WHO IS THE SCOUNDREL?
It was a saint's day, and Ranleigh made holiday once Chapel was ended.
Outside in the playing-fields the shouts and laughter of the boys could
be heard distinctly from the Sixth Form room. Occasionally there was a
clatter in the tiled corridors over which the feet of so many
Ranleighans had passed in the years gone by. Otherwise there was peace
and quietness in the school and the time was propitious for discussion.
And in the Upper Sixth Form room voices subdued and smooth exchanged the
views of various of the prefects. Trendall was there, watching Clive and
Susanne with a friendly smile of approval. How different from the
glances which he had once cast at them! Bert, cool and dreaming as of
yore, apt to indulge on every opportunity in satire, sat upon the corner
of the table staring thoughtfully into the fire. Masters stood propped
in one corner, nibbling the end of a pencil and glancing first at one of
his friends and then at another. By common consent Clive had been voted
to the chair.
"We've got to do something, and at once," he said, commencing the
proceedings as soon as he had occupied the only chair in the room. "It
is up to us to act."
"Hear, hear!" from Masters. He stopped nibbling for a moment. "Hear,
hear!" he repeated, and then went rather pink seeing the eyes of all on
him.
"And at once," asserted Clive again.
"Without delay, certainly," agreed Bert crisply.
"That is, once we've come to a decision what shall be done. No use
acting without a plan," said the wise Susanne, an opinion which Trendall
applauded.
"Then, it being agreed that something must be done, and at once, we come
to the crux of the situation."
Clive looked at each in turn invitingly. "We want ideas," he went on.
"We've reached a crisis here. Has any fellow any plan to put before us?"
There was silence. Masters took to nibbling his pencil violently. It was
obvious that he was very much disturbed in his mind. Susanne kicked the
worn floor boards impatiently, while Trendall and Bert seemed to have
all their attention centred on the fire. But no one accepted Clive's
invitation to speak. To tell the truth, no one had so much as an idea.
The situation with which Ranleigh was face to face was unique.
"I'll recapitulate events," said Clive, for he was wont in these days to
use some terribly long words. The slang so common to his speech in
bygone days was now almost forgotten. Indeed, the manners and the ideas
of the Old Firm had changed wonderfully and very much for the better.
"There was a fire two weeks ago."
"Hear, hear!" cried Masters, whereat everyone glared at him.
"Glad?" asked Bert, with cutting sharpness. "Perhaps you'd have liked to
see us all consumed!"
It was Masters' turn to become scathing.
"A fine thing to suggest," he cried. "You'll say I made the fire," he
retorted. "Go on, Clive. Bert's out of sorts this morning. There was a
fire. Right. Hear, hear! Let's get along with it. I've a right to say
hear, hear! Didn't the fire give us a chance of seeing what Clive's made
of, and the sort of chaps we have at Ranleigh?"
He wore an air of triumph. The others present at this meeting applauded
loudly.
"It was fine," said Trendall, his eyes sparkling. "The Ranleighan'll
have a fine tale to tell. Though I'm one of the prefects I'm bound to
admit Ranleigh did well. The Head said so; so did the 'Surrey Liar.'"
It was the name given to a certain county paper which had come out with
a fine description of the fire at Ranleigh, and had eulogised the
behaviour of the boys. However, this was not getting along with the
discussion, and Clive therefore took the matter up again.
"There was a fire; we checked it. It was put out," he said. "Of course,
there was an investigation, as a result of which we discovered that
paraffin had been thrown about in the big cupboard under the stairs.
There were some unconsumed shavings there, as well as a tin which had
once held paraffin. That tin came from the boot-room where the beakies
work."
"Proving that one of the beakies was responsible for the business,"
cried Trendall.
"Not at all. The boot-room's open always. You or I could easily enter.
Still, it doesn't say that a beaky did not start the fire. This is
clear, however, that fire was maliciously set going by someone, and that
someone belongs to Ranleigh."
"Either as boy or servant," said Susanne. "Of course, we rule masters
out. Such a thing is impossible with any one of them."
"And boys too," suggested Bert. "Whoever heard of a fellow wanting to
make a blaze of his school? It's preposterous! So we come to the
conclusion that the miscreant is a worker here. In fact, one of the
many servants."
There were enquiring glances between the debaters. In the end all turned
to stare at their chairman. But Clive's young face was inscrutable. He
neither supported nor opposed the statement for which Bert was
responsible.
"What's the use of trying to narrow our suspicions down to a single
group?" he asked. "On the face of it, I admit that a servant may very
well have been responsible for that fire. But then, it might have been
anyone. There was a fire. That's good enough for us, and we know that it
was purposely set going. We know also that there have been others, and
that in every case there is clear evidence that an incendiary was at
work. Well, there's the position. You chaps have got to tackle it."
There was, in fact, no need to add to his description. Somewhere about
Ranleigh there existed an incendiary. Who was he? Boy, master, or
servant?
"Or lunatic," suddenly asked Susanne, as if he imagined that others were
following his train of thought. "That's it. Is the fellow who's doing
this caddish business merely a lunatic, and so irresponsible?"
"Mighty likely," agreed Masters, coming closer and looking very earnest.
"But what if he is? Where's the difference? There's an incendiary all
the same, and wondering whether he's boy, master, or servant, and in any
case sane or mad, helps us not an atom. Let's stop jawing about things
that don't help and get to real business. I'm for watching."
"Watching what?" asked Bert sharply.
"The school, of course. Parading the corridors."
"When? At night?" asked Trendall at once.
"When have the fires broken out? Always at night time. Always between
the hours of eleven and one a.m. Then that's the time for watching."
"And you suggest that the prefects do this watching?" asked Clive. "The
scheme is one that promises finely. As you say, every fire has occurred
in the hours you mention. If the place had been patrolled, then the
fellow responsible would have been discovered. So you suggest that the
prefects take it turn and turn about to watch? Isn't that it, Masters?"
"Not a bit. I'll ask a question. Has any fellow here any doubt about the
others in this room? No? I can see you haven't. You needn't stare at me
as if I'd accused you, Bert. I merely asked a straight question. Well
then."
"Yes, well then," repeated Susanne encouragingly.
"Can any fellow here say that he's absolutely sure that the culprit
isn't to be found somewhere amongst the prefects?"
They shook their heads slowly at him.
"Masters is talking sense," asserted Bert, after a few seconds' silence;
whereat the great Masters flushed a beautiful red. It wasn't often that
Bert praised. And if he did, there was often enough a sharp sting
underneath his compliment. "He's talking sense," repeated Bert, "for
once in his life. I'm glad."
"Ah!" gasped Masters. He would gladly have set upon Bert at that
instant. But then, everyone knew that Bert was always quizzing. He was
grinning even then. Why on earth couldn't he be serious sometimes and
forget his quizzing and his satire?
"A fellow can't get along when he's interrupted by an idiot," growled
Masters. "Where was I? Oh, I remember. Well, you can't swear that this
lunatic isn't to be found amongst the prefects. All the same, I'm open
to stand treat to everyone here if a Ranleigh prefect proves to be the
fellow. Ranleigh prefects ain't that sort."
He puffed his chest out and flushed red as he spoke. Masters took a
tremendous pride in his school and his fellows. "There's not one who'd
be such a cad," he declared. "Don't you deny it, Bert."
"Certainly not. I'm in agreement. I'm only smiling at my thoughts. I was
just remembering the time when Masters wasn't a prefect. A bigger set of
cads and bullys then didn't exist, er--according to Masters. Of course,
I agree with what he says now. Ranleigh prefects are fine fellows. Ain't
we amongst the numbers?"
There was a general tapping of feet on the floor. The men present were
getting impatient, and really it wasn't the time for wit. They glared at
Bert.
"Shut up!" commanded Susanne. "Let Masters get along. Well?"
"Well, there you are," said that worthy. "You ain't certain of all the
prefects. But you are of the lot here. Supposing we decide to watch.
Here are the watchers. We keep the thing to ourselves. Not a word to the
others."
"And watch all night. A tough proposition," reflected Trendall. "There
are five of us."
"Call it six," said Bert. "There's Hugh. He's not much good; but he'll
do."
"Then six," Clive told them. "Two every night. That means one night's
patrolling in three. A fellow could manage that easily, and we can
always put in a sleep during the day. Then I suggest that we divide
ourselves into three parties, each consisting of two. Those two will
each take half the school premises, and will meet on their rounds every
few minutes. It'll help to keep 'em awake."
"Awake! As if a fellow would care to sleep and so fail in his job,"
cried Masters indignantly.
"You wait," said Bert. "A chap gets awfully drowsy about midnight,
particularly if there's nothing doing. The suggestion Clive has made is
good. Get along, Mr. Chairman."
"Then we divide into twos and patrol, each man meeting his fellow every
few minutes. Of course, we shall want rubber shoes and a dark lantern
apiece."
"And a revolver?" asked Trendall eagerly.
"No. Nothing. If a Ranleigh chap can't use his fists if there's
occasion, why----"
"Better chuck the business now," said Susanne. "Clive's right. No weapon
is wanted. Once we catch sight of this chap we shall know how to deal
with him. So mum's the word. Not a whisper to the other fellows."
"Tell no one, not even the Head," cried Bert. "Secrecy is of the
greatest importance. I suppose we start to-night?"
"At once," agreed Clive. "Let's put the six names on strips of paper and
draw them from a cap. That'll give us our couples. We can toss to decide
who's to take the first patrol."
They carried out this suggestion promptly, and within a little while
had the matter settled.
"Susanne and Hugh together," said Clive, reading out the result. "Then
Trendall and Bert. Masters and I go together also. Now for first turn.
Up with your pennies."
It happened that Bert and Trendall were to be the first to patrol, and
it may be imagined that there was a considerable amount of suppressed
excitement about those two worthies, as also amongst their companions in
the adventure, as the evening approached. But the Old Firm had had an
excellent training in smothering their feelings. To look at them that
evening as they took prep. in their several form rooms you would have
thought that they had no such thing as a secret. In Chapel Bert's face
was serene as he went to the lectern to read the lesson. And how well he
read! Sitting back in his place amidst the men of the choir, Clive could
not help but admire. His memory carried him back to that day now it
seemed so long ago when he himself, then small and puny, had for the
first time entered this handsome building. He recollected how he had
watched Harvey ascend to the lectern, with what awe he had regarded him,
and how he had trembled at the thought that some day he might be called
upon to carry out the same duty. And here he was, destined to read the
second lesson of the evening, cool and calm, nevertheless, admiring, as
admire he must, the smooth, even reading of his old friend Bert.
Then they trooped out to the dormitories. There was the customary ten
minutes' silence, and then the hum of many tongues wagging. But
gradually the sounds died down, till there came the heavy-footed thud of
the beaky. Out went the lights. From many a bed came the snores of
sleepers. Clive lay with wide-open eyes listening and thinking. He
wondered what Trendall and Bert were doing, for it must be remembered
that the rise of the Old Firm in the school had resulted in a partial
severance. As prefects they were divided, Clive ruling it in One South,
his old dormitory.
Ah! he heard someone stirring! A door opened. It was not in One South.
Where was it?
"Old B. coming to bed," Clive told himself. "Then it's about eleven.
Those two will be slipping downstairs in a few minutes."
Yes, it was nearly eleven. The big clock began to chime the quarters as
the door of One South was noiselessly pushed open. Clive lifted his head
and looked in that direction. The well-known and popular figure of Mr.
Branson entered the dormitory. On tip-toe, for he was ever thoughtful,
bearing a lighted candle in one hand, he gently closed the door and
slid across to his own room opposite. And in the years that he had been
at Ranleigh, how many boys had seen him going to bed? Not many, we trow.
Not because of the late hour, for Old B. did not hold with them. But
simply for the reason that boys sleep well, while Old B.'s steps were of
the lightest, in spite of his burly figure. The door closed after him,
the last stroke of eleven sounded. Silence fell upon Ranleigh school and
its surroundings. And then Clive's eyelids drooped. Like the other
fellows in the dormitory, he fell asleep and forgot for the moment all
about the task which he and his friends had set themselves.
"Well? What happened? See anyone? Hear anything?"
The questions were rained upon Trendall and Bert as soon as the Old Firm
were gathered on the following morning.
"Not a soul. But Clive was right about a fellow getting drowsy," said
Trendall at once. "If it hadn't been for the movement and the need to
meet Bert I'd have dropped off on many an occasion. I met him five
minutes after the hour of eleven had struck. We went off to bed at two
o'clock precisely."
"Then Bert? Well?" asked Clive of that young fellow. Bert grinned.
Evidently he had contrived to gather some fun out of the adventure.
"Jolly nearly made an awful ass of myself," he grinned.
"Where's the difficulty?" asked Masters, with unaccustomed satire.
"Ain't it pretty usual?"
"Shut up!" cried Clive. "You chaps are always sparring. Now, Bert."
"Masters would have landed us finely in the soup if he'd been there,"
continued the one addressed. "You see--well, is it necessary to explain
why he'd have done the usual? No. Well, then, I started with Trendall,
and just ten minutes after twelve heard someone moving."
"Ah! Go on," gasped his listeners.
"Someone moving! Who?" asked Hugh eagerly.
"I'm coming to it," said Bert coolly. "It was somewhere close to the
spot where the fire first took place. I crept in that direction."
Clive felt a queer little sensation about his spine. Bert's narratives
were always a little uncanny. He could imagine him creeping like a snake
towards the point where he had heard someone moving. "Do get on!" he
cried impatiently. "You do take such a time to tell what happened."
"And you're always in such a violent hurry. Well, I crept there. I was
in the quad, of course, and as all the corridor windows are open I
could easily look in. There was a step in the corridor. Some fellow was
creeping along. But he wasn't silent altogether. Now and again his boots
made quite a noise. I slid along parallel with him."
The faces of the listeners grew eager. They pressed a trifle closer to
Bert, wondering what was coming.
"At the corner of the quad, where the corridor turns, the fellow came to
a sudden stop," said Bert. "Things looked fishy. I could hear him
rummaging in the boot lockers standing there. I wondered whether I ought
to open my lamp and take a squint at him. You see, I wasn't at all sure
who it might be."
"Of course," agreed Susanne. "You wanted to get some idea. You didn't
want this beggar to know that you were there till you were fairly sure
what he was up to. You see, we're watching for an incendiary. We ain't
out for any other purpose."
"I'd have collared the chap at once," declared Masters, who was nothing
if not impetuous.
"Ah, yes, _you_ would," Bert told him, smiling pityingly on him. "That's
just my point. Here was a splendid chance for a fellow to make an utter
hash of the business and an ass of himself into the bargain. Masters
would have collared the beggar. I didn't. That's the difference. You
see, it wasn't an incendiary."
"Then who was it? Tell us," demanded Clive.
"Only Raleigh, stinks master," grinned Bert, whereat there was a roar of
laughter. Masters even grinned, though he felt really angry with Bert.
Then, suddenly remembering the episode of the burglars, he smiled
sweetly at him. It would do for next time, he thought. When compliments
were flying around again, and there was need for gentle repartee or a
stinging retort, he had it ready. Asses indeed! Bert needn't talk after
such a business.
"You see," went on Bert, "he'd been out to supper with some people, I
suppose. Ain't he rather gone on that Miss Daisy?"
There were nods from the circle. It was a well-known fact that the
science master was paying his addresses at a house in the village. Miss
Daisy often took part in Ranleigh concerts, and was decidedly popular.
So that, if it were any relief to Mr. Raleigh, he had the good wishes of
all at the school.
"They're engaged," Trendall told the company. "They'll be married in the
summer."
"Then good luck to 'em!" cried Bert. "Well, there he was, and all the
fumbling was for a candle. He found it after a while, just when I
thought he must have laid his train and splashed the petroleum about in
preparation for a fire. In fact, I was within an ace of flashing my lamp
on him when there was the scrape of a match. It made me feel quite
funny, I can tell you. I thought he must be about to start the fire. And
then, when the flame burned up I saw Raleigh's features plainly. He lit
his candle, stamped on the match, and went up the stairs to his room
whistling quietly. There, you've got my report. I was getting a bit sick
of watching when the time came along to give up. Masters, just you take
warning by what happened. It's lucky we're not going to take revolvers.
You'd have shot poor Raleigh at once, and then Miss Daisy'd have been a
widow before she was married."
Bert was perfectly right in repeating the warning, and perhaps it was
stupid of Masters to listen to it so unkindly. But then, had he been
impetuous, Mr. Raleigh would have become aware of the watching, and, no
doubt, every one of the masters as a consequence. However, no mischief
had been done, and the secrecy so important to the success of the
business was still maintained. That second night Susanne and Hugh took
their posts in the corridor, prepared to watch the security of Ranleigh.
Nor had they much to report when again the Old Firm was assembled to
hear them.
"But it's a bit of a joke, all the same," laughed Susanne. "Wonder what
the masters would say if they knew how we were watching? One generally
supposes them to be abed at a respectable hour. But they ain't always.
It was Raleigh's turn last time. Hugh and I saw two of them creep in
between twelve and one while we were watching. Who knows? Perhaps Clive
and Masters'll have the pleasure of welcoming the return of the Head
from a supper party."
That made them grin. Bert jogged Masters' elbow. "What a lark it'd be!"
he said. "Of course, you'd collar him. My word! The scene would be worth
watching."
Perhaps it was as well that the members of the Old Firm saw every atom
of fun that was going, for the task they had set themselves was destined
to prove monotonous. After all, once the novelty of patrolling a huge
place wears off, it has few attractions. Then, too, a cosy bed pulls
hard after a long day's exercise. A whole fortnight passed, in fact,
without anything unusual happening.
"Someone's twigged what we're doing, eh?" asked Susanne.
"No," said Clive. "I'm certain. But whoever set those fires going is too
canny to be caught easily. They say that lunatics are awfully artful.
This chap's stopped for a while. We've just got to be patient."
And so for a few more days they continued watching, shadowing many a
late-returning master. It was almost three weeks from the date of the
commencement of this duty that Clive heard sounds that roused his strong
suspicions. Someone was moving in the corridor, someone who had not
entered the school through the front door as had been the case with
masters. A figure glided past him as silently as a ghost. This was
something entirely different from what he had experienced in the whole
course of his watching.