which is the real life of a public school. His experience of life at St Austin’s was limited to doing his work and playing centre-three-quarter for the fifteen. Which, it may be remarked in passing, he did extremely well.

  Dallas took up the narrative. ‘Well, after he’d been gone about five minutes, and the row seemed to be getting worse than ever, we thought we’d better go down and investigate. So we did.’

  ‘And when we got to the fags’ room,’ said Vaughan, pointing the toasting-fork at the Babe by way of emphasis, ‘there was the Mutual standing in the middle of the room gassing away with an expression on his face a cross between a village idiot and an unintelligent fried egg. And all round him was a seething mass of fags, half of them playing soccer with a top-hat and the other half cheering wildly whenever the Mutual opened his mouth.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘We made an aggressive movement in force. Collared the hat, brained every fag within reach, and swore we’d report them to the beak and so on. They quieted down in about three and a quarter seconds by stopwatch, and we retired, taking the hat as a prize of war, and followed by the Mutual Friend.’

  ‘He looked worried, rather,’ said Vaughan. ‘And, thank goodness, he let us alone for the rest of the evening.’

  ‘That’s only a sample, though,’ explained Dallas. ‘That sort of thing has been going on the whole term. If the head of a House is an abject lunatic, there’s bound to be ructions. Fags simply live for the sake of kicking up rows. It’s meat and drink to them.’

  ‘I wish the Mutual would leave,’ said Vaughan. ‘Only that sort of chap always lingers on until he dies or gets sacked.’

  ‘He’s not the sort of fellow to get sacked, I should say,’ said the Babe.

  ”Fraid not. I wish I could shunt into some other House. Between Ward and the Mutual life here isn’t worth living.’

  ‘There’s Merevale’s. now,’ said Vaughan. ‘I wish I was in there. In the first place you’ve got Merevale. He gets as near perfection as a beak ever does. Coaches the House footer and cricket, and takes an intelligent interest in things generally. Then there are some decent fellows in Merevale’s. Charteris, Welch, Graham, Thomson, heaps of them.’

  ‘Pity you came to Ward’s,’ said the Babe. ‘Why did you?’

  ‘My pater knew Ward a bit. If he’d known him well, he’d have sent me somewhere else.’

  ‘My pater knew Vaughan’s pater well, who knew Ward slightly and there you are. Voila comme des accidents arrivent.’

  ‘If Ward wanted to lug in a day boy to be head of the House,’ said Vaughan, harping once more on the old string, ‘he might at least have got somebody decent.’

  ‘There’s the great Babe himself. Babe, why don’t you come in next term?’

  ‘Not much,’ said the Babe, with a shudder.

  ‘Well, even barring present company, there are lots of chaps who would have jumped at the chance of being head of a House. But nothing would satisfy Ward but lugging the Mutual from the bosom of his beastly family.’

  ‘We haven’t decided that point about where he goes to,’ said the Babe.

  At this moment the door of the study opened, and the gentleman in question appeared in person. He stood in the doorway for a few seconds, gasping and throwing his arms about as if he found a difficulty in making his way in.

  ‘I wish you two
wouldn’t make such an awful froust in the study every afternoon,’ he observed, pleasantly. ‘Have you been having a little tea-party? How nice!’

  ‘We’ve been brewing, if that’s what you mean,’ said Vaughan, shortly.

  ‘Oh,’ said Plunkett, ‘I hope you enjoyed yourselves. It’s nearly lock-up, MacArthur.’

  ‘That’s Plunkett’s delicate way of telling you you’re not wanted, Babe.’

  ‘Well, I suppose I ought to be going,’ said the Babe. ‘So long.’

  And he went, feeling grateful to Providence for not having made his father, like the fathers of Vaughan and Dallas, a casual acquaintance of Mr Ward.

  The Mutual Friend really was a trial to Vaughan and Dallas. Only those whose fate it is or has been to share a study with an uncongenial companion can appreciate their feelings to the full. Three in a study is always something of a tight fit, and when the three are in a state of perpetual warfare, or, at the best, of armed truce, things become very bad indeed.

  ‘Do you find it necessary to have tea-parties every evening?’ enquired Plunkett, after he had collected his books for the night’s work. ‘The smell of burnt meat—’

  ‘Fried sausages,’ said Vaughan. ‘Perfectly healthy smell. Do you good.’

  ‘It’s quite disgusting. Really, the air in here is hardly fit to breathe.’

  ‘You’ll find an excellent brand of air down in the senior study,’ said Dallas, pointedly. ‘Don’t stay and poison yourself here on our account,’ he added. ‘Think of your family.’

  ‘I shall work where I choose,’ said the Mutual Friend, with dignity.

  ‘Of course, so long as you do work. You mustn’t talk. Vaughan and I have got some Livy to do.’

  Plunkett snorted, and the passage of arms ended, as it usually did, in his retiring with his books to the senior study, leaving Dallas and Vaughan to discuss his character once more in case there might be any points of it left upon which they had not touched in previous conversations.

  ‘This robbery of the pots is a rum thing,’ said Vaughan, thoughtfully, when the last shreds of Plunkett’s character had been put through the mincing-machine to the satisfaction of all concerned.

  ‘Yes. It’s the sort of thing one doesn’t think possible till it actually happens.’

  ‘What the dickens made them put the things in the Pav. at all? They must have known it wouldn’t be safe.’

  ‘Well, you see, they usually cart them into the Board Room, I believe, only this time the governors were going to have a meeting there. They couldn’t very well meet in a room with the table all covered with silver pots.’

  ‘Don’t see why.’

  ‘Well, I suppose they could, really, but some of the governors are fairly nuts on strict form. There’s that crock who makes the two-hour vote of thanks speeches on Prize Day. You can see him rising to a point of order, and fixing the Old ‘Un with a fishy eye.’

  ‘Well, anyhow, I don’t see that they can blame a burglar for taking the pots if they simply chuck them in his way like that.’

  ‘No. I say, we’d better weigh in with the Livy. The man Ward’ll be round directly. Where’s the dic? And our invaluable friend, Mr Bohn? Right. Now, you reel it off, and I’ll keep an eye on the notes.’ And they settled down to the business of the day.

  After a while Vaughan looked up.

  ‘Who’s going to win the mile?’ he asked.

  ‘What’s the matter with Thomson?’

  ‘How about Drake then?’

  ‘Thomson won the half.’

  ‘I knew you’d say that. The half isn’t a test of a chap’s mile form. Besides, did you happen to see Drake’s sprint?’

  ‘Jolly good one.’

  ‘I know, but look how late he started for it. Thomson crammed on the pace directly he got into the straight. Drake only began to put it on when he got to the Pav. Even then he wasn’t far behind at the tape.’

  ‘No. Well, I’m not plunging either way. Ought to be a good race.’

  ‘Rather. I say, I wonder Welch doesn’t try his hand at the mile. I believe he would do some rattling times if he’d only try.’

  ‘Why, Welch is a sprinter.’

  ‘I know. But I believe for all that that the mile’s his distance. He’s always well up in the cross-country runs.’

  ‘Anyhow, he’s not in for it this year. Thomson’s my man. It’ll be a near thing, though.’

  ‘Jolly near thing. With Drake in front.’

  ‘Thomson.’

  ‘Drake.’

  ‘All right, we’ll see. Wonder why the beak doesn’t come up. I can’t sit here doing Livy all the evening. And yet if we stop he’s bound to look in.’

  ‘Oh Lord, is that what you’ve been worrying about? I thought you’d developed the work habit or something. Ward’s all right. He’s out on the tiles tonight. Gone to a dinner at Philpott’s.’

  ‘Good man, how do you know? Are you certain?’

  ‘Heard him telling Prater this morning. Half the staff have gone. Good opportunity for a chap to go for a stroll if he wanted to. Shall we, by the way?’

  ‘Not for me, thanks. I’m in the middle of a rather special book. Ever read Great Expectations? Dickens, you know.’

  ‘I know. Haven’t read it, though. Always rather funk starting on a classic, somehow. Good?’

  ‘My dear chap! Good’s not the word.’

  ‘Well, after you. Exit Livy, then. And a good job, too. You might pass us the great Sherlock. Thanks.’

  He plunged with the great detective into the mystery of the speckled band, while Vaughan opened Great Expectations at the place where he had left off the night before. And a silence fell upon the study.

  Curiously enough, Dallas was not the only member of Ward’s House to whom it occurred that evening that the absence of the House-master supplied a good opportunity for a stroll. The idea had also struck Plunkett favourably. He was not feeling very comfortable down-stairs. On entering the senior study he found Galloway, an Upper Fourth member of the House, already in possession. Galloway had managed that evening to insinuate himself with such success into the good graces of the matron, that he had been allowed to stay in the House instead of proceeding with the rest of the study to the Great Hall for preparation. The palpable failure of his attempt to hide the book he was reading under the table when he was disturbed led him to cast at the Mutual Friend, the cause of his panic, so severe and forbidding a look, that that gentleman retired, and made for the junior study.

  The atmosphere in the junior study was close, and heavy with a blend of several strange odours. Plunkett went to the window. Then he noticed what he had never noticed before, that there were no bars to the window. Only the glass stood between him and the outer world. He threw up the sash as far as it would go. There was plenty of room to get out. So he got out. He stood for a moment inhaling the fresh air. Then, taking something from his coat-pocket, he dived into the shadows. An hour passed. In the study above, Dallas, surfeited with mysteries and villainy, put down his book and stretched himself.

  ‘I say, Vaughan,’ he said. ‘Have you settled the House gym. team yet? It’s about time the list went up.’

  ‘Eh? What?’ said Vaughan, coming slowly out of his book.

  Dallas repeated his question.

  ‘Yes,’ said Vaughan, ‘got it somewhere on me. Haynes, Jarvis, and myself are going in. Only, the Mutual has to stick up the list.’

  It was the unwritten rule in Ward’s, as in most of the other Houses at the School, that none but the head of the House had the right of placing notices on the House board.

  ‘I know,’ said Dallas. ‘I’ll go and buck him up now.’

  ‘Don’t trouble. After prayers’ll do.’

  ‘It’s all right. No trouble. Whom did you say? Yourself, Haynes—’

  ‘And Jarvis. Not that he’s any good. But the third string never matters much, and it’ll do him good to represent the House.’

  ‘Right. I’ll go and unearth the Mutual.’

>   The result was that Galloway received another shock to his system.

  ‘Don’t glare, Galloway. It’s rude,’ said Dallas.

  ‘Where’s Plunkett got to?’ he added.

  ‘Junior study,’ said Galloway.

  Dallas went to the junior study. There were Plunkett’s books on the table, but of their owner no signs were to be seen. The Mutual Friend had had the good sense to close the window after he had climbed through it, and Dallas did not suspect what had actually happened. He returned to Vaughan.

  ‘The Mutual isn’t in either of the studies,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want to spend the evening playing hide-and-seek with him, so I’ve come back.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, thanks all the same. Later on’ll do just as well.’

  ‘Do you object to the window going up?’ asked Dallas. ‘There’s a bit of a froust on in here.’

  ‘Rather not. Heave it up.’

  Dallas hove it. He stood leaning out, looking towards the College buildings, which stood out black and clear against the April sky. From out of the darkness in the direction of Stapleton sounded the monotonous note of a corn-crake.

  ‘Jove,’ he said, ‘it’s a grand night. If I was at home now I shouldn’t be cooped up indoors like this.’

  ‘Holidays in another week,’ said Vaughan, joining him. ‘It is ripping, isn’t it? There’s something not half bad in the Coll. buildings on a night like this. I shall be jolly sorry to leave, in spite of Ward and the Mutual.’

  ‘Same here, by Jove. We’ve each got a couple more years, though, if it comes to that. Hullo, prep.’s over.’

  The sound of footsteps began to be heard from the direction of the College. Nine had struck from the School clock, and the Great Hall was emptying.

  ‘Your turn to read at prayers, Vaughan. Hullo, there’s the Mutual. Didn’t hear him unlock the door. Glad he has, though. Saves us trouble.’

  ‘I must be going down to look up a bit to read. Do you remember when Harper read the same bit six days running? I shall never forget Ward’s pained expression. Harper explained that he thought the passage so beautiful that he couldn’t leave it.’