THE OLD FIRM HANGS TOGETHER
There were white faces amongst the members of the Old Firm on the
morning following Clive's arrest by Mr. Axim, and the sentence which the
Head had passed on him. The school itself was agog with the news.
"Darrell's bunked! Heard it? What's he done?" was passing on every side.
The prefects discussed the matter for the most part sorrowfully and a
little shamefacedly. It was a terrible blow to them to find that amongst
their number there was such a criminal.
"It's more than a bunking business," said Roper. "It's a case for the
criminal courts. Darrell'll get years of imprisonment. Arson is a most
serious offence. I wouldn't have thought it of him."
"I don't believe it. There's some mistake, I'm positive," declared
Jenkins, one of Clive's particular friends. "Hear what the Old Firm have
to say."
But that the Sixth were not likely to have an opportunity of hearing,
for Bert and Hugh and the others were collected together at that moment
in the Gym, whither they had departed so as to have peace, and so as to
be able to discuss matters in private. Hugh, as if habit were too strong
for him, sat across the horse. Bert, his face unusually stern, leaned
against the same apparatus. Susanne stood close at hand, his broad
shoulders stooping to a marked degree on this fatal morning. As for
Trendall, there was grief written unmistakably on his decidedly pleasant
features. Then Masters joined them. They were awaiting his coming, and
gave vent to sighs of relief as he came through the Gym doorway and
walked toward them. But it was a weary, despondent Masters. There was
not the usual elasticity about his step. This fellow, apt to see fun in
almost anything, and very seldom down-hearted, might have been at this
instant preparing to attend his own funeral.
Susanne beckoned him forward.
"Now, tell us all," he said. "Everything, so that we may judge."
"Then I'll start at eleven last night, when we met in the corridor and
commenced our patrolling."
Very rapidly he narrated the events of the night, unimportant in his own
case till the latter part. Still, he missed nothing, giving them the
closest details. Each one of the Firm stretched a trifle closer when he
came to that portion of the narrative when Mr. Axim called him, and he
discovered Clive face to face with the Head. He even told them what
words had passed, how Mr. Axim had summed up the matter, how Clive had
refused to give the name of the boy he more than strongly suspected.
"There's the whole case," he said at last. "I grant you it's black.
Things somehow seemed to have worked round to incriminate Clive. It's an
awful business. I hate that fellow Axim. He's a howling bounder."
They agreed with him at once.
"And we all trust Clive," said Susanne impressively. "He's the victim of
circumstances."
"Anyone could sum up the case blackly against him," cried Bert. "Listen
to this. Because a fire breaks out in the neighbourhood of South
Dormitory Clive must be the culprit. That's Axim's argument. Why not
Susanne, then? Because Clive is a candidate for Captain of the School.
But so am I. So's Susanne, so's Masters and plenty of others. But listen
again to Axim's reasoning. Clive must be the culprit not only because
he's a candidate for Captain, but because he engineered the brigade
which stopped the fire, and because he managed to think of all sorts of
issues, sent to have the gas cut off, sent for the fire brigade, etc.
Pshaw!"
He stamped his foot. Looked at quietly one could see the fallacy of
such reasoning. Why because Clive had done his best should he
necessarily have had an eye to his chances of being elected as Captain
of Ranleigh?
"The suggestion's preposterous. I wonder the Head hasn't seen it!" said
Trendall. "Because a chap does well, is he therefore necessarily to have
an ulterior motive? The argument's rotten. If persisted in it would soon
kill initiative in an institution. A chap would be afraid of being
accused of all sorts of things. Of course, what clinches a bad argument
is Clive's admission that he saw this chap, believes he knows the fellow
in spite of not seeing his face, and yet won't give the name. He
refused."
"Bluntly," said Susanne, almost with a sob. "We interviewed him early
this morning, Masters and Bert and I. Refused curtly. We asked him why."
"And what's the answer?" demanded Hugh. "Mind you, Clive's a queer
beggar. He loathes Axim. Axim tried to drive him, and that's quite
enough to make Clive shut up. Then he's got queer ideas of honour and
all that. What did he say?"
"Refused to discuss the matter. Simply said he wasn't sufficiently sure
of his man to launch such an accusation against him. Then shut up and
got quite angry."
"School's summoned in Hall for eleven," said Bert. "I propose we go
again and see Clive. He must give way; we'll compel him."
The idea was one which appealed strongly to them, and since if all went
numbers might defeat their object, Hugh and Susanne were selected for
the interview, and at once went off to the Bursar's office where Clive
was incarcerated pending his departure from Ranleigh for the railway
station. Ten minutes later they were back, their faces almost haggard.
"He's gone--hooked it!" cried Susanne, looking round at his friends with
anxious eyes.
"Gone! Bolted?" asked Bert, bewildered. "Why?"
"Wouldn't stand to be bullied any longer. Wouldn't have the Head and
others constantly coming to demand the name of the fellow he'd seen.
Said that since they openly disbelieved his story they'd better sack
him--in fact, that he'd sack himself. He left a note to tell 'em what he
was doing."
Clive had indeed launched a thunderbolt at all at Ranleigh. The anxious
and harassed Head found his troubles vastly added to by this unforeseen
event. For days past his had been an unenviable existence, and had the
Old Firm but known it, he had taken steps to have the outside of the
school closely patrolled every night, while various of the servants had
been watched. In fact, the Head had scorned the idea that this
incendiary was one of his own community. Advised by the village sergeant
of police, he had come to the conclusion that it must be some madman
living in the neighbourhood, or someone outside with a grudge against
the school, someone probably with an intimate knowledge of the
buildings. Strong suspicion, in fact, fell upon one of the men employed
about the place a few weeks before, and summarily dismissed for
misconduct.
And now he knew it to be a Ranleigh boy. One had been taken actually
red-handed. But that boy was Clive Darrell. Even now, with the evidence
so strong against him, the Head could not believe it. And yet, after
full discussion, he could see no room for error. It seemed certain that
not only had Clive done this thing and thrown dust in the eyes of the
police and the school officials, but he had also hoodwinked his own
special companions. That system of patrolling was but a ruse to disarm
suspicion. It was strange, more than strange, that Clive should always
be at hand on these occasions when fire broke out, while, if he were the
guilty person, as Mr. Axim proved so easily and conclusively, then the
motive was plain if despicable.
It may be imagined, too, that this train of argument cut the ground from
beneath the feet of Susanne and his friends. What could the Old Firm
bring to controvert such evidence? Merely the stubborn refusal to
believe Clive guilty. Merely to scoff at the idea that he had made fools
of them.
And now he was gone. If his tale were true, one event and one only could
clear his name and bring him back to Ranleigh. That boy whom Clive
refused to name could come forward and declare the true facts of the
case, and so clear his comrade.
"Axim don't believe there is another fellow in it," said Bert bitterly,
when the news of Clive's going was brought to them. "The Head would like
to, but the evidence is too strong for him. But I'm still positive that
Clive's straight and honest. He'd never dirty his fingers with such a
business."
"And I'm going to find him and this other beggar," declared Hugh.
"Bravo! We'll all help," came from Susanne. "Now, look here, you
fellows, I've a proposition. We don't want to worry the Head or break
regulations, do we?"
"Certainly not," from Trendall.
"Regulations, no. I'd break that fellow Axim's head," growled Masters.
"At the same time, we believe our biggest and best friend to have been
wrongfully accused of this crime of arson."
"Yes," said Bert emphatically. "He is a victim of circumstances."
"And since his future and his fair name concerns us more than school
regulations, I'm going to break 'em. I'm going off at once to find
Clive. Hugh'll come with me, also Masters and Trendall, if they like."
Each one mentioned eagerly accepted. "It's the least we can do," said
Masters. "How'll you set about it?"
"One moment," cried Susanne, lifting a hand.
"What about me, then?" asked Bert.
"You will have just as important work. You will read our manifesto.
We'll draw it up now, put the full facts in it, and declare our
intention of searching for Clive. At eleven, when the school meets, and
the Head comes in to announce Clive's expulsion, you'll stand out and
demand that this decision be delayed for a while, till we've
investigated the matter. He won't refuse. He's far too decent a fellow.
Meanwhile, we shall move off. I'll hire that new car they've got at the
'Green Man' down in the village, that is, as soon as we've made sure he
hasn't taken the train. Then we'll run round in all directions asking
for information. It's nine now. Let's get the manifesto written and
signed, and then slip off. Bert will see what can be done here to pick
up some crumbs of evidence."
Without discussion, without further thought indeed, the Old Firm adopted
this proposition. They may not have been right. It would have been
better, perhaps, had they started on their own ground by seeking further
evidence in the school, instead of delegating that task to Bert. But
then, the Old Firm was notorious for its impetuosity and also for
warm-heartedness. They were true friends ever, and here they meant to
prove it. If Clive were innocent, then he should be found and brought
back to the school. If he were guilty, why, not one of the Old Firm
would believe it till he himself had admitted it.
And so that manifesto was drawn up by Bert, when all signed it. Then he
watched them depart from the school, and went off himself to sift the
matter to the bottom. It may be imagined what a sensation his presence
caused some two hours later, when, the Head having come before the
assembled school and mounted the dais to make his painful announcement,
Bert walked from amongst his fellows and coolly--for he had braced
himself for this trying ordeal--stepped up beside him.
"Boys of Ranleigh," began the Head, not having noticed Bert, "I have a
most painful announcement to make. You are aware that fires have
occurred in the school of late, fires caused by an incendiary. The
culprit has now been found. I regret to say that it is Clive Darrell."
There was dead silence in the Hall. The Head stood with his shoulders
thrown back, his eyes firmly closed as was his wont, looking positively
miserable. It was, in fact, a miserable business. Here was a promising
boy's future ruined. The only little solace, and it was likely enough
only a temporary one, was the fact that Clive had bolted. There was a
warrant out already for his arrest, and to see him in the police court,
to witness his trial and condemnation would be the very last straw.
Ranleigh's unhappy Head would have given thousands could he have undone
the whole matter, thousands to save Clive Darrell, for he liked the
young fellow, and thousands also to save the honour of the School. He
opened his eyes then, heard a step beside him, and saw Bert for the
first time. Mr. Axim had seen him a minute earlier, for all the masters
were present, as was the custom on such occasions, and had officiously
attempted to arrest him. But Bert shook his hand off peremptorily, and
now advanced to the Head's side.
"I have to ask pardon, sir," he began. "Clive Darrell is an old friend
of mine, and I come here to support him in his absence. I have here a
paper recapitulating the evidence against him, which I and Clive's best
friends have drawn up. We feel sure that you are too fair not to allow
us to put it before the School. May I read it?"
There was surprise on the Head's face. Mr. Axim was openly scoffing. But
a partisan of Clive's down at the end of the school boldly set up a
cheer. Feeling was indeed running high. Ranleigh still could not believe
Clive Darrell guilty, and now by their cheers they openly demanded to
hear the evidence in full. It was, indeed, a novel situation. The Head
grappled with it magnificently. He stood aside, and then held up his
hand.
"We pride ourselves on fair play at Ranleigh," he said. "Let Seymour
Primus and his friends prove Clive Darrell innocent, and I shall be the
first to thank them. Read the paper."
Bert did, slowly and impressively. Perhaps Susanne could not have chosen
a better man to put those facts before Ranleigh. The boys seemed to grip
the situation instantly. There were cheers as he reached the end of his
manifesto, and then dead silence. Bert had still something to say.
"Sir," he said, turning to the Head, "there is a Ranleighan here who is
the really guilty party. Who set fire to the school? I beg that you ask
him to come forward, and I ask also that you defer Clive Darrell's
expulsion till we have had time to sift certain evidence. We have a
clue. Fair play, sir, is all that we ask of you."
You could have heard the smallest pin drop on the tiled paving of the
Hall. Even the smaller boys failed on this momentous occasion to shuffle
their feet, an irritating habit they often acquire, while the seniors of
Ranleigh School moved not a muscle. There were none of those sharp,
barking coughs so noticeable in class-rooms, or in Chapel, which
distract the attention of the reader and make his voice almost
inaudible. There was a deep and impressive silence. As for the faces of
those collected in Hall, they wore a hundred different expressions. The
Head's fine, impassive features were heavily lined. He seemed to have
actually aged. Mr. Branson, that genial giant so deservedly popular,
showed utter misery on his somewhat heavy face. For Old B. had a tender
spot in his heart for Clive Darrell, just as he had for many another
boy. He had seen him arrive at the school, a mere mischievous chicken.
He had watched him grow up, had coached him in his work and in cricket,
where Clive did not shine as Bert did. Often had a smile or a word from
Old B. encouraged our hero. And here was the end of it all--disgrace,
dismissal; perhaps imprisonment.
"A better fellow never came to Ranleigh," he was muttering. "I don't
believe this tale. There's a fault somewhere. Clive's a stickler for
honour. Why should he give the name of a boy whom he believes he saw,
but whose back was always towards him? Then, too, the only light he
possessed was an electric torch, and that went out when his finger
slipped off the trigger. I grant that many would have given the name.
It's just the sort of occasion when Clive would refuse, partly because
it's a point of honour with him to protect the name of all Ranleighans,
mostly because there is just a doubt in his mind as to whether he can
have been mistaken, and he will not therefore fling an accusation of
such a serious nature at anyone on such evidence."
Old B. went scarlet in the face. His eyes flashed. He lifted a hand in
protest, and stepped forward. "I----" he began, but the Head waved him
back peremptorily.
"Wait," he asked a second later. Then his eyes closed. He threw himself
into his characteristic attitude, while a deep frown furrowed his brow.
From his position on the dais Bert slowly watched the expressions on the
faces of those assembled, watched and waited. There was positive fear
and alarm in the case of many of the youngsters. Middle School fellows
were obviously stirred, though the presence of so many masters, and of
the Head in particular, quelled any outburst. But the seniors were not
so vastly impressed. There was resolution on some of the faces,
indignation on others, and nowhere could he detect a sign of triumph at
Clive's downfall. Nowhere. Jenkins stood with clenched fists, biting his
lips and deep in thought. Roper appeared to be on the point of bursting
into speech. His cheeks were puffed out and reddened, while his breast
was absolutely swelling at the thought of the injustice which he
considered had been done. Even Rawlings, the oldest boy present, looked
sorry. There was none of the old truculence, the open scorn of his
rival, for Clive had now become in every way his rival. More than once
in the last year had Rawlings aspired to take the post of Captain of
Ranleigh, but, as we have said, his unpopularity was too pronounced. And
now that an election was imminent, it was certain that Clive, were he at
the school, would have gained the coveted honour. That was Rawlings'
fault. He should long ago have cultivated the friendship of his fellows.
Now he had lost it for good, and without doubt should have left the
school long ago. Why he remained on was never quite understood, though
it was rumoured that some family trouble had caused him to stay. Be that
as it might, he was still a Ranleighan, still unpopular, while of late,
perhaps because his own bosom friends had left, he had become silent and
taciturn, given to long fits of brooding, and sometimes to outbursts of
passion.
No, there was merely sorrow on Rawlings' features, sorrow and a
curiously dazed expression. And elsewhere only on the face of one was
there any expression hostile to our hero. Mr. Axim scowled. He felt that
he himself now stood as prisoner in the dock. For he it was who had
caught Clive, he it was who had scoffed at his declaration of innocence,
had summed up the evidence, had produced a motive for the acts, and had
thus impressed the Head. And here was open rejection of his decision, of
his arguments and of Clive's sentence. The position was, in fact, unique
in Ranleigh's annals, unique perhaps in the annals of almost every
school in existence.
"Monstrous!" he was muttering. "The evidence is clear. These people will
be accusing me of the crime next. As if I were swayed by animus! As if
it were not absolutely clear that Darrell is the guilty party.
"I--I protest," he cried, and then was silenced just as had been the
case with Mr. Branson. The Head actually scowled at his assistant
master.
"Allow me, if you please," he said, with acrid emphasis. And then he
faced the School. Slowly he allowed his gaze to pass down the lines of
boys assembled at their tables. He seemed to look closely into every
face, seemed almost to ask the question on every occasion. Then he threw
his head back and closed his eyes. But they were open a second later
when he addressed the School in tones more solemn than any had ever
known him to employ before.
"Ranleighans," he said, "I beg of you to listen to what I have to say.
One of your old comrades has been declared to be guilty of the most
dastardly conduct. I need not say more on that point, for the
particulars are thoroughly known. Last night the evidence against him
seemed to my mind to be conclusive. There was no fault that I could
discover, and though Darrell himself denied the acts he still declined
to give the name of one he suggested was the author of those fires. Now
Seymour Primus demands a respite. I give it freely, willingly. If there
be a doubt in this case, if delay may produce some evidence to clear
Clive Darrell, then, in Heaven's name, let us delay. But let us also
search our own consciences. That one whom Clive Darrell suggests is
guilty, whose name he refused to give, is a Ranleigh boy. I beg of that
boy to come boldly forward for his conscience' sake, for the sake of
Clive Darrell."
The silence was positively trying. Bert felt almost as if he would
explode if something did not soon happen to lessen the tension. Boys
stood at their places absolutely pale and over-strung, unmanned almost
by this ordeal. But none spoke. Not a boy came forward to proclaim his
guilt and Clive's innocence. There was not so much as a sound for one
full minute. And then there came a startling crash from the far end of
the Hall. The clatter of feet was heard, the double doors were burst
open, and there entered a small procession.
Susanne led the way, with Masters close behind him. Then came Hugh arm
in arm with Trendall. The village sergeant of police followed closely,
looking wonderfully important and just a little nonplussed at finding
himself for a few brief moments the observed of all observers. But
interest passed almost at once from him and those who led the
procession. A solitary figure marching behind became the target for all
observers.
"Clive Darrell!" shouted Bert. "Hooray for Clive Darrell!"