A MONSTROUS ACCUSATION
It was a terrible moment for Clive. In the midst of his own vexation and
chagrin at the failure he had made, and at the knowledge that he had
just missed laying hands on the criminal who had been setting fire to
the school, to be pounced upon of a sudden, gripped with suffocating
firmness and shaken like a dog, was disconcerting, to say the least of
it. It was positively maddening.
"Let go, you fool! Clear off, and let me go on with the business," he
cried in tones of anger. "Do you hear? Let go."
Clive was no saint. He had as many faults as the average fellow, and
perhaps more than some. But they were honest faults, faults seen in the
light of open day. Not the low, mean ones affected by some fellows
behind the scenes, to their own shame and the abhorrence of all
right-thinking people. Clive had never been one of those fellows who
sadly upset the discipline and more of a school. He was a rock to lean
on where questions of principle and honour were concerned. The Head
knew it. Old B. knew it better still perhaps. The masters and the school
thought quite well of our hero. But he had a temper, and showed it now.
He struggled and fought like a madman. But still those iron fingers
gripped his neck.
"At last!" he heard in the deep, cross tones of Mr. Axim. "At last the
wretch who has troubled us so long is run to earth. Stir an inch, sir,
and I'll deal sternly with you. There'll be no trifling, I can assure
you. Though you are a Ranleigh prefect, and not yet a man, you can
expect the roughest handling."
That was Mr. Axim all over. He was, perhaps, the most unpopular of all
the masters. In fact, we may state that Ranleigh had seldom been so
unlucky. Mr. Axim seemed indeed to have been born with a natural
antipathy for boys, and it was ill luck that he should have come to
Ranleigh, or, for the matter of that, to any school. To him boys were
unnatural animals. He was ever suspicious of them. Their overflowing fun
and humour he could not understand, while boyish forgetfulness and want
of care were, in his eyes, unpardonable offences. Was it fate, too,
which had made him Clive's one particular _bête noire_, almost a
persecutor? For friendship between them had never existed. The merry,
light-hearted Clive, so serious when it came to mechanics, so studious
when he was interested, was with this Mr. Axim a sulky dunce, unable to
grip even simple rudiments. But then driving never agreed with our hero.
A little sympathy, a little human friendship, and he was your best
supporter, ready to "swat," as the boys termed it, ready to work his
fingers almost to the bone so that he might give satisfaction. With Mr.
Axim he had, in his earlier days at Ranleigh, been for ever in trouble,
and since then the two had avoided one another as far as possible, each
unmistakably disliking the other.
"At last, and the Head's pet prefect!" said Mr. Axim, laughing
satirically, and with an air of triumph in his voice. "Let us see what
he has to say to this capture. Pet prefect indeed! Pet hypocrite, I
think. And to think that I warned him of you! To think that the one who
did so nobly in putting out our first fire should have set it going. Ha!
ha! I suspected the game. You should have thought of me, Darrell, when
you went into this scoundrelly business."
Clive was too astounded to make any reply, and if he had wished, the
grip compressing his neck behind made speaking almost impossible. His
wits were whirling. He felt inclined to shout, or to break out into
hysterical laughter. It was bad enough to have missed the man he was
after, when he and his friends had taken so much trouble. And now, to be
accused of the deed himself, to be told that he had been caught
red-handed, was half maddening, half ludicrous. Had it been anyone else
but Mr. Axim, Clive would have explained. But this master's obvious
triumph, his satire and biting sarcasm kept our hero's lips silent.
"So," said Mr. Axim, as if gathering his ideas and thinking the matter
out, "so, returning from a pleasant evening in the village we accidently
discover Darrell as the much-wanted incendiary. Good! We now proceed to
disillusionise the Head. We will ring this bell and awake him."
He tugged at the cord promptly, and somewhere far away in the depths of
the house Clive heard an answering clang, repeated some five or six
times. Mr. Axim went to the door and closed it, standing afterwards with
his back to it.
"I'll not soil my fingers any longer," he said. "You can stand over
there in the opposite corner. No. Leave the candle. A desperate young
ruffian such as you are might easily complete the job I managed
fortunately to disturb. Now, a clean breast of the whole business will
be the only course for you to follow."
Clive scowled at him, and then closely inspected his surroundings. As
he had suspected, there was a pile of papers in one corner, from which
came the strong odour of paraffin. Everything, in fact, was ready for
the conflagration. It merely wanted the match, and that at least he had
been instrumental in preventing. Suddenly there was a tap at the door.
The Head of Ranleigh entered. Slowly his eyes passed from the figure of
Mr. Axim to that of Clive. He sniffed heavily, turning his head in all
directions. Then, as if he had more than half gripped the situation, his
pale and impassive face became suddenly paler in the candle light, while
he wore an unusually stern expression. Crossing to the wide table on
which his papers were neatly arranged and ticketed, he drew his writing
chair nearer and sat down, resting his forehead on his hands. And thus
he remained for a few moments, as if anxious to put his thoughts from
him. It was with a fierce "Well?" that he finally addressed Mr. Axim.
"This is the end of the trouble," said the latter. "You have had fires
at the school. The matter has been a mystery. There is the culprit.
Clive Darrell."
"And you?" asked the Head severely, turning upon our hero. "You admit
this fact? You agree that Mr. Axim discovered you in the act of setting
fire to these premises? Answer at once. Are you responsible for the
whole of this wicked business?"
"Decidedly not. There has been a mistake, sir," said Clive, hardly
knowing where to commence his story.
"A mistake! Of course," laughed Mr. Axim hoarsely. "There always is an
error in these affairs, no matter whether the culprit be discovered
candle in hand, in the midst of heaped-up papers saturated with
paraffin!"
"You were found like that, Darrell?" asked the Head, sadly enough.
Clive nodded. He glared across at Mr. Axim defiantly. "I admit the
fact," he said curtly. "But I am not the culprit. Mr. Axim has been too
clever, for he has merely come upon the scene after I had discovered
what was happening. I followed someone here. I wasn't sure what was
happening, though I had my suspicions. I came down the passage and was
about to enter the room when this fellow suddenly put his electric torch
on me. There was darkness a second later. He knocked me over, and sent
my torch flying. I chased him down the corridor and then lost sight of
him. Thinking that he might have returned here, I came back again. That
was the moment when Mr. Axim proved so clever."
The latter gasped. Clive's effrontery made him positively giddy.
"A pack of lies," he cried. "If there had been a struggle you would have
heard it. Of course he lost sight of this fellow in the corridor, simply
because he never existed."
"Silence, please," commanded the Head, lifting a shaking finger. "Clive
Darrell, you state that you discovered an incendiary at work. You had a
torch. You chased this man. You no doubt saw him. Then give the name.
Was it one of my Ranleighans?"
"Yes," came the prompt answer. "I feel sure it was one, though I'm sorry
to have to admit it. But who, that's another question."
Mr. Axim sniggered. Clive could willingly have kicked him. The Head's
pale face took on a sterner appearance.
"You saw and followed, and admit that this miscreant was a Ranleighan,"
he said icily. "Then you can also give the name of the individual."
"No. I refuse. In my own mind my suspicions are so strong that I feel
certain. But I never saw his face. I'll condemn no one on such evidence.
I regret I am unable to give you the name of the fellow."
Mr. Axim laughed again, causing the Head to frown. Clive crossed his
arms over his chest and confronted his questioners. And then the master
who had come upon him stepped up to his side, took the candle and slowly
inspected him.
"Rubber shoes, for silence of course," he reported. "Got a sweater on,
for warmth, ditto a dressing-gown. Smells strongly of paraffin, and has
a box of matches in his pocket."
His elevated eyebrows were more than expressive. He looked at his senior
as much as to say, "The evidence is conclusive. This boy is a liar."
But Ranleigh's Head was not the one to condemn without a searching
investigation. He had thrown himself back in his chair, and was staring
now at the candle. He was terribly grieved, if the truth be known, most
terribly disappointed. For Clive was an especial favourite. He could
have sworn that the young fellow was honest and upright. Besides, this
was the act of a fanatic. Clive wasn't that. He was a decidedly
level-headed fellow.
"You refuse that name?" he asked after a while.
"Yes, sir."
"You have no other explanation to offer?"
"Most certainly!"
"Ah!" smiled Mr. Axim, and then, _sotto voce_, "More lies, I suppose.
Hear him!"
"Then let me hear it."
"These fires have naturally upset Ranleigh fellows. We felt it a duty to
discover the culprit. We decided to watch the premises during the night.
Masters and I were on duty at eleven to-night. You will find him down
in the far corridor."
Mr. Axim's face fell. The Head's took on a happier expression.
"Fetch him here, please," he said, turning to the master. "We will wait
for your return. Be quick, please."
He aimlessly turned over the papers on his table while Mr. Axim was
absent. But very soon the latter was back, bringing a very startled
young fellow with him.
"You were watching with Darrell, then?" asked the Head.
"Certainly. We decided to see into this jolly business and catch the
cad--er--the fellow that was doing it. Er--Clive and I were for duty
to-night."
"Together?"
"No, sir. Separate. We were to meet every few minutes."
"You met then?"
"Often. At last Clive crept along and told me there was someone about.
He asked me to watch at the far end of the corridor."
The Head nodded. Mr. Axim gave vent to a malicious chuckle.
"Well out of the way there, I think?" he asked. "Did you see anything of
this chase which we are told followed?"
"What chase?" asked Masters, looking across at his friend. "I don't
understand. I've been waiting there ever since in case Clive's man
bolted. What's happened?"
There was an impressive silence for one whole minute.
"Only I'm accused of preparing a fire here," said Clive. "Mr. Axim
caught me."
"Red-handed," cried the latter. "Matches in pocket and candle in hand.
Now he has the impudence to declare that he himself disturbed a fellow
here. He chased him down the corridor, when the culprit disappeared. But
you neither saw nor heard them! That's significant. More than that,
Darrell saw this wretch, recognised him, he believes, but will give us
no name. Queer, a little, don't you think, Masters? But let us go a
little deeper into the question. That first fire commenced close to One
South. Darrell was the one to discover and quench it. It was marvellous
how he had managed to think out all the details of the business."
"Wait! Parfit woke him first. He gave the warning," cried Masters, his
face flushed with anger and distress at the accusation aimed at his
friend. "When you begin to dig deep, Mr. Axim, we'll have all the
details, please. Just remember what I've mentioned."
"I do," came the cutting and sharp answer. "Parfit announced smoke. The
smell had awakened him. Agreed. But there's no fire without smoke.
Darrell had ample time to do his work and get back to the dormitory. My
argument begins to tell, I think."
He looked searchingly at the Head, while Masters stared at Clive as if
he were stricken speechless.
"We go further now," said Mr. Axim, a note of exultation in his voice.
"The post of School Captain falls vacant next term. Darrell is a
candidate."
"Yes," nodded Masters.
"That fire and his management of the boys made him first favourite. It
gave his popularity a tremendous fillip. But who was chiefly
instrumental in discovering and controlling the fires which followed?
Clive Darrell!" cried Mr. Axim, pointing a condemning finger at our
hero. "Who would have had all the kudos here to-night, once this fire
had started? The wretch stands there. Clive Darrell, being conveniently
on watch, and having thoughtfully got rid of his companion, prepares for
a flare, makes ready to set it going, with the one idea of waiting for
the flames to become sufficiently serious. Then he makes the discovery.
Wakes the school, oh so gently, and descends to-morrow morning even a
greater hero than he was before. In fact, he becomes certain King of
Ranleigh. There, sir, you have the case clearly. There is clear motive
for such conduct. Clive Darrell is the one you are after."
Very carefully had the Head followed this argument. He didn't like Mr.
Axim overmuch, but he knew him to be a shrewd fellow. For the life of
him he could see no fault in this argument. It was a terrible
indictment. Everything seemed to argue against the truth of Clive's
story. Everything? No. Let him declare the name of this fellow he had
chased. Then let them confront him. That would clear his name
absolutely.
"Clive Darrell," said the Head sternly, though kindly, "you have
followed Mr. Axim? The evidence looks black against you. As to the
motive, I find it harder to believe that you would play to the gallery
for any post than I do to conceive of any reason for your firing these
buildings. One thing alone can clear you. Give me the name of this
person you followed. Let us bring him face to face with you."
There was dead silence. Mr. Axim actually smiled. Masters looked
terribly distressed, while the Head seemed thoroughly miserable.
"You refuse?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Then go to your dormitory. You will be expelled in the morning."
It was a disastrous ending to the ambitions of our hero.