01 The Pothunters Read online

  ‘And you’ll write to us sometimes, Jim, and give my love to little Henry, and always wear flannel next your skin, my dear boy?’ said Charteris.

  This seemed to strike even Jim as irrelevant.

  ‘Do shut up for goodness sake, Alderman,’ he said irritably. ‘Why can’t you go and rag somebody else?’

  ‘My place is by your side. Go, my son, or else they’ll be starting without you. Give us your blazer. And take my tip, the tip of an old runner, and don’t pocket your opponent’s ball in your own twenty-five. And come back victorious, or on the shields of your soldiers. All right, sir (to the starter), he’s just making his will. Good-bye Jim. Buck up, or I’ll lynch you after the race.’

  Jim answered by muffling him in his blazer, and walking to the line. There were six competitors in all, each of whom owned a name ranking alphabetically higher than Thomson. Jim, therefore, had the outside berth. Drake had the one next to the inside, which fell to Adamson, the victim of the lost two pounds episode.

  Both Drake and Jim got off well at the sound of the pistol, and the pace was warm from the start. Jim evidently had his eye on the inside berth, and, after half a lap had been completed, he got it, Drake falling back. Jim continued to make the running, and led at the end of the first lap by about five yards. Then came Adamson, followed by a batch of three, and finally Drake, taking things exceedingly coolly, a couple of yards behind them. The distance separating him from Jim was little over a dozen yards. A roar of applause greeted the runners as they started on the second lap, and it was significant that while Jim’s supporters shouted, ‘Well run’, those of Drake were fain to substitute advice for approval, and cry ‘Go it’. Drake, however, had not the least intention of ‘going it’ in the generally accepted meaning of the phrase. A yard or two to the rear meant nothing in the first lap, and he was running quite well enough to satisfy himself, with a nice, springy stride, which he hoped would begin to tell soon.

  With the end of the second lap the real business of the race began, for the survival of the fittest had resulted in eliminations and changes of order. Jim still led, but now by only eight or nine yards. Drake had come up to second, and Adamson had dropped to a bad third. Two of the runners had given the race up, and retired, and the last man was a long way behind, and, to all practical purposes, out of the running. There were only three laps, and, as the last lap began, the pace quickened, fast as it had been before. Jim was exerting every particle of his strength. He was not a runner who depended overmuch on his final dash. He hoped to gain so much ground before Drake made his sprint as to neutralize it when it came. Adamson he did not fear.

  And now they were in the last two hundred yards, Jim by this time some thirty yards ahead, but in great straits. Drake had quickened his pace, and gained slowly on him. As they rounded the corner and came into the straight, the cheers were redoubled. It was a great race. Then, fifty yards from the tape, Drake began his final sprint. If he had saved himself before, he made up for it now. The gap dwindled and dwindled. Neither could improve his pace. It was a question whether there was enough of the race left for Drake to catch his man, or whether he had once more left his sprint till too late. Jim could hear the roars of the spectators, and the frenzied appeals of Merevale’s House to him to sprint, but he was already doing his utmost. Everything seemed black to him, a black, surging mist, and in its centre a thin white line, the tape. Could he reach it before Drake? Or would he collapse before he reached it? There were only five more yards to go now, and still he led. Four. Three. Two. Then something white swept past him on the right, the white line quivered, snapped, and vanished, and he pitched blindly forward on to the turf at the track-side. Drake had won by a foot.

  [12]

  AN INTERESTING INTERVIEW

  For the rest of the afternoon Jim had a wretched time. To be beaten after such a race by a foot, and to be beaten by a foot when victory would have cut the Gordian knot of his difficulties once and for all, was enough to embitter anybody’s existence. He found it hard to accept the well-meant condolences of casual acquaintances, and still harder to do the right thing and congratulate Drake on his victory, a refinement of self-torture which is by custom expected of the vanquished in every branch of work or sport. But he managed it somehow, and he also managed to appear reasonably gratified when he went up to take his prize for the half-mile. Tony and the others, who knew what his defeat meant to him, kept out of his way, for which he was grateful. After lock-up, however, it was a different matter, but by that time he was more ready for society. Even now there might be some way out of the difficulty. He asked Tony’s advice on the subject. Tony was perplexed. The situation was beyond his grip.

  ‘I don’t see what you can do, Jim,’ he said, ‘unless the Rugby chap’ll be satisfied with a pound on account. It’s a beastly business. Do you think your pater will give you your money all the same as it was such a close finish?’

  Jim thought not. In fact, he was certain that he would not, and Tony relapsed into silence as he tried to bring another idea to the surface. He had not succeeded when Charteris came in.

  ‘Jim,’ he said ‘you have my sympathy. It was an awfully near thing. But I’ve got something more solid than sympathy. I will take a seat.’

  ‘Don’t rag, Charteris,’ said Tony. ‘It’s much too serious.’

  ‘Who’s ragging, you rotter? I say I have something more solid than sympathy, and instead of giving me an opening, as a decent individual would, by saying, “What?” you accuse me of ragging. James, my son, if you will postpone your suicide for two minutes, I will a tale unfold. I have an idea.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘That’s more like it. Now you are talking. We will start at the beginning. First, you want a pound. So do I. Secondly, you want it before next Tuesday. Thirdly, you haven’t it on you. How, therefore, are you to get it? As the song hath it, you don’t know, they don’t know, but—now we come to the point—I do know.’

  ‘Yes?’ said Jim and Tony together.

  ‘It is a luminous idea. Why shouldn’t we publish a special number of The Glow Worm before the end of term?’

  Jim was silent at the brilliance of the scheme. Then doubts began to harass him.

  ‘Is there time?’

  ‘Time? Yards of it. This is Saturday. We start tonight, and keep at it all night, if necessary. We ought to manage it easily before tomorrow morning. On Sunday we jellygraph it—it’ll have to be a jellygraphed number this time. On Monday and Tuesday we sell it, and there you are.’

  ‘How are you going to sell it? In the ordinary way at the shop?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve arranged all that. All we’ve got to do is to write the thing. As the penalty for your sins you shall take on most of it. I’ll do the editorial, Welch is pegging away at the Sports account now, and I waylaid Jackson just before lock-up, and induced him by awful threats to knock off some verses. So we’re practically published already.’

  ‘It’s grand,’ said Jim. ‘And it’s awfully decent of you chaps to fag yourselves like this for me. I’ll start on something now.’

  ‘But can you raise a sovereign on one number?’ asked Tony.

  ‘Either that, or I’ve arranged with the shop to give us a quid down, and take all profits on this and the next number. They’re as keen as anything on the taking-all-profits idea, but I’ve kept that back to be used only in case of necessity. But the point is that Jim gets his sovereign in any case. I must be off to my editorial. So long,’ and he went.

  ‘Grand man, Charteris,’ said Tony, as he leant back in his chair in search of a subject. ‘You’d better weigh in with an account of the burglary. It’s a pity you can’t give the realistic description you gave us. It would sell like anything.’

  ‘Wouldn’t do to risk it.’

  At that moment the door swung violently open, with Merevale holding on to the handle, and following it in its course. Merevale very rarely knocked at a study door, a peculiarity of his which went far towards shattering the nervous systems o
f the various inmates, who never knew when it was safe to stop work and read fiction. ‘Ah, Thomson,’ he said, ‘I was looking for you. The Headmaster wants to see you over at his House, if you are feeling well enough after your exertions. Very close thing, that mile. I don’t know when I have seen a better-run race on the College grounds. I suppose you are feeling pretty tired, eh?’

  ‘I am rather, sir, but I had better see the Head. Will he be in his study, sir?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  Jim took his cap and went off, while Merevale settled down to spend the evening in Tony’s study, as he often did when the term’s work was over, and it was no longer necessary to keep up the pretence of preparation.

  Parker, the Head’s butler, conducted Jim into the presence.

  ‘Sit down, Thomson,’ said the Head.

  Jim took a seat, and he had just time to notice that his namesake, Mr Thompson, was also present, and that, in spite of the fact that his tie had crept up to the top of his collar, he was looking quite unnecessarily satisfied with himself, when he became aware that the Head was speaking to him.

  ‘I hope you are not feeling any bad effects from your race, Thomson?’

  Jim was half inclined to say that his effects were nil, but he felt that the quip was too subtle, and would be lost on his present audience, so he merely said that he was not. There was a rather awkward silence for a minute. Then the Head coughed, and said:

  ‘Thomson.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I think it would be fairest to you to come to the point at once, and to tell you the reason why I wished to see you.’

  Jim ran over the sins which shot up in his mind like rockets as he heard these ominous words, and he knew that this must be the matter of the Pavilion. He was, therefore, in a measure prepared for the Head’s next words.

  ‘Thomson.’

  ‘Yessir.’

  ‘A very serious charge has been brought against you. You are accused of nothing less than this unfortunate burglary of the prizes for the Sports.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Is my accuser Mr Thompson?’

  The Headmaster hesitated for a moment, and Mr Thompson spoke. ‘That is so,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ said the Head, ‘the accusation is brought by Mr Thompson.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Jim again, and this time the observation was intended to convey the meaning, ‘My dear, good sir, when you’ve known him as long as I have, you won’t mind what Mr Thompson says or does. It’s a kind of way he’s got, and if he’s not under treatment for it, he ought to be.’

  ‘I should like to hear from your own lips that the charge is groundless.’

  ‘Anything to oblige,’ thought Jim. Then aloud, ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You say it is groundless?’ This from Mr Thompson.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I must warn you, Thomson, that the evidence against you is very strong indeed,’ said the Head. ‘Without suggesting that you are guilty of this thing, I think I ought to tell you that if you have any confession to make, it will be greatly, very greatly, to your own advantage to make it at once.’

  ‘And give myself away, free, gratis and for nothing,’ thought Jim. ‘Not for me, thank you.’

  ‘Might I hear Mr Thompson’s evidence, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Certainly, Thomson.’ He effected a movement in Mr Thompson’s direction, midway between a bow and a nod.

  Mr Thompson coughed. Jim coughed, too, in the same key. This put Mr Thompson out, and he had to cough again.

  ‘In the first place,’ he began, ‘it has been conclusively proved that the burglary was the work of an unskilful hand.’

  ‘That certainly seems to point to me as the author,’ said Jim flippantly.

  ‘Silence, Thomson,’ said the Head, and counsel for the prosecution resumed.

  ‘In the second place, it has been proved that you were at the time of the burglary in great need of money.’

  This woke Jim up. It destroyed that feeling of coolness with which he had started the interview. Awful thoughts flashed across his mind. Had he been seen at the time of his burglarious entry? At any rate, how did Mr Thompson come to know of his pecuniary troubles?

  ‘Did you say it had been proved, sir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How, sir?’

  He felt the question was a mistake as he was uttering it. Your really injured innocent would have called all the elements to witness that he was a millionaire. But it was too late to try that now. And, besides, he really did want to know how Mr Thompson had got to hear of this skeleton in his cupboard.

  The Headmaster interrupted hurriedly. ‘It is a very unfortunate affair altogether, and this is quite the most unfortunate part. A letter came to the College addressed to J. Thomson, and Mr Thompson opened and read it inadvertently. Quite inadvertently.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Jim, in a tone which implied, ‘I am no George Washington myself, but when you say he read it inadvertently, well—’

  ‘This letter was signed “Allen”—’

  ‘My brother, sir.’

  ‘Exactly. And it asked for two pounds. Evidently in payment of a debt, and the tone of the letter certainly seemed to show that you were not then in possession of the money.’

  ‘Could I have the letter, sir?’ Then with respectful venom to Mr Thompson: ‘If you have finished with it.’ The letter was handed over, and pocketed, and Jim braced his moral pecker up for the next round of the contest.

  ‘I take it, then, Thomson,’ resumed the Head, ‘that you owe your brother this money?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Two pounds is a great deal of money for one boy to lend another.’

  ‘It was not lent, sir. It was a bet.’

  ‘A bet!’ in a nasty tone from the Head.

  ‘A bet!’ in a sepulchral echo from Mr Thompson.

  There was a long pause.

  ‘At any other time,’ said the Head, ‘I should feel it my duty to take serious notice of this, but beside this other matter with which you are charged, it becomes trivial. I can only repeat that the circumstances are exceedingly suspicious, and I think it would be in your interests to tell us all you know without further delay.’

  ‘You take it for granted I am guilty, sir,’ began Jim hotly.

  ‘I say that the circumstances seems to point to it. In the first place, you were in need of money. You admit that?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘In the second place,’ said the Head slowly, ‘in the second place, I am told that you were nowhere to be found in the House at half-past eight on the night of the burglary, when you ought certainly to have been in your study at your work.’

  Bombshell number two, and a worse one than the first. For the moment Jim’s head swam. If he had been asked just then in so many words where he had been at that time, it is likely that he would have admitted everything. By some miracle the Head did not press his point.

  ‘You may go now, Thomson,’ he said. ‘I should like to see you after morning school on Monday. Good-night.’

  ‘Good-night, sir,’ said Jim, and went without another word. Coming so soon after the exertion and strain of the mile, this shock made him feel sick and dizzy.

  When he had gone, the Head turned to Mr Thompson with a worried look on his face. ‘I feel as certain as I do of anything,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘that that boy is telling the truth. If he had been guilty, he would not have behaved like that. I feel sure of it.’

  Mr Thompson looked equally thoughtful. ‘The circumstances are certainly very suspicious,’ he said, echoing the Head’s own words. ‘I wish I could think he was innocent, but I am bound to say I do not. I regard the evidence as conclusive.’

  ‘Circumstantial evidence is proverbially uncertain, Mr Thompson. That is principally the reason why I was so bent on making him confess if he had anything to confess. I can’t expel a boy and ruin his whole career on mere suspicion. The matter must be proved, doubly proved, and even then I should feel uneasy unt
il he owned himself guilty. It is a most unpleasant affair, a terrible affair.’

  ‘Most,’ agreed Mr Thompson.

  And exactly the same thing was occurring at that moment to Jim, as he sat on his bed in his dormitory, and pondered hopelessly on this new complication that had presented itself so unexpectedly. He was getting very near to the end of his tether, was J. Thomson of Merevale’s. It seemed to him, indeed, that he had reached it already. Possibly if he had had a clearer conscience and a larger experience, he might have recognized that the evidence which Mr Thompson had described as conclusive, was in reality not strong enough to hang a cat on. Unfortunately, he did not enjoy those advantages.

  [13]

  SIR ALFRED SCORES

  Soon after Jim had taken his departure, Mr Thompson, after waiting a few minutes in case the Headmaster had anything more to say, drifted silently out of the room. The Head, like the gentleman in the ballad, continued to wear a worried look. The more he examined the matter, the less did he know what to make of it. He believed, as he had said to Mr Thompson, that Jim was entirely innocent. It was an incredible thing, he thought, that a public school boy, a School-prefect, too, into the bargain, should break out of his House and into a cricket pavilion, however great a crisis his finances might be undergoing. And then to steal two of the prizes for the Sports. Impossible. Against this, however, must be placed the theft of the two pounds. It might occur to a boy, as indeed Mr Thompson had suggested, to steal the cups in order to give the impression that a practised burglar had been at work. There was certainly something to be said in favour of this view. But he would never believe such a thing. He was a good judge of character—a headmaster generally is—and he thought he could tell when a boy was speaking the truth and when he was not.

  His reflections were interrupted by a knock at the door. The butler entered with a card on a tray. ‘Sir Alfred Venner, M.P., Badgwick Hall,’ said—almost shouted—the card. He read the words without any apparent pleasure.

  ‘Is Sir Alfred here himself, Parker?’ he said.

  ‘He is, sir.’

  The Headmaster sighed inaudibly but very wearily. He was feeling worried already, and he knew from experience that a tete-a-tete with Sir Alfred Venner, M.P., of Badgwick Hall, would worry him still more.