The Master of the Shell Part 19

Now he recalled it, Arthur had all along been somewhat reserved about the business. He had made sport of other fellows' theories, but he had never disclosed his own. Yet it was evident he had his own ideas on the subject. Was it come to this, that after all these terms of confidence and alliance, a petty secret was to come between them and cloud the hitherto peaceful horizon of their fellowship?

Digby, perhaps, did not exactly put the idea into these poetical words, but the matter troubled him quite as much.

Now, it is my intention, at this place, generously to disclose to the reader what was hidden from Sir Digby Oakshott, Baronet, and from everyone else at Grandcourt--namely, that Arthur Herapath was fully persuaded in his own mind that he knew the name of the arch offender in the recent outrage, and was resolved through thick and thin to shield him from detection. He was perfectly aware that in so doing he made himself an accessory after the fact, but that was a risk he was prepared to run. Only it decided him to keep his knowledge to himself.

Arthur was not a particularly sharp boy. His qualities were chiefly of the bull-dog order. He did not take things in with the rapidity of some fellows, but when he did get his teeth into a fact he held on like grim death. So it was now. In the first excitement of the discovery he had been as much at sea and as wild in his conjectures as anybody. But after a little he stumbled upon a piece of evidence which gave him a serious turn, and had kept him serious ever since.

On the morning of the discovery, Arthur, being in the neighbourhood of the "boot-box," thought he would have a look round. There was no fear of his mistaking the place; he had been there before, and seen Mr Bickers come out of the sack. Everything was pretty much as it had been left. The sack lay in the corner where it had been thrown, and the cord, all except the piece which the baronet had secured, was there too.

On the dusty floor could clearly be perceived the place where Mr Bickers had rolled about in his uncomfortable shackles during the night, and on the ledge of the dim window which let light into the boot-box from the lobby still stood the tumbler which Arthur himself had officiously fetched an hour or two ago.

One or two things occurred to Arthur which had not previously struck him. One was that the door of the boot-box was a very narrow one, and, closing-to by a spring, it would either have had to be held open or propped open while Mr Bickers was being hauled in by his captors. He found that to hold it open wide he would have to get behind it and shut himself up between it and the stairs. Most likely, all hands being required for securing the victim, the captors would have taken the precaution to prop the door open by some means, so as to be ready for their deep-laid and carefully prepared scheme.

So Arthur groped about and discovered a twisted-up wedge of paper, which, by its battered look and peculiar shape, had evidently been stuck at some time under the door to keep it from closing-to. He quietly pocketed this prize, on the chance of its being useful, and after possessing himself of the sack and cord, and two wax vestas lying on the floor, one of which had been lit and the other had not, he prepared to quit the scene. As he was going up-stairs he caught sight of one other object--not, however, on the floor, but on the ledge of the cornice above the door. This was a match-box of the kind usually sold by street arabs for a halfpenny. Arthur tried to reach it, but could not get at it even by jumping.

"The fellow who put that there must have been over six feet," said he to himself.

With some trouble he got a stick and tipped the box off the ledge, and as he did so it occurred to him that, whereas the dust lay a quarter of an inch thick on the ledge, and whereas the match-box had no similar coating of dust, but was almost clean, it must have been put up there recently. He opened the box and looked inside. It contained wax vestas, with curiously coloured purple heads, which on examination corresponded exactly with the matches he had picked up on the floor of the boot-box.

"Oh," said Arthur to himself, very red in the face, "here's a go!" and he bolted up to his room.

Dig, as it happened, was out, not altogether to his chum's regret, who set himself, with somewhat curious agitation, to examine his booty.

First of all he examined once more the match-box, and satisfied himself that there was no doubt about the ident.i.ty of its contents with the stray vestas he had picked up. The result was decisive. The box had been placed above the door very recently by someone who, unless he stood on a form or climbed on somebody else's back, must have been more than six feet high. No one puts matches above doors by accident. Whoever put it there must have meant it--and more than that, must have opened it and dropped one out inside the boot-box.

"Now," considered the astute Arthur, "it was pitch dark when Bickers was collared; lights were out, and the fellows thought they'd have a glim handy in case of need. They struck one and spilt one, and shoved the box up there, in case they should want it again. I say! what a clever chap I am! The tall chap this box belongs to did the job, eh?"

An expert might possibly find a flaw in this clue, but Arthur was a little proud of himself.

Next he spread out the sack and inspected the cord. There was not much to help him here, one would suppose, and yet Arthur, being once on a good tack, thought it worth his while to look closely at these two relics.

The sack was not the ordinary type of potato-sack which most people a.s.sociate with the term, but more like a large canvas pillow-case, such as some article of furniture might be packed in, or which might be used to envelop a small bath and its contents on a railway journey. Arthur perceived that it had been turned inside out, and took the trouble to reverse it. It was riddled with holes, some of them to admit the running cords which had closed round the neck and elbows of the unfortunate Mr Bickers, and some, notably that in the region of the nose, made hastily, with the motive of giving the captive a little ventilation.

Arthur could not help thinking, as he turned the sack outside in, that it would have been nicer for Mr Bickers to have the comparatively clean side of the canvas next to his face instead of the very grimy and travel-stained surface which had fallen to his lot.

But these speculations gave place to other emotions as he discovered two black initials painted on the canvas, and still legible under their covering of dirt and grease. There was no mistaking them, and Arthur gave vent to a whistle of consternation as he deciphered an "M.R."

Now, as Arthur and everybody else knows, "M.R." _may_ mean Midland Railway, but the Midland Railway is not six feet two inches, and does not carry wax vestas about him, or drop them on the floor of the boot- box.

Arthur gaped at those initials for fully three minutes, and then hurriedly hid the sack away in the cupboard.

He had still one more point to clear up. He pulled the wedge of paper out of his pocket and began nervously to unroll it. It was frayed and black where the door had ground it against the floor; but, on beginning to open it, it turned out to be a portion of a torn newspaper. It was a _Standard_ of February 4--two days ago--and Arthur whistled again and turned pale as he saw a stamp and a postmark on the front page, and read a fragment of the address--"...ford, Esquire, Grandcourt."

"That settles it clean!" he muttered to himself. "I say! who'd have thought it!"

Then he sat down and went over the incidents of the last twenty-four hours.

Last night--it is sad to have to record it--Arthur had been out in the big square at half-past nine, when he should have been in bed. He had been over to find a ball which he had lost during the morning while playing catch with Dig out of the window. On his way back--he remembered it now--he had had rather a perilous time. First of all he had nearly run into the arms of Brans...o...b.., the captain of Bickers's house, who was inconveniently prowling about at the time, probably in search of some truant of his own house. Then in doubling to avoid this danger he had dimly sighted Mr Bickers himself, taking a starlight walk on Railsford's side of the square. Finally, in his last bolt home, he had encountered Railsford stalking moodily under the shadow of his own house, and too preoccupied to notice, still less to challenge, the truant.

All this Arthur remembered now, and, carrying his mind a day or two further back, he recalled Mr Bickers's uninvited visit to the house-- Arthur had painful cause to remember it--and Railsford's evident resentment of the intrusion, and the threatenings of slaughter which had been bandied about between the two houses ever since.

"Why," said Arthur to himself, "it's as clear as a pikestaff. I see it all now. Bickers said it was about a quarter to ten when he was collared. No fellows would be about then, and certainly no one would know that he would be pa.s.sing our door, except Marky. Marky must have been actually hanging about for him when I pa.s.sed! What a pity I didn't stop to see the fun! Yes, he'd got his sack ready, and had jammed the door open with this paper, and got his matches handy. Bickers would never see him till he came close up, and then Marky would have the sack on in two twos before he could halloa. My eye! I would never have believed it of Marky. Served Bickers right, of course, and it'll be a lesson to him; but it'll be hot for Marky if he's found out. Bickers says there may have been more than one fellow on the job, but I don't fancy it. If Mark had had anybody, he'd have got me to help him, because it would be all in the family, and I'd be bound to keep it dark.

Wouldn't he turn green if he knew I'd twigged him! Anyhow, I'll keep it as close as putty now, and help him worry through. Very knowing of him to go with a candle and let him out this morning, and look so struck all of a heap. He took me in regularly."

Arthur said this to himself in a tone which implied that if Mark had been able to take _him_ in, it was little to be wondered at that all the rest of the house had been hoodwinked.

"Hard luck," thought he condescendingly. "I daren't tell Dig. He's such a gossip, it would be all over the place in a day. Wonder if I'd best let Marky know I've spotted him? Think not. He wouldn't like it, and as long as he's civil I'll back him up for Daisy's sake."

Then, having stumbled on to the thought of home, it occurred to him that since the opening day, when he had sent a postcard to announce his arrival, he had not yet troubled his relatives with a letter this term.

It was a chance, while he was in the humour, to polish them off now; so he took up his pen, and thus discoursed to his indulgent sister:--

"Dear Da,--Mark's all right so far. He doesn't hit it with a lot of the chaps, and now and then we hate him, but he lets Dig and me alone, and doesn't interfere with Smiley. I hope you and he keep it up, because it would make me look rather foolish if it was all off, especially as Dimsdale and one or two of the chaps happen to have heard about it, and have bets on that it won't last over the summer holidays.

"I'm getting on very well, and working hard at French. _Je suis allant a commencer translater une chose par Moliere le prochain term si je suis bon_. There's a howling row on in the house just now. Bickers got n.o.bbled and sacked the other night, and shoved in the boot-box, and n.o.body knows who did it. I've a notion, but I'm bound to keep it dark for the sake of a mutual friend. It would be as rough as you like for him if it came out. But I believe in _a.s.sistant un boiteux chien au travers de la stile_; so I'm keeping it all dark. Ponsford has been down on us like a sack of coals. They've shoved forward our dinner-hour to one o'clock, so we're regularly dished over the sports, especially as Sat.u.r.day afternoon has been changed into morning. The house will go to the dogs now, _mais que est les odds si longtemps que vous etes heureuses_? Dig sends his love. He and I remember the loved ones at home, and try to be good. By the way, do you think pater could go another five bob? I'm awfully hard up, my dear Daisy, and should greatly like not to get into evil ways and borrow from Dig. Can you spare me a photograph to stick up on the mantelpiece to remind me of you always? You needn't send a cabinet one, because they cost too much.

I'd sooner have a _carte-de-visite_ and the rest in stamps, if you don't mind. I'm doing my best to give Marky a leg-up. I could get him into a row and a half if I liked, but for your sake I'm keeping it all dark. I hope you'll come down soon. It will be an awful game if you do, and I'll promise to keep the fellows from grinning. _Maintenant, il faut que je close haut. Donnez mon amour a mere et pere, et esperant que vous etes tout droit, souvenez me votre aimant frere_, Arthur Herapath.

_Dig envoie son amour a tous_."

Daisy might have been still more affected by this brotherly effusion than she was, had not she received a letter by the same post from Mark himself, telling her of his later troubles, and containing a somewhat more explicit narrative of recent events than had been afforded in the letter of his prospective brother-in-law.

"I am, I confess, almost at a loss," said he. "I do not like to believe that anyone in the house can have the meanness to involve us all in this misfortune by his own guilty silence. ... Much depends now on the spirit which my prefects show. I believe, myself, that if they take a proper view of the situation, we may weather the storm. But the new order of things. .h.i.ts them harder than anyone else, for it excludes them from football, cricket, and the sports; and I fear it is too much to expect that they will even try to make the best of it! I begin to feel that a master, after all, if he is to do any good, must be a sort of head boy himself, and I would be thankful if my seniors let me into their confidence, and we were not always dealing with one another at arm's length. All this, I fear, is uninteresting to you; but it means a good deal to me. The flighty Arthur does not appear to be much cast down by our troubles. I wish I could help him to a little of the ballast he so greatly needs. But, although I am the master of this house, I seem scarcely ever to see him. I hear him, though. I hear him this minute. He and his chum occupy the room over me, and when they execute a war dance--which occurs on an average six times a day--it makes me tremble for my ceiling. I have a notion Arthur spends his weekly allowance rather recklessly, and am thinking of suggesting to your father that a reduction might be judicious," etcetera, etcetera.

Had Railsford guessed, as he wrote these rather despondent lines, that his youthful kinsman in the room above was hugging himself for his own astuteness in tracking out his (Railsford's) villainy, he might perhaps have regarded the situation of affairs as still less cheerful. As it was, after the first discovery, the hope had begun to dawn upon the Master of the Sh.e.l.l, as it had already dawned on Barnworth, that some good might even result from the present misfortunes of the house. And as the days pa.s.sed, he became still more confirmed in the hope, and, with his usual sanguine temper, thought he could see already Railsford's house starting on a new career and turning its troubles to credit.

Alas! Mark Railsford had rough waters still to pa.s.s through. And the house, before it was to start on its new career, had several little affairs to wind up and dispose of.

Among others, the Central Criminal Court a.s.sizes were coming on, and the boys were summoned, "at their peril," not to fail in appearing on the occasion.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

A "CAUSE CELEBRE."

Wake, of the Fifth, was one of those restless, vivacious spirits who, with no spare time on their hands, contrive to accomplish as much as any ordinary half-dozen people put together. He formed part of the much- despised band of fellows in his form contemptuously termed "muggers."

In other words, he read hard, and took no part in the desultory amus.e.m.e.nts which consumed the odd moments of so many in the house. And yet he was an excellent cricketer and runner, as the school was bound to acknowledge whenever it called out its champions to do battle for it in the playing-fields.

More than that, if anyone wanted anything doing in the way of literary sport--in the concoction of a squib or the sketching of a caricature-- Wake was always ready to take the work upon himself, and let who liked take the credit. He had a mania for verses and epigrams; he was reputed a bit of a conjuror, and no one ever brought a new puzzle to Grandcourt which Wake, of Railsford's, could not, sooner or later, find out.

Among other occupations, Wake had for some time past acted as secretary for the House Discussion Society--an old inst.i.tution which for years had droned along to the well-known tunes--"That Wellington was a greater man than Napoleon," "That Shakespeare was a greater poet than Homer," "That women's rights are not desirable," "That the execution of Charles the First was unjustifiable," etcetera, etcetera. But when, six months ago, Trill, of the Sixth, the old secretary, left Grandcourt, and Wake, at the solicitation of the prefects (who lacked the energy to undertake the work themselves), consented to act as secretary, the society entered upon a new career. The new secretary alarmed his patrons by his versatility and energy. The old humdrum questions vanished almost completely from the programme, and were replaced by such interesting conundrums as "Is life worth living?" "Ought the _Daily News_ to be taken in at the school library?" "What is a lie?" and so on. Beyond that, he boldly appropriated evenings for other purposes than the traditional debate. On one occasion he organised a highly successful reading of _Coriola.n.u.s_, in which the juniors, to their vast delight, were admitted to shout as citizens. Another evening was given to impromptu speeches, every member who volunteered being called upon to draw a subject out of a hat and make a speech upon it there and then.

And more than once the order of the day was readings and recitations, in which the younger members were specially encouraged to take part, and stood up gallantly to be shot at by their critical seniors.

Whatever might be said of this novel departure from old tradition, no one could deny that the Discussion Society had looked up wonderfully during the last six months. The forum was generally crowded, and everyone, from prefect to Baby, took more or less interest in the proceedings. No one, after the first few meetings, questioned Wake's liberty to arrange what programme he liked, and the house was generally kept in a pleasant flutter of curiosity as to what the volatile secretary would be up to next.

The "Central Criminal Court" was his latest invention, and it need scarcely be said the idea, at the present juncture, was so startling that a quarter of an hour before the hour of meeting the forum was packed to its fullest extent, and it was even rumoured that Mr Railsford had promised to look in during the evening. It was evident directly to the juniors that the proceedings had been carefully thought out and settled by the secretary, in consultation with some of the wise heads of the house. The room was arranged in close imitation of a court of justice. The bench was a chair raised on two forms at one end; the witness-box and the dock were raised s.p.a.ces railed off by cord from the rest of the court. Rows of desks represented the seats of the counsel, and two long forms, slightly elevated above the level of the floor, were reserved for the accommodation of the jury. The general public and witnesses-in-waiting were relegated to the rear of the court.

The question was, as everyone entered, Who is who? Who is to be the judge, and who is to be the prisoner, and who are to be the counsel?

This natural inquiry was answered after the usual style of the enterprising secretary. Every one on entering was asked to draw out of a hat a folded slip of paper, which a.s.signed to him the part he was to play, the only parts reserved from the lot being that of judge, which of course was to be filled by Ainger, and that of senior counsels for the prosecution and defence, which were undertaken respectively by Barnworth and Felgate. It was suspected later on that a few of the other parts were also prearranged, but no one could be quite sure of this.

"What are you?" said Dig, pulling a long face over his piece of paper.