KING OF RANLEIGH
Such a scene had never before been witnessed at Ranleigh. Boys
positively became frantic. They cheered and cheered as if they would
keep on for ever. As for Bert Seymour, he waved his arms overhead and
danced in his excitement, surely an unusual state of affairs with one so
noted for sedateness.
And through the noise and the lanes of Ranleighans processed Susanne and
his followers. There was a curious air of suppressed excitement and
determination about them all. They turned neither to left nor to right,
and acknowledged none of the frantic greetings thrown at them. Clive
himself marched to the dais hands in pockets, not even deigning to
glance at Mr. Axim. The latter's face was indeed a study.
"What's this?" he had asked himself at the commencement of the commotion
which had ushered in this strange procession. "Feofé? Ah! One of
Darrell's special chums, and, of course, the others close in tow.
Members of the Old Firm. Can't help admiring the way they stick to a
friend, but it's wasted labour."
The distraction was, in any case, at the very commencement welcome to
him. We must be absolutely fair in our dealings with this master, and
declare that indignation at the doubt cast on his own shrewdness and at
Bert's open criticism of his method of summing up the evidence against
Clive Darrell was beginning to give way to something approaching doubt
of himself. Had he been absolutely impartial? Had he flown to
conclusions, and taken too little heed of Clive's persistent denials and
dogged refusal to discuss matters with him?
"Ought to have taken the fellow's nature into account," Mr. Axim was
telling himself, for he wasn't at heart an unkindly master, nor even
unfair. He was hasty, no doubt, and apt to allow prejudice to control
his thoughts and actions. But when all was said and done, Mr. Axim was a
Ranleighan, and at Ranleigh they go in for a fine stamp of master. And
to the credit of this particular one, let it be stated that he was
already discounting the wisdom of his late efforts.
"Supposing I'm wrong, and Clive's innocent? Supposing I've been hasty?"
he asked himself. "Pshaw! We never got on well together. Didn't
understand one another, I suppose. But that shouldn't make me unfair in
my dealings with him. I--I----"
"You've acted like a hasty fool!" Old B. told him bluntly, for Mr. Axim
in his agitation was speaking in a loud whisper. "You've been hard on
the boy. He's innocent. I'll--hang it, man! I'll back him yet to be King
of Ranleigh."
"But--but----"
"There isn't one. Did ever you see a guilty boy return to face his
school after committing a crime of this nature? Never! Does that police
sergeant look as if he had a possible prisoner behind him? Humbug, Axim!
Susanne's face is sufficient to inform you that he has a tale of his own
to tell us."
And Susanne had. The tall, broad-shouldered Frenchman looked positively
brimming over with happiness, though there was an air of seriousness
about him which showed that he also had some trouble. The same might be
said of Trendall. But Masters was ever notorious for the openness of his
feelings and opinions. He was absolutely truculent at this instant when
the procession had arrived at the dais. He transfixed Mr. Axim with a
glance which made that unfortunate and ill-advised gentleman wish that
he had never had any dealings with this matter. Then all eyes were
turned on the Head.
"With your permission, sir," said Susanne, halting at the edge of the
dais and addressing the master with becoming respect, "with your
permission we will mount the dais. We have information to give you. But
first it would be as well to tell us what has been passing here in our
absence."
The Head waved him up with a quick gesture. The lines were still drawn
deep across his forehead, but there was, nevertheless, something
approaching a look of relief. "You've arrived in the nick of time," he
said. "Let me explain what has happened. I have made an announcement as
to Clive Darrell. Seymour Primus, applauded by the School without
exception, has traversed the evidence against him and has demanded delay
in this unfortunate matter. To that I have agreed. Then, but a few
seconds before your arrival, I begged that if any boy were present here
who knew himself guilty he should for his conscience' sake and for Clive
Darrell's honour at once come forward. Not a boy has stirred. That is
the position."
Susanne mounted the dais slowly and deliberately. Those who knew him
would have sworn that he was reluctant to speak, and yet he had
information to give which would clear Clive's character entirely. He
glanced down those expectant lines thoughtfully.
"Er--you fellows," he said, "I've--that is, we went in search of Clive.
We were dead certain he was innocent."
Someone started a cheer just to encourage Susanne, for he was but a poor
speaker.
"He was supposed to have bolted from the school with the idea of hiding
himself. He hadn't. He went direct to the police station."
There was silence. Boys looked at one another. Some of the seniors
wagged their heads.
"Bravo, Clive!" cried Mr. Branson, unable longer to contain himself, and
then subsided, for the Head had fixed an indignant gaze on him. The
police sergeant at once stepped forward. "Fact, gentlemen," he said. "At
eight fifty-two he turns up. Of course I had heard of the night's
happening. 'Arrest me, sergeant,' he says. 'I've been expelled for
setting fire to Ranleigh.' Gentlemen, I didn't believe him."
Ranleigh howled its appreciation of the magnanimous conduct of this
officer, Mr. Axim positively squirmed, while the Head looked more than
uncomfortable. However, the sergeant had not yet finished.
"I arrested Mr. Darrell," he said. "On talking the matter over with him
I suggested investigation. Mr. Darrell stoutly denied the crime for
which he had handed himself over to my keeping."
"Ah! Investigation," gasped Mr. Axim. "How? On what lines? Surely we
looked into everything?"
The sergeant withered him with a look of scorn. He produced from beneath
his cloak a paper parcel and slowly unwrapped the paper.
"That was worth looking into," he said. "It's the first clue that would
occur to a baby. That's a kettle, sir, an ordinary kettle. See it?"
He held it up so that all could see, while he glanced sideways at the
unhappy master. Nor was the worthy sergeant disrespectful. There was
merely mild indignation in his manner. But then he happened to have a
lad of his own of Clive's age, and could thoroughly sympathise with that
young fellow. His experience also of the law told him that Mr. Axim's
deductions had been hasty and entirely misleading, for he had rushed to
conclusions without searching for obvious clues and following those
thoroughly. At arm's length overhead he now held a common kettle.
"That's a kettle, sir," he said again, "and that's paraffin."
Slowly he tipped it till a clear fluid trickled from the spout, and
falling on the wooden boards of the dais began to spread into a dark,
oily patch.
"And paraffin's what this incendiary was pouring along the passage,"
continued the sergeant. "That kettle was in the Headmaster's study. Were
you in the habit, sir, of keeping an article like this in that part?"
It must be frankly admitted that the Head looked thoroughly startled.
"A kettle! Certainly not! Such articles are kept in the proper
department. But I follow your reasoning, sergeant, we ought to have
investigated this matter."
"And so you would, sir, if you hadn't been led off the path in the wrong
direction. The detection of crime ain't only a matter of reasoning. It's
a question of facts often enough, and this here kettle's a fact. Now, it
don't belong to your people. I've asked the maids and the boy. They
don't own to it. Then I searched elsewhere. It was about that time that
I ran against Mr. Feofé and his friends. They'd been down to the station
making enquiries."
The Head looked intensely surprised. Such an act was a direct breach of
school rules and discipline. It amounted almost to a breaking out of the
school, and was a crime he would, as a rule, punish severely. But, as a
matter of fact, he had not even missed these boys from the collection of
Ranleighans. He had no suspicion that they were not present, and the
fact can be understood considering the nature of the business which had
brought him to meet the assembled school. Nor was this the moment in
which to discuss their breach of Ranleigh rules. He motioned to the
sergeant to continue.
"They'd learned he was along at my cottage, fixed up in the station, and
insisted I should fetch him so as to follow the clue I've put before
you. Well, gentlemen, there wasn't a doubt as to the owner. We know him.
He knows that we know him. He's here present. He's the guilty party."
No one stirred. If the Head expected that now one of the boys would
stand forward he was much mistaken. Not one attempted to move. More than
that, though he searched the lines of faces, there was not a boy present
who looked conscious or guilty. Was the sergeant mistaken? Was it he who
had gone astray from the path, and got upon a wrong line of reasoning
and evidence? Mr. Axim started. He wanted to prove Clive innocent just
as much as anyone else. He was honest enough not to care even if his own
deduction proved childish. But, if clues were to be followed, they must
be followed with intelligence.
"One moment, sergeant," he said. "This kettle."
"Yes, sir."
"You know the owner?"
"Without a shadow of doubt, sir."
"But do you know that it was the owner who made use of it last evening?
Can you prove that fact? Can you show that Clive Darrell did not himself
borrow it for this unfortunate business?"
Every eye turned upon the officer. He cleared his throat with a husky
cough and returned the frank and anxious stare of Ranleigh with one of
confidence.
"I can," he answered, with decision. "The dressing-gown belonging to the
owner of that kettle has the tails of the skirt wet with paraffin."
"But--but----" began Mr. Axim.
"But you can say the same for the dressing-gown belonging to Mr.
Darrell. It's saturated. You see, he was bowled over in the passage
where the stuff had been laid; at least, sir, that's his story."
"Yes, his. He told me that at once."
"But you didn't believe him. I did," said the sergeant sharply, whereat
there was a stir amongst the boys. They were on the point of bursting
out. That sergeant had become wonderfully popular.
"One of the best!" Masters was observing to himself, while he scowled at
Mr. Axim. Not that he meant much by that. Masters had changed his old
ideas by now. The teaching staff at Ranleigh weren't such bad fellows,
and decidedly not tyrants. But then the days of Masters' impots were
long since finished. "One of the best!" he repeated, looking at the
sergeant. "I've got a whole quid in my pocket. The Governor actually
stumped up to that extent. Blessed if I don't tip the sergeant a
sovereign."
"So we've got no further at the moment. Now, sir," went on the officer,
addressing the Headmaster, "I'd been making enquiries round the village,
and as a result I've learned that there was someone up here buying
paraffin. You see, after that first fire, school stores were safely
locked away, so that anyone who wanted the stuff had to look elsewhere
for it. That paraffin was carried away by a gent who's the same as the
one owning the kettle."
There was a deep hum in the Hall. And then a hush which was almost
awe-inspiring.
"But that wasn't quite all I wanted. I looked for more. I looked where
anyone else might have looked who'd followed the clue of that kettle. I
searched the locker and boxes of that individual. I found there a diary,
in which each fire is recorded, while the words make it clear that the
writer was the man we're after. Now, sir, is there anyone here who
doubts longer that Mr. Darrell can be innocent?"
Not one. Their faces showed it. But not a boy spoke, nor even a master.
The moment was far too serious for that, for a tragedy lay still before
them. Clive was cleared, even to the satisfaction of Mr. Axim. But there
was still a guilty party. He was one of the Ranleigh boys, he was there,
actually amongst them, and added to the enormity of his crime was the
fact that he had failed to come forward. All eyes were on the sergeant.
He was looking thoughtfully down the Hall, and seemed to glance at no
one in particular. Then the boys turned their attention to the
Headmaster, to Susanne, even to Masters and Trendall. Someone stirred.
It was Clive. He stepped swiftly across to the sergeant, and then to the
side of the Headmaster, whispering to both of them. The School was
electrified a moment later when it received a sharp order.
"That will do," said the Headmaster. "Boys will at once go to their
class-rooms. This matter is happily ended, and we rejoice that Clive
Darrell is still amongst us, an honoured member of Ranleigh."
There was amazement on all faces. Obedient to the order the School at
once filed out of the Hall, while questions shot from one boy to
another. Susanne went off arm in arm with Masters. Trendall followed our
hero, while the latter actually stepped up to Rawlings and took his
arm.
"Come on, old chap," he said kindly. "Let's be going. The Head has
dismissed the School."
The fellow was dazed. Anyone who had taken the trouble to watch him
almost from the commencement of this business would have noticed that
Rawlings stood as one in a dream. He seemed unable to follow the
discussion taking place on the dais. His eyes were staring, his mouth
half open, while his gaze was fixed on Clive Darrell, and now he was
babbling and grinning in extraordinary fashion. They led him gently from
the Hall to the sick-room, where the doctor was soon in attendance, and
that afternoon the School had another sensation. Rawlings had lost his
senses. He had become insane, and was no longer responsible for his
actions. More than that, it was he who had set fire so often to the
school premises, and with the cunning of one who is insane had managed
so long to elude his comrades. And now his curious behaviour of late
came to be understood. Fellows wondered why they had not noticed his
strange ways, his taciturnity and silence. They were, in fact, the early
symptoms of the misfortune which had attacked him. Clive, however, was
destined to learn more of this extraordinary matter. It appeared,
indeed, that for some while Rawlings had been troubled with home
matters. Somehow he had discovered that his father was none too honest,
and, in fact, had committed a forgery. That act had enabled him to
become possessed of the estate which had once been Clive Darrell's
father's. And the antipathy which Rawlings had from the first taken to
our hero had persuaded him to put aside this most important discovery.
But he was not all bad. The fear of a downfall, of loss of dignity, and
of poverty had encouraged him to make the utmost of the benefits which
his father's fraud had provided at the expense of Clive's people. And
then his better nature and his conscience swayed him in an opposite
direction. What was he to do? Expose his own father? Bring ruin on him
and disgrace, with a long sentence of imprisonment? The responsibility
of such a position can be well imagined. The youth was harassed. The
matter preyed on his mind, and this breakdown was the result.
"It was rough on Rawlings," said Clive, when he talked the matter over
with his old friends. "I'm sorry for him, awfully. And it's really lucky
that the father died. Of course, we've come back to our own again. I'm
glad for my mother's sake. But I'm sorry for Rawlings."
"And about that fire. You knew it was he?" asked Bert.
"Yes. I felt certain."
"And you wouldn't speak. Why?"
"Because I caught only a glimpse, and because I hated to be the one to
ruin him."
That was the sort of spirit at Ranleigh. Perhaps not always employed
wisely and in a right manner. But it did the School honour. At any rate,
the boys were sufficiently satisfied with the honour and wisdom of Clive
Darrell that they straightway elected him as King of Ranleigh.
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