A Loss.
The next morning was distinguished by an event that brought pleasure to
all. Talbot was amongst them again. He was looking fresh and well; did
not limp in the least; and seemed to have grown an inch and a half. Mr.
Baker directed him to take his place at the first desk, and this was a
surprise to its occupants: but they welcomed him gladly.
"Did you know you were going to be moved here, Shrewsbury?" asked they.
"Not for certain. I thought it likely."
"You are going in for the Orville?"
"Of course I am. I should have done that had they kept me at the second
desk. I say, has it never come out who shot me?"
The boys shook their heads. It was a sore subject with them yet.
"I heard that Sir Simon offered a gold watch as a reward."
"So he did. But nothing turned up. Never mind, earl."
"_I_ don't mind; why should I?" returned the earl. "No harm has come of
it. I say, though, you can't think how kind the doctor and Miss
Brabazon have been. If I were old enough I'd marry her."
This caused a laugh. The earl had the queerest way of bringing out
things, keeping his own countenance as steady as could be all the
while.
Dr. Orville, the founder of the college, had bestowed on it an
exhibition at his death. It fell in at the end of every third year; and
for three years gave seventy pounds a year to the boy who got it. It
was open for competition to all unconditionally, no matter whether they
were seniors or not; though of course none but seniors were
sufficiently advanced to try for it; and the name of each competitor
must lie on the books, _as_ competitor, for one year previous to the
trial. The boys called it familiarly the Orville Prize; in short, the
Orville. The names had been just put down, several, for the
probationary twelvemonth was on the eve of being entered; and, to the
unspeakable indignation of the school, George Paradyne's was one. A new
boy (leaving other things that some two or three of them knew of out of
the question) who had but just come in, to thrust down his name
indecently amidst the old pupils! This was said from mouth to mouth;
and Trace had a sore battle with himself not to disclose the disgrace
of the past.
The Head Master came into the hall and called up Talbot. The boy had
been at home for a week or two, and only returned that morning.
"Are you feeling strong, my lad?"
"Quite so, thank you, sir. I have been to the sea-side."
"Have you!" returned the Master, some surprise in his tone, for he knew
how limited funds were at Talbot's home.
"Sir Simon Orville came to see my mother the day after I got home; he
insisted that she should take me to the sea-side," said Talbot with a
smile, as if he had divined those thoughts. The doctor understood the
rest in a moment.
"I'm proud of Sir Simon; I'm proud to call him a friend," cried he,
warmly. "I am glad you've been."
"If you please, sir, I wish my name to be entered for the Orville
Exhibition," Talbot stayed to say.
"Do you? Very well. How old are you?"
"Close upon seventeen."
"All right. I don't care how many of you enter. Only one can gain it;
but it will get the rest on in their studies. I'll just make a note of
your name in pencil now."
He looked for his lead-pencil, and could not see it. Then, remembering
that he had missed it the previous day, he put his hand in his pocket
for the gold one. But it was not there.
"Why, what have I done with it?" cried the doctor, searching about.
"Perhaps I took it into my study and left it there. Very careless of
me! Go and see, Talbot: it will be on the table in the large inkstand."
Talbot went and came back without it. "It's not there, sir. This is the
only one I could see," handing an old silver one.
"Not there!" Dr. Brabazon sent his thoughts backwards, trying to
recollect when he last used it. The fact of the pencil's falling in the
schoolroom the previous afternoon occurred to him, and he remembered
that he was making pencil marks on a book with it when his man-servant
came to call him out. What did he do with the pencil? Did he leave it
on his table; or put it in his pocket; or carry it away in his hand? He
could not tell. Here, it certainly was not at present; and the Head
Master rose and went to his study himself. When called out of school
the previous afternoon he had sat there for some time with the visitor,
a gentleman named Townshend, who had come on business. Subsequently, he
and Miss Brabazon had gone out to dinner: and, in short, his memory
showed no trace of the pencil since he was using it in the hall. He
could not find it in the study, and went to the sitting-room,
interrupting his young daughter; who had quitted her French exercise to
drop airy curtseys before the glass.
"Rose, have you seen my gold pencil?"
"Oh, papa," said Rose, demurely, making believe to be stooping down to
tie her shoe. "Pencil-case! No, I've not seen it. Why, papa, you are
always losing your things."
A just charge, Miss Rose. The doctor, an absent man, often did mislay
articles.
"But they are always found again, papa, you know. As this will be."
However nothing seemed so certain about it this time. The search for
the pencil went on; and went on in vain. Quite a commotion arose in the
house, especially in the hall, where the search was greatest.
"It could not go without hands," said the doctor, after turning
everything out of his desk-table. "If I had let it fall in getting up
when I was called out yesterday, some of you would have heard it."
One of the boys, and only one, affirmed that he saw the doctor with it
in his hand as he left the hall. This was Trace: and there were few
things Trace did not see with those drawn-together eyes of his. Dr.
Brabazon believed Trace was mistaken. If he had carried the pencil away
in his hand, he thought he should not fail to remember it; besides,
others of them would surely have noticed it. Trace persisted: he said
he saw the diamond gleam.
Well, the pencil was gone. Gone! Dr. Brabazon looked out on the sea of
faces, curious ideas hovering around his mind. He did not admit them;
he would not have accused any of the boys for the world; no, nor
suspected them. But it was very strange.
The boys thought it so. First Talbot was shot, and now a diamond pencil
(as they phrased it) was stolen. Had they got a black sheep amongst
them? If so, who was it?
But in a day or two Trace's assertion proved to be correct. Dr.
Brabazon saw Mr. Townshend, the friend who had called upon him, and
this gentleman said he had observed a gold pencil in the doctor's hand
when he came into the study that day; and he, the doctor, had put it
into the large inkstand on the table, as he shook hands with him. This
news, if anything, complicated the affair; but it appeared entirely to
exonerate the boys, had exoneration been required. It also drew it into
a smaller nutshell: and the hypothesis to arise now was, that some one
had come in by the glass window and taken it. Dean, the doctor's
private servant, a faithful man who had lived with him for many years,
avowed freely that it was unusually late when he went in that night to
close the shutters. He found the glass door on what he called "the
catch;" that is, pushed close to, but not shut; which was nothing
unusual. On the following morning the doctor was in his study by six
o'clock, and opened the shutters himself, his frequent custom. That the
pencil was certainly not in the inkstand then, the doctor felt sure.
"I say, Trace, do you think the German would take the pencil?"
It was Lamb who put this question. Morning school was over, and the
boys were in the quadrangle, discussing the loss and other matters.
Trace looked up quickly.
"Why do you ask it?"
"Because he was prowling about before the study window the night of the
loss—just as he had been the other night when that stupid tale about
the smoking got about. I went up to our bedroom: I like to get a few
minutes' quiet for reflection sometimes—it improves the mind,"
continued candid Lamb; "and in chucking a piece of newspaper out of the
window, it happened to touch his head. He called out, and that's how I
knew he was there."
Trace drew in his breath: a grave suspicion was taking possession of
him. The eager boys, a choice knot of them, had gathered round.
"Nobody's ever there at night, no stranger, as Dr. Brabazon said this
morning," observed Trace. "It looks queer."
"You think the German went in and helped himself to the pencil, Trace?"
"Be quiet, Onions; you are always so outspoken. I'd rather not 'think'
about it on my own score," was Trace's cautious answer.
"Upon my word and honour, I think it must have been the fellow!" cried
Lamb, vehemently; and for once in his life Mr. Lamb spoke according to
his conviction. "It stands to reason: who else was likely to be there?"
"I don't say he took it, mind," resumed Trace; "but of all, belonging
to the college—masters, boys, servants, take the lot—the German is the
one who seems most in need of money. One may say _that_ much without
treason. Look at his engaging Mother Butter's cheap lodgings! and
living on potatoes and such things!"
"The other day he was dining off a suet-pudding: he ate it with salt,"
interrupted Fullarton's eager voice.
"How fond he must be of salt!" exclaimed Savage. And the boys laughed.
"He's working at some translation like old Blazes—sits up at night to
do it," resumed Powell. "He told Loftus minor it was for a bookseller,
who was to give him thirty pounds for it. He'd not work in that way if
he didn't need money awfully."
"But where does his money go? His salary—what does he do with it?"
wondered the boys.
"He must have private expenses," said Trace.
"What expenses?"
This was a question. They had once had an usher who indulged himself in
horse exercise; they had had another who gave forty-five pounds for a
violin, and half ruined himself buying new music. Mr. Henry did
neither.
"Perhaps he has got a wife and family," hazarded Brown major,
impulsively.
The notion of Mr. Henry's having a wife and family was so rich, that
the boys laughed till their sides ached. Which rather offended Brown
major.
"I'm sure I've heard those foreign French fellows often marry at
twenty-one; Germans too," quoth he. "You needn't grin. When a man's got
a wife and family, he has to keep 'em. His money must go somewhere.
Dick Loftus saw some new boots come home for him the other day, and he
couldn't pay for them. What are you staring at, Trace?"
Trace was not staring at Brown major or any one else in particular. The
mention of the boots called up a train of ideas that half startled him.
This incident of the boots had occurred on the very evening of the
loss; the following day (when they were in the midst of searching for
the pencil) Mr. Henry had gone by train into London after morning
school, and was not back until three o'clock. Soon after he returned,
Trace, by the merest accident, saw him take out his purse, and there
were several sovereigns in it. The thing, to Trace's mind, seemed to be
getting unpleasantly clear. But he said nothing.
"What are you all doing here?" exclaimed Gall, coming up at this
juncture. "Holding a council?"
They told him in an undertone: that the German master had been pacing
about before the study-window the night the pencil must have been lost
out of the room; and they spoke of his hard work, his want of money, of
all the rest they had been saying and hinting at.
Gall stopped the grave hint in its bud. The suspicion was perfectly
absurd as regarded Mr. Henry; most unjustifiable, he assured them; and
they had better get rid of it at once.
It was rather a damper, and in the check to their spirits, they began
to disperse. Gall had a great deal of good plain common sense; and his
opinion was always listened to. Trace rose from the projecting base of
a pillar on which he had been seated, knees to nose, put his arm within
Gall's and drew him away.
He told him everything; adding this fact of seeing the money in Mr.
Henry's purse, which he had not disclosed to the rest. Gall would not
be convinced. It might look a little suspicious, he acknowledged, but
he felt sure Mr. Henry was not one to do such a thing: he'd not dare to
do it. Besides, think of his high character, as given to the Head
Master from the university of Heidelberg.
Trace maintained his own opinion. He thought there were ways and means
of getting those high characters furnished, when people had a need for
them; he said he had mistrusted the man from the first moment he saw
him. "Look at his peaching about the smoking! Look at the mean way he
lives, the food he eats!" continued Trace, impressively. "He must have
private expenses of some sort; or else what makes him so poor?"
"He may have left debts behind him in Germany," suggested Gall, after a
pause of reflection.
"And most likely has," was the scornful rejoinder. "But he'd not make
his dinner off potatoes and work himself into a skeleton, to pay back
debts in Germany. Rubbish, Gall!"
"Look here, Trace. I know nothing of Mr. Henry's private affairs; they
may be bad or good for aught I can tell; but if I were you, I'd get rid
of that suspicion as to the pencil-case. Rely upon it," concluded Gall,
emphatically, "it won't hold water. Put it away from you."
Good advice, no doubt; and Trace, cautions always, intended to take it.
It happened, however, that same afternoon, that the Head Master sent
him to his study for a book. Trace opened the door quickly, and there
saw Miss Brabazon, on her hands and knees, searching round the edge of
the carpet. She sprang to her feet with a scared look.
"A pencil-case will roll into all sorts of odd places," she observed,
as if in apology. "I cannot understand the loss; it is troubling me
more than I can express."
"It must have been lost through the window, Miss Brabazon," said Trace.
"That is, some one must have got in that way."
"Yes; unless it rolled down and is hiding itself," she answered, her
eyes glancing restlessly into every corner. "I think I shall have the
carpet taken up to-morrow. It will be a great trouble, with all this
fixed furniture."
"I don't think you need have it done," observed Trace, who was standing
with his back to her before the large bookcase. "I fancy it went out
through the window."
"You have some suspicion, Trace!" she quickly exclaimed. "What is it?"
"If I have, Miss Brabazon, it is one that I cannot mention. It may be a
wrong suspicion, you see; perhaps it is."
"Trace," she said, laying her hand upon his arm, and her voice, her
eyes were full of strange earnestness, "you must tell it me. Tell me in
confidence; I have a suspicion too; perhaps we may keep the secret
together. I would give the pencil and its value twice over to find it
behind the carpet, in some crack or crevice of the wainscoting—and I
_know_ it is not there."
She spoke with some passion. The words, the manner altogether, disarmed
Trace of his caution; and he breathed his doubts into her ear. They
were received with intense surprise.
"Mr. Henry! that kind, gentlemanly German master! Why, Trace, you must
be dreaming."
Trace thought himself an idiot. "To tell you the truth, Miss Brabazon,
I fancied you were suspecting him yourself, though I don't know why I
took up the notion," he resumed, in his mortification. "But for that, I
should not have mentioned it. I won't eat my words, though, as I have
spoken; I do believe him to be guilty."
"I cannot think it; he seems as honest as the day. Just go over your
grounds of suspicion again, Trace. I was too much surprised to listen
properly."
Trace did so; the huge book he had come for standing upright in his
arm, supported by his shoulder. He mentioned everything; from Lamb
having seen Mr. Henry before the study that night, down to the empty
purse filled suddenly with gold.
Did you ever happen to witness a knot of boys favoured personally with
an unexpected explosion of gunpowder on the fifth of November? I'm sure
they did not leap apart in a more startled manner than did Trace and
Miss Brabazon now, at the entrance of Mr. Henry. He had come to see
after Trace and the book; the Head Master thought Trace must be unable
to find it. Away went Trace. Miss Brabazon stooped to put down the
corner of the hearthrug, saying something rather confusedly about
searching for the pencil, now that it was known to have been lost in
that room.
It happened that Mr. Henry, an outdoor master, had not heard that that
fact was established. Miss Brabazon told him of it.
"Some one must have got in through the unfastened window, and taken
it," she continued, looking at him. "It is very curious. Strangers are
never there: the grounds are private."
"Got in through the window," he repeated, as a recollection flashed
across his mind. "Why, I saw a man on the gravel-path; there," pointing
to the one on which the window opened, "that same night. He was looking
for the entrance to the college, and I directed him round to the
front."
"How came you to see him?" she returned, speaking rather sharply.
"I had been hard at work at my translation, the one I told the doctor
of, and strolled across for a breath of fresh air. This man was coming
down the path, must have just passed the window, and I asked him what
he wanted. He replied that he had a letter for Dr. Brabazon."
"Why did you not speak of this before, Mr. Henry?"
"I never thought to connect it with the loss. It was believed that the
pencil was lost from the hall. The man did not seem in the least
confused or hurried. I should fancy his business was quite legitimate,
Miss Brabazon; merely the delivery of the letter. I saw one in his
hand."
She went at once to question the servants, debating in her mind whether
this was fact, or an invention of the German master's to throw
suspicion from himself. Not any tidings could she get of a letter
having been brought by hand that night. Dean was positive that no such
letter had been delivered: One came the previous night, he said, for
Mr. Baker and he took it to him. Miss Brabazon went back to the study,
and asked Mr. Henry, waiting there by her desire, whether he had not
made a mistake in the night.
"None whatever," was his reply. "I had received a letter from
Heidelberg that day, enclosing an order for a little money due to me,
and when I met this man I was considering how I could shape my duties
on the following one, so as to have time to go to London and get it
cashed."
"And did you go?"
"Yes, as soon as morning school was over. I told the doctor what my
errand was. When I left, they were searching the hall for the pencil."
This, if true, disposed of one part of Mr. Trace's suspicions. Miss
Brabazon thought how candid and upright he looked as he stood there
talking to her. "Should you know the man again, Mr. Henry?" she
suddenly asked.
"I might know his voice: I did not see much of his face. A youngish
man; thirty, or rather more. I thought he walked a little lame."
Miss Brabazon lifted her head with more quickness than the information
seemed to warrant. "Lame! _Lame?_"
"It struck me so."
She said no more. She sat looking out straight before her with a sort
of bewildered stare. Mr. Henry left her to return to the hall; but she
sat on, staring still and seeing nothing.