As for me, I was very poor company for any one that afternoon of
Hector's funeral. Something was burning a hole in my pocket, and I felt
myself in a most uncomfortable fix.
"It's all up with old Dux," said I to myself, "if it's found out. But
suppose it's found on me? Still more precious awkward. I'd either have
to lump it or let out. Don't see much fun in either myself. Seems to
me the sooner I get rid of the beastly thing the better. Fancy his
letting it lie about in his locker! He'd give me a hiding for
interfering, I know, if he only knew. But I wouldn't for anything he
got lagged. Old Dux is one of those chaps that has to be backed up
against himself. Sha'n't be my fault if he isn't."
The reader will have judged by this time that I belonged to the species
prig in my youthful days. Let that pass; I was not a unique specimen.
Full of my noble resolve of saving the Dux from himself, I went out to
take the air, and strolled aimlessly in the direction of the pond. A
professional burglar could not have ordered his footsteps more
circumspectly. I perambulated the pool, whistling a cheerful tune, and
looking attentively at the rooks overhead. Not a soul was in sight. I
began to throw stones into the water, small to begin with, then larger,
then bits of stick about six inches long. Then I smuggled the unlucky
pistol out of my pocket in my handkerchief, and whistled still more
cheerfully. Although no one was looking, it seemed prudent to adopt an
air of general boredom, as if I was tired of throwing sticks into the
pond. I would only throw one more. Even that was a fag, but I would do
it.
What a plump, noisy splash it made, sending out circles far and near,
and gurgling in a sickening way as it sank in a very unsticklike fashion
to the bottom.
My whistling ceased, my air of dejection increased. I must be
unsociable no longer. Let me rejoin my dear schoolfellows, making a
little _detour_ in order to appear to reach them from the direction not
of the pond but of the orchard.
I was sheering off by the lower end of the pond, when, to my horror, I
perceived a boy groping on the grass on all fours, apparently digging up
the ground with a trowel.
On closer inspection I found that it was Dicky.
"Oh, it's you, is it?" said he, as I came upon him. "Have you done
chucking things into the pond?"
"Why," said I, taken aback; "why, Dicky, what on earth are you up to?"
"Never mind--an experiment, that's all. I'm glad it's only you. I was
afraid it was some one else. You must be jolly hard up for a bit of fun
to come and chuck things into the pond."
"Oh!" said I, with tell-tale embarrassment, "I just strolled down for
the walk. I didn't know you'd taken to gardening."
"There goes the bell," said Dicky. "Cut up. I'll be there as soon as
you."
I obeyed, mystified and uncomfortable. Suppose Dicky had seen the
pistol! I found the fellows hanging about the school door waiting to go
in.
"Been to the funeral, kid?" said the Dux, as I approached. I wished he
would speak more quietly on such dangerous topics when Plummer was
within earshot.
"No, I've been a stroll," said I. "It's rather hot walking."
"I guess it will be hotter before long," said some one. "Plummer looks
as if he means to have it out this afternoon."
"I hope he won't go asking any awkward questions," said Dicky, who had
by this time joined us.
"What's the odds, if you didn't do it?" demanded the Dux.
"Look out," said Faulkner; "here he comes. He's beckoning us in."
"Now we're in for it!" thought we all.
Plummer evidently meant business this time. The melancholy ceremony at
which he had just assisted had kindled the fires within him, and he sat
at his desk glowering as each boy dropped into his place, with the air
of a wolf selecting his victim.
As I encountered that awful eye, I found myself secretly wondering
whether by any chance I might have shot the dog in a fit of absence of
mind. Brown, I think, was troubled by a similar misgiving. Some of the
seniors evidently resented the way in which the head master glared at
them, and tried to glare back. Faulkner assumed an air of real
affliction, presumably for the departed. Tempest, on the other hand,
drummed his fingers indifferently on the desk, and looked more than
usually bored by the whole business.
"Now, boys," began Plummer, in the short sharp tones he used to affect
when he was wont to administer justice; "about Hector."
Ah! that fatal name again! It administered a nervous shock all round,
and the dead silence which ensued showed that every boy present was
alive to the critical nature of the situation.
"I have already told you what has occurred, and have asked if any one
here knows anything about the matter," said the doctor. "I repeat the
question. If any of you know anything, let there be no hesitation in
speaking up."
No reply. Boys looked straight in front of them and held their breaths.
"Very well," said the doctor, his voice becoming harder and sterner, "I
am to understand no boy here is able to throw any light on the mystery.
Is that so?"
If silence gives consent, no question was ever more emphatically
answered in the affirmative.
"I hoped it would be unnecessary to ask the question twice," said Dr
Plummer. "I decline to accept silence as an answer. Let the head boy
come forward."
Tempest left his place and advanced to the desk.
"Tempest, do you know anything of this matter?"
"No, sir," said Tempest.
I felt the skin on the top of my head grow tight, and my breath catch in
my throat. Never had I known the Dux to tell a lie to any one. What was
I to do when my turn came?
"Go to your seat. The next boy come forward."
Parkin obeyed, and answered the question with a clear negative.
"The next boy."
The next boy was Faulkner, who I suspected would fain have been able to
say he knew anything. But for once he was at fault, and had to reply
with an apologetic "No."
In due time it was Dicky's turn.
"Do you know anything of the matter, Brown?"
"No, sir," said Brown, almost noisily.
The doctor looked at him keenly, and then ordered him to his place.
"Jones, come forward."
I felt the blood fly out of my cheeks and my heart jump to my mouth as I
obeyed. As I passed up the room I glanced nervously at the Dux where he
sat listlessly regarding the scene. But he took no notice of me.
"Jones," said the doctor, "do you known anything of this matter?"
The words would not come; and I glanced around again for succour.
"Turn your face to me, sir," thundered the doctor, "and answer my
question."
What could I say? Where could I look? The question was repeated once
more.
"I only know I fancy I heard a shot in the night." I stammered at last.
A flutter of interest went round the room. Failing all other clues it
evidently seemed to be something to most of those present to elicit even
this.
"Why did you not say so when you were asked this morning?"
No answer.
"Do you hear me, sir?"
"Please, sir, I couldn't be sure I had not been dreaming."
"When did you hear this sound?"
"I don't know what time, sir; I had been asleep."
"Was it light or dark?"
"Dark."
"Is that all you heard?"
"I thought I heard a yell, too."
"Did you get up or wake any of the others?"
"No, sir."
"Did you do nothing at all?"
"I was frightened, sir, and hid under the clothes."
"Is that all?"
Wasn't it about enough? I thought.
"Yes, sir."
I staggered back to my seat like a wounded man after a fray. I knew I
had lost caste with the fellows; I had seriously compromised myself with
the head master. At least, I told myself, I had escaped the desperate
fate of saying anything against the Dux. For the sake of that, I could
afford to put up with the other two consequences.
The grand inquest came to an end. One candid youth admitted that all he
knew of the matter was that he was very glad Hector was dead, and for
this impious irrelevance he was ordered to write an appalling imposition
and forfeit several half-holidays. But that, for the time being, was
the worst thunderbolt that fell from the doctor's armoury.
The Dux was kindly waiting for me outside. If he was grateful to me he
concealed his feelings wonderfully; for he seized me by the coat collar
and invited me to step with him to a quiet retreat where he administered
the soundest thrashing I had had that term without interruption.
Explanation, I knew, would be of no avail. Tempest made a point of
always postponing an explanation till after the deed was done.
When at length I gathered myself together, and inquired as pleasantly as
I could to what special circumstances I was indebted for this painful
incident, he replied--
"For being an idiot and a sneak. Get away, or I'll kick you."
Brown, whom I presently encountered, put the matter rather more
precisely.
"Well," said he, "you told about as much as you could. How sorry you
must have been not to tell more!"
"Don't, Dicky;" said I; "I--I--"
"You're almost as big an ass as you look," said Dicky, "and that's
saying something. Come and see my experiment."
I was not in a scientific mood, but anything was welcome to change the
subject. So I took Dicky's arm and went.
Dicky was a queer boy. He was of an inventive turn of mind, and given
up to science. His experiments rarely succeeded, and when they did they
almost invariably landed him in disgrace. Still he persevered and hoped
some day to make a hit.
He explained to me, as we walked down the garden, that he had lately
been taking an interest in the pond.
It was all I could do to appear only moderately interested in this
announcement. Had not I an interest in the pond too? What followed was
even more uncomfortable.
"You know Lesseps and all those chaps?" said he.
"He left before I came, I think," said I.
Dicky laughed unfeelingly.
"I mean the chap who cut the Suez Canal," said he.
"Oh! I beg your pardon," said I. "No, I don't know him."
"Well, I've been having a go in at the same kind of job," continued
Dicky. "You know what a drop there is at the end of the pond, where you
saw me yesterday, in the shrubbery? Well, it struck me it wouldn't take
much engineering to empty it."
"What!" I exclaimed, "empty the pond! You'll get in an awful row,
Dicky. Don't think of it."
"Think--it's done, I tell you," said the man of science. "That was what
I was at when you saw me."
"I thought you were digging up primroses."
"Digging up grandmothers! I was letting in a pipe to drain it. It was
a rare job to shove it in from the bottom corner of the pond through the
bank into the shrubbery. But I managed it. It was coming through like
one o'clock when I left. I expect the pond will be empty by this time."
I quailed with horror. If so, I should be discovered. I was tempted to
turn tail: but that would be even worse. The only thing was to stay and
see it through.
I confronted myself with the reflection that Dicky's experiments so
rarely succeeded, that in all probability the pistol still lay safe
under four feet of water. If not--
"Hooray!" exclaimed Dicky, as we came in sight of the place; "it's done
the trick this time. See, Tom!"
I did see. In place of the water I left there in the morning was a
large empty basin of mud, with a few large puddles of water lying at the
bottom, and a few hillocks of mud denoting the places which had once
been shallows.
My quick eye hurriedly took in the dismal landscape. For a moment my
spirits rose, for I could nowhere discern the compromising object I
dreaded to see. It was no doubt buried in the mud, and as safe as if
the pond were full to the brim.
"Isn't it ripping?" said Dicky. "It wasn't easy to do, but it only
wanted a little management. I mean to go in for engineer-- Hullo,
what's that rummy stone out there? or is it a stone, or a fish, or-- I
say, Tom," he added, clutching my arm, "I'm bothered if that's not a
pistol!"
My white face and chattering teeth made reply unnecessary. There,
snugly perched on a little heap of stones, as if set up for inspection,
lay the unlucky pistol, gleaming in the afternoon sun.
Dicky looked first at the pistol, then at me; and began slowly to take
in the state of affairs.
He took a cautious step out in the mud in the direction of the weapon,
but came back.
"I thought you could hardly be chucking in all those things for fun,"
said he presently.