Chapter Thirty Two.The Doctor’s Dictum.“It’d take a month,” said the gardener, as Glyn was coming up. “Don’t tell me! Should think I know more about wells than you do. Fast as you take a bucketful out another one runs in. You go and tell him that if he means to have the old well emptied we shall want half-a-dozen men, for we could never do it by oursens.”“Yah!” cried Wrench; “such fellows as you gardeners are. It’s always the same old tune: more help, more help.—Hear him, Mr Severn, sir? I expect the water isn’t so clear as it has been, and the Doctor says he will have the well emptied and cleaned out.—Look here, Taters, you can go and tell the Doctor that if you like; I am going to work.”“Oh, I shan’t tell him,” growled the gardener. “I aren’t afraid of a bit of wuck; only, mark my words, as I says again, it’d take a month.”The unusual task did not take a month; but after a hard day’s toil so little progress had been made, and Wrench’s indoor work had come to such a standstill, that the Doctor gave orders for the gardener to get the assistance of a couple of labouring men, when the water was so much lowered at the end of the next day that unless a great deal filtered in during the coming night there was a fair prospect of the bottom being reached before long.By a tacit understanding with the Doctor, Glyn was excused from lessons during the clearing out of the well, and spent his time watching the emptying of every bucketful as it was wound slowly up; and it was put about by Slegge that Glyn had been planted there by the Doctor to keep the juniors off for fear any of them should tumble down.It was an anxious task for the boy, who had to resist appeal after appeal made by Singh to come and join him in some sport or go for a walk. But Glyn kept fast to his post, watching in vain, and without much hope, for if the case was there it would probably be sunk in the mud. One hour he found himself full of faith in the belief that there was something in his dream, and the next he thought that it was all nonsense.And so the days passed on, with Glyn paying constant visits to the well-house, where Wrench went on toiling away; while, in spite of the sloppiness of the place, his big tom-cat came regularly to perch himself upon a shelf, and with his big eyes looking fierce and glowing in the semi-darkness ofthe building, he seemed to look upon it as his duty to see that all went on steadily and well.The sixth day had come round, and the gardener reiterated with a grin, as he stared grimly at Glyn, “Ah, we shan’t be done yet. It’s my opinion that it will take a month; and that’s what the ganger thinks too.”“The ganger?” said Glyn. “Who’s he?”“Him,” said Wrench, with a sidewise nod in the direction of his feline favourite, who was crouched together in the spot he had selected for looking on.“Oh, nonsense!” cried Glyn.“Ah, you may call it nonsense; but you know, Mr Severn, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if that cat thinks. It’s my opinion that he knows there’s holes somewhere down below, just above where the water used to be, and that sooner or later if he waits patiently he will see some of them as lives there come up in the empty bucket for him to hunt.”“And what are they that live down there?” said Glyn.“Rats, sir—rats.”There was some colour given to Slegge’s assertion that Glyn was there to keep the juniors from tumbling down; for the slow, steady lowering and drawing up of the big buckets had a peculiar fascination for some of the youngest boys, notably the little set whose playtime was nearly all monopolised by hard work—to wit, the bowling and fielding for Slegge. Their anxiety was wonderful. If Glyn was not constantly on the watch, one or other would be getting in the men’s way, to peer down into the darkness or rush to where the full buckets were emptied into a drain.On commencing work upon the sixth morning the water was found to be so lowered that the big buckets had to be removed from rope and chains, for they would not descend far enough to fill. So they were replaced by small ordinary pails; and, the work becoming much lighter, they were wound up and down at a much more rapid rate.“We shan’t be long now, Mr Severn, sir,” said Wrench, for each pail as it came up had for its contents half-water and half-mud, the sediment of many, many years. And at last Glyn’s heart began to throb, for hanging out over the side of the last-raised bucket was a long length of muddy string.“Then I am right,” he said to himself. “How strange!” And as he followed to the mouth of the drain into which the contents of the pail were to be poured he caught hold of the string.“Here, don’t do that, sir,” cried Wrench. “You’ll cover yourself with mud. Let me,” and before the boy could stop him the man had snatched the string from his hand and drawn it out.“Broken away,” said Glyn to himself, as the end was drawn from the bucket, and he now peered anxiously into the pail, expecting to see one end of the long morocco case standing up out of the thick contents.But as the half-fluid mud was poured away the empty bucket went down and its fellow rose similarly filled.Glyn expected to see the rest of the string, for nothing like half of that which he believed he had lost had come up.Again he was disappointed, for there was neither string nor case, and for some time bucket after bucket rose, at first full of mud, but by slow degrees containing half, a quarter, and then only a small portion of mud and water at a time, while each time the empty ones reached the bottom a hollow scraping sound arose, as by clever manipulation of the rope by Wrench they were dragged along the bottom.“I say, Mr Severn, sir,” he cried, “who’d ever have thought that there was all that mud under the beautiful clear water? Ah, it must be a mort of years since it was cleared out, and now we are at it we will do it well—let the water come in a little and give it a good wash out two or three times over. I won’t let it fill up at all till we have scraped this all clear. That’s the way to do it,” he continued, giving the rope a swing so as to turn the bucket on its side and scrape it along the bottom. “Hear that, sir? All hard stone at the bottom down there, and mud and mud. Now, I half-expected to find a lot of things that had fallen down, and the hoops of some old bucket that had been lost.”Glyn started at the man’s words, and saw in his mind’s eye the long red morocco case, blackened now and saturated with water, while he wondered what effect the moisture would have had on the beautiful gold-embroidered leather of the belt.“Yes,” continued Wrench, giving Glyn as he stood close beside the mouth of the well what seemed to the boy a malicious grin, “I did expect to find something curious down there; but the buckets run easily over the bottom, and there don’t seem to be—yes, there is,” he shouted excitedly. “Nothing like patience in fishing. I have got a bite.”Glyn’s heart seemed to stand still as the man gave a snatch at the rope.“That’s the way to strike,” he cried excitedly. “I’ve caught him, and a heavy one too.”Glyn’s heart sank with disappointment, for there was no heaviness about the belt, and he stood waiting now as the winch was steadily turned and the bucket began to rise.They had not been observed before, but a little party of about a dozen of the younger boys had been hovering for some time about the well-house-door, and first one and then another made a dash in from time to time when Wrench was too busy with the buckets to take any notice of them.Burton had come inside now, to range up close to Glyn, and in an affectionate way passed his arm round that of the lad who had been his defender more than once.Glyn responded by withdrawing his arm, placing both hands on the little fellow’s shoulders, and thrusting him in front so that the boy could have a good view of all that there was to see.“I say, Severn,” he cried, turning his head to look up, “no larks—no shoving me down the well!”“Why not?” said Severn merrily, as he gripped the little fellow tighter.“Because old Slegge will want me to bowl for him, and he likes kicking me.”“Likes kicking you? Why?” said Glyn, speaking almost mechanically, for he was anxiously watching the dark hole for the ascent of the next bucket.“Because I’m so soft and don’t hurt his feet.”“Don’t let it drop out, mates,” cried the gardener, who was on the other side of the well, turning one winch. “Hold tight now you have got him. Do you know what it is?”“No,” replied Wrench; “but I think by the feel of it when I got it slithered into the bucket that it must be an old brick out of the side somewhere.”“Yah! Not it!” said the gardener. “I’ll tell you what it is: it’s that big old tom-cat of the Doctor’s that used to be about the garden and was always scratching up my young plants. He was missing four or five years ago, and I dare say he got into the top bucket to curl up for a nap one night, and went down in it and was drowned.”“If it is,” said Wrench, “he’s got to be pretty heavy with soaking up so much water down below. Maybe you know better than that how it was he did get drowned and left off scratching up your plants.”As the man said these words little Burton gave quite a jump, and made a peculiar sound.“Here,” said Glyn quietly, “what are you starting at? Did you think I was going to pretend to push you in?”“N–n–no,” said the little fellow in a peculiar tone.“What are you laughing at?” said Glyn, tightening his hold on the boy’s shoulders.The little fellow squirmed.“It—it—it—it—it,”—he stuttered—“it does tickle me so!”“There, there! Steady, steady!” said Glyn. “No nonsense, or I shall send you out of the well-house.”“No, no; please don’t, Severn,” whispered the boy excitedly. “Let me stay, please. I do so want to see.”“Very well, then, only no games now,” and in rather a hopeless way, feeling as he did that there would be no morocco case and belt brought up this time, Glyn patiently waited till from out of the darkness the bucket came into sight, was wound up till it was well within reach, a thump and a scraping noise coming echoing up from the bottom to announce that its fellow had reached the end of its journey, and Wrench cried out “Wo—ho!” for the gardener to hold on tightly by the handle and prevent the heavy bucket running down again.“Why, Crumpets!” cried Wrench, “what in the world have we got here?” while Burton reached both hands back behind him so as to get a good grip at the lapels of Severn’s jacket, and began to dance with delight.“Why, it’s a cricket-bat!” cried Wrench. “Hanging over the side of the bucket by a string tied round the handle!”At this Burton began to make uncouth sounds as if he were being choked in his efforts to suppress a hearty burst of laughter.“Well, this ’ere’s a pretty game,” continued Wrench, as he took hold of the bat by the handle and ran his hand along the muddy string till at the bottom of the bucket his hand came in contact with a heavy brick. “Why, any one would think it was a tom-cat with a string round its neck and a brick at the other end of the string so as to keep him down. Four or five years ago! Why, that would be time enough for all the flesh and skin to have gone; but I never knowed that cats’ skillingtons was shaped like a cricket-bat.—Here, steady, youngster!” he continued to the little fellow, “if you laugh like that you will have a fit.”“Oh, I can’t bear it! I can’t bear it!” panted the little chap, and wrenching himself free from Glyn’s grasp he rushed out at the well-house door, ten or a dozen of his comrades bounding up to him as he shouted, “Oh, come and look! come and look! Here it is! They’ve pulled it up, drowned and quite dead.”There was a yell of delight from the little crowd, and all rushed up to the well-house-door, to begin performing something like a triumphant war-dance about the blackened and muddy bat.“Here, I say, some one,” cried Burton, “run and tell old Slegge that they have found his cricket-bat drowned in the well like a dead dog in a pond.”“Hush! Hush! Oh no. Hold your tongue!” whispered another of the boys excitedly. “Let him find it out for himself. Don’t let the cat out of the bag.”“Bat out of the bag, you mean,” said Glyn, who knew of the disappearance of the bat and began to see through what had been done. “Which of you did this?”There was no reply.“Do you hear?” cried Glyn, catching Burton by the collar of his jacket.“I shan’t tell,” replied the little fellow. “Serve him right for loading the old bat with lead.—Chuck it down again, somebody.”“Nay,” cried Wrench; “I am not going to have any more things drowned in my well. Now then, stand aside, some of you! Clear out, and take that bat away.”“Here,” cried Burton. “Come on, boys! Bring it along.”“Stop a moment,” said Glyn. “Here’s a painted wooden label here. What’s this on it?”“B—e—a—s—t,” said Wrench, “only it’s turned nearly black with being in the water, and very badly done; but that’s it, sure enough, sir—beast.”“Yes, that’s it—beast,” said another of the boys, snatching the bat from Glyn’s hand, while another boy got hold of the brick.“Come on, boys,” cried Burton. “Let’s get a spade from the potting-shed and bury the beast before old Slegge knows.” And away they galloped, followed by a shout from the gardener:“Here, I say, you mind you put that there spade away again!—They’re nice uns, Mr Severn, sir, and knew about it all the time.”“Yes,” said Wrench; “that young Burton was chuckling and laughing so that he could hardly bear himself while he was waiting to see it come up.—Now, then, twist t’other bucket over, mate, and give it a drag round the bottom. What are we going to catch next?”Glyn started once more, his heart beginning to beat fast with expectation; but it gradually calmed down as the time went on, bucket after bucket after a careful scraping along the bottom bringing up nothing but a very little mud, and he began to feel convinced that if there had been a morocco case down at the bottom of the well it must have been felt in the careful dredging the live rock received, even if it had not been brought up.“There,” said Wrench, “that’ll do for to-day. It’s only scraping for nothing to get a little mud like that. I dare say there’ll be six inches of water in the bottom by to-morrow morning, and we will give the whole place a good scraping round in getting that out; then another the next day, and it ought to do.”“But do you feel sure there’s nothing down there now?” said Glyn.“Certain, sir. What do you say to going down yourself to see? You could stand in the bucket, and we’d let you down. You wouldn’t mind turning round as you went down?”“No,” cried Glyn eagerly; “and there’s no water there now.”“Not much more than enough to fill a teacup, sir. What do you say?”“I’ll go,” cried Glyn excitedly. “I could take a lantern with me so as to make sure there was nothing left.”“Well, yes, sir, it would be wise to take a candle,” said Wrench.—“Wouldn’t it, gardener?”“Nay, my lad; you ought to send the light down first. Then, if it didn’t go out, him as went down wouldn’t go out.”“What do you mean?” said Glyn.“Foul air, sir. Like enough there’s some down at the bottom of that well.”“Oh, there couldn’t be any to hurt,” cried Glyn eagerly. “I’ll go, Wrench. Get a candle.”“Not I, sir,” said the man sturdily. “If any one was to go down that well it would be me; but there ain’t no need for it. I could swear there’s nothing down there, and I shan’t go.”“Nobody wants you to go,” cried Glyn. “I’ll go myself.”“That you don’t, sir, if I know it,” said Wrench sturdily. “Pst! Here’s the Doctor.”For at that moment the entrance was darkened and the Doctor came in, picking his way very carefully lest he should step into one of the puddles of the muddy floor.“Well, my men,” he said in his slow, pompous way, “have you nearly emptied the well?”“Quite, sir,” said Wrench.“Was there any mud?”“Yes, sir; we got out about two cart-loads, and scraped out all we could. To-morrow, when there’s a little more water come back, we’re going to try again.”“Yes,” said the Doctor; “clean it out thoroughly while you are about it; and mind and carefully secure the door when you come away. You had better lock it, so that nobody can get in.—Well, Mr Severn, you must be tired of watching here. Come and walk down the garden with me.”Glyn followed the Doctor, who made room for him to walk abreast till they were half-way down the main path, when the latter said quietly, “Well, Severn, what have you found?”“Nothing, sir,” replied Severn, who did not consider it necessary to allude to the bat.“No,” said the Doctor; “I did not expect you would. Of course, you see, my boy, that it was only a dream.”
“It’d take a month,” said the gardener, as Glyn was coming up. “Don’t tell me! Should think I know more about wells than you do. Fast as you take a bucketful out another one runs in. You go and tell him that if he means to have the old well emptied we shall want half-a-dozen men, for we could never do it by oursens.”
“Yah!” cried Wrench; “such fellows as you gardeners are. It’s always the same old tune: more help, more help.—Hear him, Mr Severn, sir? I expect the water isn’t so clear as it has been, and the Doctor says he will have the well emptied and cleaned out.—Look here, Taters, you can go and tell the Doctor that if you like; I am going to work.”
“Oh, I shan’t tell him,” growled the gardener. “I aren’t afraid of a bit of wuck; only, mark my words, as I says again, it’d take a month.”
The unusual task did not take a month; but after a hard day’s toil so little progress had been made, and Wrench’s indoor work had come to such a standstill, that the Doctor gave orders for the gardener to get the assistance of a couple of labouring men, when the water was so much lowered at the end of the next day that unless a great deal filtered in during the coming night there was a fair prospect of the bottom being reached before long.
By a tacit understanding with the Doctor, Glyn was excused from lessons during the clearing out of the well, and spent his time watching the emptying of every bucketful as it was wound slowly up; and it was put about by Slegge that Glyn had been planted there by the Doctor to keep the juniors off for fear any of them should tumble down.
It was an anxious task for the boy, who had to resist appeal after appeal made by Singh to come and join him in some sport or go for a walk. But Glyn kept fast to his post, watching in vain, and without much hope, for if the case was there it would probably be sunk in the mud. One hour he found himself full of faith in the belief that there was something in his dream, and the next he thought that it was all nonsense.
And so the days passed on, with Glyn paying constant visits to the well-house, where Wrench went on toiling away; while, in spite of the sloppiness of the place, his big tom-cat came regularly to perch himself upon a shelf, and with his big eyes looking fierce and glowing in the semi-darkness ofthe building, he seemed to look upon it as his duty to see that all went on steadily and well.
The sixth day had come round, and the gardener reiterated with a grin, as he stared grimly at Glyn, “Ah, we shan’t be done yet. It’s my opinion that it will take a month; and that’s what the ganger thinks too.”
“The ganger?” said Glyn. “Who’s he?”
“Him,” said Wrench, with a sidewise nod in the direction of his feline favourite, who was crouched together in the spot he had selected for looking on.
“Oh, nonsense!” cried Glyn.
“Ah, you may call it nonsense; but you know, Mr Severn, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if that cat thinks. It’s my opinion that he knows there’s holes somewhere down below, just above where the water used to be, and that sooner or later if he waits patiently he will see some of them as lives there come up in the empty bucket for him to hunt.”
“And what are they that live down there?” said Glyn.
“Rats, sir—rats.”
There was some colour given to Slegge’s assertion that Glyn was there to keep the juniors from tumbling down; for the slow, steady lowering and drawing up of the big buckets had a peculiar fascination for some of the youngest boys, notably the little set whose playtime was nearly all monopolised by hard work—to wit, the bowling and fielding for Slegge. Their anxiety was wonderful. If Glyn was not constantly on the watch, one or other would be getting in the men’s way, to peer down into the darkness or rush to where the full buckets were emptied into a drain.
On commencing work upon the sixth morning the water was found to be so lowered that the big buckets had to be removed from rope and chains, for they would not descend far enough to fill. So they were replaced by small ordinary pails; and, the work becoming much lighter, they were wound up and down at a much more rapid rate.
“We shan’t be long now, Mr Severn, sir,” said Wrench, for each pail as it came up had for its contents half-water and half-mud, the sediment of many, many years. And at last Glyn’s heart began to throb, for hanging out over the side of the last-raised bucket was a long length of muddy string.
“Then I am right,” he said to himself. “How strange!” And as he followed to the mouth of the drain into which the contents of the pail were to be poured he caught hold of the string.
“Here, don’t do that, sir,” cried Wrench. “You’ll cover yourself with mud. Let me,” and before the boy could stop him the man had snatched the string from his hand and drawn it out.
“Broken away,” said Glyn to himself, as the end was drawn from the bucket, and he now peered anxiously into the pail, expecting to see one end of the long morocco case standing up out of the thick contents.
But as the half-fluid mud was poured away the empty bucket went down and its fellow rose similarly filled.
Glyn expected to see the rest of the string, for nothing like half of that which he believed he had lost had come up.
Again he was disappointed, for there was neither string nor case, and for some time bucket after bucket rose, at first full of mud, but by slow degrees containing half, a quarter, and then only a small portion of mud and water at a time, while each time the empty ones reached the bottom a hollow scraping sound arose, as by clever manipulation of the rope by Wrench they were dragged along the bottom.
“I say, Mr Severn, sir,” he cried, “who’d ever have thought that there was all that mud under the beautiful clear water? Ah, it must be a mort of years since it was cleared out, and now we are at it we will do it well—let the water come in a little and give it a good wash out two or three times over. I won’t let it fill up at all till we have scraped this all clear. That’s the way to do it,” he continued, giving the rope a swing so as to turn the bucket on its side and scrape it along the bottom. “Hear that, sir? All hard stone at the bottom down there, and mud and mud. Now, I half-expected to find a lot of things that had fallen down, and the hoops of some old bucket that had been lost.”
Glyn started at the man’s words, and saw in his mind’s eye the long red morocco case, blackened now and saturated with water, while he wondered what effect the moisture would have had on the beautiful gold-embroidered leather of the belt.
“Yes,” continued Wrench, giving Glyn as he stood close beside the mouth of the well what seemed to the boy a malicious grin, “I did expect to find something curious down there; but the buckets run easily over the bottom, and there don’t seem to be—yes, there is,” he shouted excitedly. “Nothing like patience in fishing. I have got a bite.”
Glyn’s heart seemed to stand still as the man gave a snatch at the rope.
“That’s the way to strike,” he cried excitedly. “I’ve caught him, and a heavy one too.”
Glyn’s heart sank with disappointment, for there was no heaviness about the belt, and he stood waiting now as the winch was steadily turned and the bucket began to rise.
They had not been observed before, but a little party of about a dozen of the younger boys had been hovering for some time about the well-house-door, and first one and then another made a dash in from time to time when Wrench was too busy with the buckets to take any notice of them.
Burton had come inside now, to range up close to Glyn, and in an affectionate way passed his arm round that of the lad who had been his defender more than once.
Glyn responded by withdrawing his arm, placing both hands on the little fellow’s shoulders, and thrusting him in front so that the boy could have a good view of all that there was to see.
“I say, Severn,” he cried, turning his head to look up, “no larks—no shoving me down the well!”
“Why not?” said Severn merrily, as he gripped the little fellow tighter.
“Because old Slegge will want me to bowl for him, and he likes kicking me.”
“Likes kicking you? Why?” said Glyn, speaking almost mechanically, for he was anxiously watching the dark hole for the ascent of the next bucket.
“Because I’m so soft and don’t hurt his feet.”
“Don’t let it drop out, mates,” cried the gardener, who was on the other side of the well, turning one winch. “Hold tight now you have got him. Do you know what it is?”
“No,” replied Wrench; “but I think by the feel of it when I got it slithered into the bucket that it must be an old brick out of the side somewhere.”
“Yah! Not it!” said the gardener. “I’ll tell you what it is: it’s that big old tom-cat of the Doctor’s that used to be about the garden and was always scratching up my young plants. He was missing four or five years ago, and I dare say he got into the top bucket to curl up for a nap one night, and went down in it and was drowned.”
“If it is,” said Wrench, “he’s got to be pretty heavy with soaking up so much water down below. Maybe you know better than that how it was he did get drowned and left off scratching up your plants.”
As the man said these words little Burton gave quite a jump, and made a peculiar sound.
“Here,” said Glyn quietly, “what are you starting at? Did you think I was going to pretend to push you in?”
“N–n–no,” said the little fellow in a peculiar tone.
“What are you laughing at?” said Glyn, tightening his hold on the boy’s shoulders.
The little fellow squirmed.
“It—it—it—it—it,”—he stuttered—“it does tickle me so!”
“There, there! Steady, steady!” said Glyn. “No nonsense, or I shall send you out of the well-house.”
“No, no; please don’t, Severn,” whispered the boy excitedly. “Let me stay, please. I do so want to see.”
“Very well, then, only no games now,” and in rather a hopeless way, feeling as he did that there would be no morocco case and belt brought up this time, Glyn patiently waited till from out of the darkness the bucket came into sight, was wound up till it was well within reach, a thump and a scraping noise coming echoing up from the bottom to announce that its fellow had reached the end of its journey, and Wrench cried out “Wo—ho!” for the gardener to hold on tightly by the handle and prevent the heavy bucket running down again.
“Why, Crumpets!” cried Wrench, “what in the world have we got here?” while Burton reached both hands back behind him so as to get a good grip at the lapels of Severn’s jacket, and began to dance with delight.
“Why, it’s a cricket-bat!” cried Wrench. “Hanging over the side of the bucket by a string tied round the handle!”
At this Burton began to make uncouth sounds as if he were being choked in his efforts to suppress a hearty burst of laughter.
“Well, this ’ere’s a pretty game,” continued Wrench, as he took hold of the bat by the handle and ran his hand along the muddy string till at the bottom of the bucket his hand came in contact with a heavy brick. “Why, any one would think it was a tom-cat with a string round its neck and a brick at the other end of the string so as to keep him down. Four or five years ago! Why, that would be time enough for all the flesh and skin to have gone; but I never knowed that cats’ skillingtons was shaped like a cricket-bat.—Here, steady, youngster!” he continued to the little fellow, “if you laugh like that you will have a fit.”
“Oh, I can’t bear it! I can’t bear it!” panted the little chap, and wrenching himself free from Glyn’s grasp he rushed out at the well-house door, ten or a dozen of his comrades bounding up to him as he shouted, “Oh, come and look! come and look! Here it is! They’ve pulled it up, drowned and quite dead.”
There was a yell of delight from the little crowd, and all rushed up to the well-house-door, to begin performing something like a triumphant war-dance about the blackened and muddy bat.
“Here, I say, some one,” cried Burton, “run and tell old Slegge that they have found his cricket-bat drowned in the well like a dead dog in a pond.”
“Hush! Hush! Oh no. Hold your tongue!” whispered another of the boys excitedly. “Let him find it out for himself. Don’t let the cat out of the bag.”
“Bat out of the bag, you mean,” said Glyn, who knew of the disappearance of the bat and began to see through what had been done. “Which of you did this?”
There was no reply.
“Do you hear?” cried Glyn, catching Burton by the collar of his jacket.
“I shan’t tell,” replied the little fellow. “Serve him right for loading the old bat with lead.—Chuck it down again, somebody.”
“Nay,” cried Wrench; “I am not going to have any more things drowned in my well. Now then, stand aside, some of you! Clear out, and take that bat away.”
“Here,” cried Burton. “Come on, boys! Bring it along.”
“Stop a moment,” said Glyn. “Here’s a painted wooden label here. What’s this on it?”
“B—e—a—s—t,” said Wrench, “only it’s turned nearly black with being in the water, and very badly done; but that’s it, sure enough, sir—beast.”
“Yes, that’s it—beast,” said another of the boys, snatching the bat from Glyn’s hand, while another boy got hold of the brick.
“Come on, boys,” cried Burton. “Let’s get a spade from the potting-shed and bury the beast before old Slegge knows.” And away they galloped, followed by a shout from the gardener:
“Here, I say, you mind you put that there spade away again!—They’re nice uns, Mr Severn, sir, and knew about it all the time.”
“Yes,” said Wrench; “that young Burton was chuckling and laughing so that he could hardly bear himself while he was waiting to see it come up.—Now, then, twist t’other bucket over, mate, and give it a drag round the bottom. What are we going to catch next?”
Glyn started once more, his heart beginning to beat fast with expectation; but it gradually calmed down as the time went on, bucket after bucket after a careful scraping along the bottom bringing up nothing but a very little mud, and he began to feel convinced that if there had been a morocco case down at the bottom of the well it must have been felt in the careful dredging the live rock received, even if it had not been brought up.
“There,” said Wrench, “that’ll do for to-day. It’s only scraping for nothing to get a little mud like that. I dare say there’ll be six inches of water in the bottom by to-morrow morning, and we will give the whole place a good scraping round in getting that out; then another the next day, and it ought to do.”
“But do you feel sure there’s nothing down there now?” said Glyn.
“Certain, sir. What do you say to going down yourself to see? You could stand in the bucket, and we’d let you down. You wouldn’t mind turning round as you went down?”
“No,” cried Glyn eagerly; “and there’s no water there now.”
“Not much more than enough to fill a teacup, sir. What do you say?”
“I’ll go,” cried Glyn excitedly. “I could take a lantern with me so as to make sure there was nothing left.”
“Well, yes, sir, it would be wise to take a candle,” said Wrench.—“Wouldn’t it, gardener?”
“Nay, my lad; you ought to send the light down first. Then, if it didn’t go out, him as went down wouldn’t go out.”
“What do you mean?” said Glyn.
“Foul air, sir. Like enough there’s some down at the bottom of that well.”
“Oh, there couldn’t be any to hurt,” cried Glyn eagerly. “I’ll go, Wrench. Get a candle.”
“Not I, sir,” said the man sturdily. “If any one was to go down that well it would be me; but there ain’t no need for it. I could swear there’s nothing down there, and I shan’t go.”
“Nobody wants you to go,” cried Glyn. “I’ll go myself.”
“That you don’t, sir, if I know it,” said Wrench sturdily. “Pst! Here’s the Doctor.”
For at that moment the entrance was darkened and the Doctor came in, picking his way very carefully lest he should step into one of the puddles of the muddy floor.
“Well, my men,” he said in his slow, pompous way, “have you nearly emptied the well?”
“Quite, sir,” said Wrench.
“Was there any mud?”
“Yes, sir; we got out about two cart-loads, and scraped out all we could. To-morrow, when there’s a little more water come back, we’re going to try again.”
“Yes,” said the Doctor; “clean it out thoroughly while you are about it; and mind and carefully secure the door when you come away. You had better lock it, so that nobody can get in.—Well, Mr Severn, you must be tired of watching here. Come and walk down the garden with me.”
Glyn followed the Doctor, who made room for him to walk abreast till they were half-way down the main path, when the latter said quietly, “Well, Severn, what have you found?”
“Nothing, sir,” replied Severn, who did not consider it necessary to allude to the bat.
“No,” said the Doctor; “I did not expect you would. Of course, you see, my boy, that it was only a dream.”
Chapter Thirty Three.Between Boys.“Oh, I say, what a lovely morning!”Glyn, who had lain awake half the night, woke up with a start, to see Singh standing barefooted by the window, which he had just thrown wide open to let in the joyous sunshine and the soft sweet air. “Yes, jolly,” he cried, inhaling a deep breath. “No! Most miserable morning I ever saw,” and he sank back sitting on the edge of his bed, to utter a deep groan.Singh sprang to his side in an instant. “Glyn, old chap, what’s the matter? Are you ill?”“Yes, horribly. In my head. Oh, I say! I couldn’t sleep for ever so long last night for thinking about it.”“Then why didn’t you wake me, old fellow? I’d have dressed directly and gone and told the Doctor.”“What about?”“You being so ill.”“Bah!” cried Glyn angrily. “It isn’t salts and senna. What a fellow you are! You don’t mean to say that you’d forgotten that the dad’s coming down to-day?”Singh plumped himself down on the carpet like a native of Dour, untroubled by clothes, with his knees nearly to his ears and his crossed hands before him resting on the floor, while his face lost its sympathetic expression and puckered up into one of misery and despair.“Yes, I had,” he said, with a groan; “all about it. Here,” he cried passionately, “I won’t be treated like a schoolboy! I am a prince and a chief, and the belt was mine. It’s gone, and I won’t be bullied about it by any one.”“Not even by your guardian, eh?”“Not even by my guardian,” cried the boy haughtily. “If Colonel Severn says anything to me about it I shall tell him I won’t hear another word, and that he is to go to the best jeweller in London and order another exactly like the one that has been stolen.”“Of course,” said Glyn solemnly. “It’ll be as easy as kissing your hand, and they’ll know at once how to engrave the emeralds with the old Sanskrit inscription, and make the belt of the same kind of leather, so beautifully soft, dull, and yellow; and there are plenty of people in London who can do that Indian embroidery.”Singh nodded his head shortly.“Bah! You jolly old Tom Noodle!” continued Glyn; “why, even if they could get as big emeralds and manage somehow to have the exact words of the inscription cut, would it be the same old belt and stones as came down from the past, and that your father used to wear?”Singh’s eyes dilated and his lips parted.“No,” he said with a groan. “Oh, Glynny, what a beast you are! And you call yourself my friend!”“Never,” cried Glyn. “It was you said I was.”“Yes, and instead of helping me in my trouble, and saying a few words to comfort me, you call me names.”“Yes, but I didn’t call you a beast. Is it being a friend to hide the truth from you and let you snuggle yourself up with a lot of sham? Answer me this: would a fresh belt be anything more than an imitation?”“No, I suppose not,” groaned Singh. “I am a prince, and going to be very rich some day, and rule over my people, with a little army of my own, and elephants, and everything any one could wish for; but I am not a bit clever, except at wicket-keeping. I haven’t got half such a head as you have, Glyn, and such a head as I have got is now all muddled and full of what you may call it.”“Brains,” said Glyn cynically.“No, no; I don’t mean that,” said Singh piteously. “Don’t tease me, old chap; I am so miserable. I mean, my head’s full of that stuff, I don’t remember what you call it—I mean what you have when you are very sorry for something you have done.”“Misery?”“No, no. Here, I remember—remorse. I know well enough now, though I don’t like owning it, that if I had done as you told me, and taken care always to lock it up, that belt wouldn’t be gone.”“Well, it’s too late to talk about that,” said Glyn, “and it’s no use to cry over spilt milk. You have got to face it all out with the dad when he comes, and take your blowing-up like a man.”“I can’t. I shall do just as I said, and even if it isn’t going to be the same belt,” cried the boy passionately, “I shall give your father orders. Yes, I can see you sneering. Orders, orders,” he repeated, with increased emphasis, “to have a new one made.”Glyn threw himself back on his bed, and gave his heels a kick in the air. “Ho, ho! ha, ha!” he roared with laughter. “What a game! Mind and do it when I am there. I should like to see you jump on a fence and cry ‘Cock-a-doodle-doo’ at my father. Fancy you playing the haughty prince to him! Why, he’d stare at you. You know his way. And he’d take a grab of his moustache in each hand and pull it out straight before he began; and then he’d get up out of his chair, take hold of you by one of your ears, lead you back, and put you between his knees as he seated himself again. And then he’d talk, and at the first word he said, he’d blow all the haughty wind out of you, and you’d curl up like a— oh, I don’t know what. It’s nonsense to try and think of similes, for you’d never say what you pretend.”“Well, then, I shall bolt, as you call it,” cried Singh. “I won’t face him. I can’t face him.”“Why?”“Because I am too proud I suppose, and the Colonel isn’t my master.”“I say, Singhy, get off the stilts, old chap, and be a man over it. You know what the dad always used to say to both of us: ‘A fellow who has done wrong and owns up like a man is half-forgiven at once.’”“Oh yes, I recollect. But do help me now, I am in such trouble.”“You are in no worse trouble than I am.”“Oh yes, I am. You are not to blame, for you did tell me to be careful; and though I didn’t like it at the time, I can see now how right you were.”“Yes; but I wasn’t half right enough. I ought to have made you tell the Doctor what you’d got in the box, and then he’d have insisted upon its being kept in a safer place.”“But I wouldn’t have given it up,” cried Singh angrily.“Oh yes, you would,” continued Glyn; “and I feel now that I ought to have gone straight to the Doctor and told about your going to see Professor Barclay.”“No, you oughtn’t, and you wouldn’t have been such a sneak. Besides, it would have been getting poor Mr Morris into trouble, too, for taking me there. Did you want him to lose his place?”“Well, no,” said Glyn thoughtfully.“And as to my going to see Professor Barclay and lending him a little money now and then—I mean, giving it—it was my own money, and what’s the good of having money if you don’t do good with it?”“Well,” said Glyn thoughtfully, “there is something in that,” and the boy seemed yielding to his companion’s attack.Singh realised this, and pressed it home.“I am sure it was doing more good with my allowance than you do with yours, always stuffing yourself with fruit and sweets and things.”“That I am not!” cried Glyn indignantly.“Yes, you are. Why, you have got quite half of that big three-shilling cake in your box now.”“Oh, but that was to eat of a night when we came to bed and felt as if we ought to have a little more supper.”“Oh, bother!” cried Singh angrily. “What shall I do. Here, I know. I shall go.”“What, run away?”“Yes,” cried Singh, “and stop away till my guardian writes to me and begs of me to come back; and then I shall make terms, and not give way till he promises that he won’t say another word about the belt.”Glyn chuckled to himself softly. “How are you going to make terms?” he said.“I shall write to him,” cried Singh importantly.“Without giving any address?” said Glyn, with a mirthful look dancing in his eye.“What rubbish! Why, of course I shall put my address, so that he can write to me again—”“And then he won’t write to you,” said Glyn. “He’ll come to you and fetch you back with a flea in your ear.”“Oh, you are a brute!” cried Singh viciously. “And I feel as if I could— No, I won’t. I shall treat you with contempt.”“That’s right; do. I say, you are comforting me nicely, aren’t you? Pig! disagreeable old jungle-pig! That’s what you are.”“Well, why don’t you help me then? What am I to do?”“Get dressed, I think,” said Glyn. “Don’t be what old Brohanne calls abête—big fool. Do as I do. Go and have it out with the dad, and get out of one’s misery. He won’t be very hard.”“Oh, if it was only a good—good—good— What’s that you say?”“Bullying?”“No, no. It was a bit of slang, and I like to use bits of English slang when I can; they’ll be so useful to know by-and-by when I am scolding my people. Not bullying, but—”“Oh, you mean tongue-thrashing?” said Glyn.“Yes, that’s it, tongue-thrashing. I wouldn’t mind then. I feel so ashamed of myself.”“All right. So do I, I suppose, for making a mess of it when I wanted the dad to think that I had managed you so well that I was making myself fit to be your friend and companion when we both grew up to be men.”The next minute the lads were busy making their preparations to descend for a little study before the breakfast-bell should ring; and as he washed and dressed, Glyn’s brow looked wrinkled and cloudy, for he was thinking very seriously all the while.On the other hand, Singh dressed himself as if he had a quarrel with everything. He chipped the edge of the basin as he handled the ewer, dropped the lid of the soap-dish with a clatter, and as he washed himself he burst out with an angry ejaculation, for the wet soap was gripped so tightly and viciously that it flew out of his hand as if in fear, and dived right under the bed to the farthest end, where it had to be hunted out and retrieved, covered with the flue that had been forgotten by one of the maids; while the way in which he finished off with his towel was harsh enough to produce a smarting sensation upon his skin.
“Oh, I say, what a lovely morning!”
Glyn, who had lain awake half the night, woke up with a start, to see Singh standing barefooted by the window, which he had just thrown wide open to let in the joyous sunshine and the soft sweet air. “Yes, jolly,” he cried, inhaling a deep breath. “No! Most miserable morning I ever saw,” and he sank back sitting on the edge of his bed, to utter a deep groan.
Singh sprang to his side in an instant. “Glyn, old chap, what’s the matter? Are you ill?”
“Yes, horribly. In my head. Oh, I say! I couldn’t sleep for ever so long last night for thinking about it.”
“Then why didn’t you wake me, old fellow? I’d have dressed directly and gone and told the Doctor.”
“What about?”
“You being so ill.”
“Bah!” cried Glyn angrily. “It isn’t salts and senna. What a fellow you are! You don’t mean to say that you’d forgotten that the dad’s coming down to-day?”
Singh plumped himself down on the carpet like a native of Dour, untroubled by clothes, with his knees nearly to his ears and his crossed hands before him resting on the floor, while his face lost its sympathetic expression and puckered up into one of misery and despair.
“Yes, I had,” he said, with a groan; “all about it. Here,” he cried passionately, “I won’t be treated like a schoolboy! I am a prince and a chief, and the belt was mine. It’s gone, and I won’t be bullied about it by any one.”
“Not even by your guardian, eh?”
“Not even by my guardian,” cried the boy haughtily. “If Colonel Severn says anything to me about it I shall tell him I won’t hear another word, and that he is to go to the best jeweller in London and order another exactly like the one that has been stolen.”
“Of course,” said Glyn solemnly. “It’ll be as easy as kissing your hand, and they’ll know at once how to engrave the emeralds with the old Sanskrit inscription, and make the belt of the same kind of leather, so beautifully soft, dull, and yellow; and there are plenty of people in London who can do that Indian embroidery.”
Singh nodded his head shortly.
“Bah! You jolly old Tom Noodle!” continued Glyn; “why, even if they could get as big emeralds and manage somehow to have the exact words of the inscription cut, would it be the same old belt and stones as came down from the past, and that your father used to wear?”
Singh’s eyes dilated and his lips parted.
“No,” he said with a groan. “Oh, Glynny, what a beast you are! And you call yourself my friend!”
“Never,” cried Glyn. “It was you said I was.”
“Yes, and instead of helping me in my trouble, and saying a few words to comfort me, you call me names.”
“Yes, but I didn’t call you a beast. Is it being a friend to hide the truth from you and let you snuggle yourself up with a lot of sham? Answer me this: would a fresh belt be anything more than an imitation?”
“No, I suppose not,” groaned Singh. “I am a prince, and going to be very rich some day, and rule over my people, with a little army of my own, and elephants, and everything any one could wish for; but I am not a bit clever, except at wicket-keeping. I haven’t got half such a head as you have, Glyn, and such a head as I have got is now all muddled and full of what you may call it.”
“Brains,” said Glyn cynically.
“No, no; I don’t mean that,” said Singh piteously. “Don’t tease me, old chap; I am so miserable. I mean, my head’s full of that stuff, I don’t remember what you call it—I mean what you have when you are very sorry for something you have done.”
“Misery?”
“No, no. Here, I remember—remorse. I know well enough now, though I don’t like owning it, that if I had done as you told me, and taken care always to lock it up, that belt wouldn’t be gone.”
“Well, it’s too late to talk about that,” said Glyn, “and it’s no use to cry over spilt milk. You have got to face it all out with the dad when he comes, and take your blowing-up like a man.”
“I can’t. I shall do just as I said, and even if it isn’t going to be the same belt,” cried the boy passionately, “I shall give your father orders. Yes, I can see you sneering. Orders, orders,” he repeated, with increased emphasis, “to have a new one made.”
Glyn threw himself back on his bed, and gave his heels a kick in the air. “Ho, ho! ha, ha!” he roared with laughter. “What a game! Mind and do it when I am there. I should like to see you jump on a fence and cry ‘Cock-a-doodle-doo’ at my father. Fancy you playing the haughty prince to him! Why, he’d stare at you. You know his way. And he’d take a grab of his moustache in each hand and pull it out straight before he began; and then he’d get up out of his chair, take hold of you by one of your ears, lead you back, and put you between his knees as he seated himself again. And then he’d talk, and at the first word he said, he’d blow all the haughty wind out of you, and you’d curl up like a— oh, I don’t know what. It’s nonsense to try and think of similes, for you’d never say what you pretend.”
“Well, then, I shall bolt, as you call it,” cried Singh. “I won’t face him. I can’t face him.”
“Why?”
“Because I am too proud I suppose, and the Colonel isn’t my master.”
“I say, Singhy, get off the stilts, old chap, and be a man over it. You know what the dad always used to say to both of us: ‘A fellow who has done wrong and owns up like a man is half-forgiven at once.’”
“Oh yes, I recollect. But do help me now, I am in such trouble.”
“You are in no worse trouble than I am.”
“Oh yes, I am. You are not to blame, for you did tell me to be careful; and though I didn’t like it at the time, I can see now how right you were.”
“Yes; but I wasn’t half right enough. I ought to have made you tell the Doctor what you’d got in the box, and then he’d have insisted upon its being kept in a safer place.”
“But I wouldn’t have given it up,” cried Singh angrily.
“Oh yes, you would,” continued Glyn; “and I feel now that I ought to have gone straight to the Doctor and told about your going to see Professor Barclay.”
“No, you oughtn’t, and you wouldn’t have been such a sneak. Besides, it would have been getting poor Mr Morris into trouble, too, for taking me there. Did you want him to lose his place?”
“Well, no,” said Glyn thoughtfully.
“And as to my going to see Professor Barclay and lending him a little money now and then—I mean, giving it—it was my own money, and what’s the good of having money if you don’t do good with it?”
“Well,” said Glyn thoughtfully, “there is something in that,” and the boy seemed yielding to his companion’s attack.
Singh realised this, and pressed it home.
“I am sure it was doing more good with my allowance than you do with yours, always stuffing yourself with fruit and sweets and things.”
“That I am not!” cried Glyn indignantly.
“Yes, you are. Why, you have got quite half of that big three-shilling cake in your box now.”
“Oh, but that was to eat of a night when we came to bed and felt as if we ought to have a little more supper.”
“Oh, bother!” cried Singh angrily. “What shall I do. Here, I know. I shall go.”
“What, run away?”
“Yes,” cried Singh, “and stop away till my guardian writes to me and begs of me to come back; and then I shall make terms, and not give way till he promises that he won’t say another word about the belt.”
Glyn chuckled to himself softly. “How are you going to make terms?” he said.
“I shall write to him,” cried Singh importantly.
“Without giving any address?” said Glyn, with a mirthful look dancing in his eye.
“What rubbish! Why, of course I shall put my address, so that he can write to me again—”
“And then he won’t write to you,” said Glyn. “He’ll come to you and fetch you back with a flea in your ear.”
“Oh, you are a brute!” cried Singh viciously. “And I feel as if I could— No, I won’t. I shall treat you with contempt.”
“That’s right; do. I say, you are comforting me nicely, aren’t you? Pig! disagreeable old jungle-pig! That’s what you are.”
“Well, why don’t you help me then? What am I to do?”
“Get dressed, I think,” said Glyn. “Don’t be what old Brohanne calls abête—big fool. Do as I do. Go and have it out with the dad, and get out of one’s misery. He won’t be very hard.”
“Oh, if it was only a good—good—good— What’s that you say?”
“Bullying?”
“No, no. It was a bit of slang, and I like to use bits of English slang when I can; they’ll be so useful to know by-and-by when I am scolding my people. Not bullying, but—”
“Oh, you mean tongue-thrashing?” said Glyn.
“Yes, that’s it, tongue-thrashing. I wouldn’t mind then. I feel so ashamed of myself.”
“All right. So do I, I suppose, for making a mess of it when I wanted the dad to think that I had managed you so well that I was making myself fit to be your friend and companion when we both grew up to be men.”
The next minute the lads were busy making their preparations to descend for a little study before the breakfast-bell should ring; and as he washed and dressed, Glyn’s brow looked wrinkled and cloudy, for he was thinking very seriously all the while.
On the other hand, Singh dressed himself as if he had a quarrel with everything. He chipped the edge of the basin as he handled the ewer, dropped the lid of the soap-dish with a clatter, and as he washed himself he burst out with an angry ejaculation, for the wet soap was gripped so tightly and viciously that it flew out of his hand as if in fear, and dived right under the bed to the farthest end, where it had to be hunted out and retrieved, covered with the flue that had been forgotten by one of the maids; while the way in which he finished off with his towel was harsh enough to produce a smarting sensation upon his skin.
Chapter Thirty Four.A Witness called.Neither of the boys enjoyed his breakfast that morning, and their studies afterwards fared very badly, for their attention was principally directed from their books to the door, which opened again and again for some reason or another, but not for the delivery of the message they expected.Knowing the military precision of the Colonel, both boys began to wonder at a quarter-past eleven why they had not been summoned, for the Colonel had said in his curt epistle to Glyn—which “looked cross,” so the boy said—that he would be at the Doctor’s at eleven.Half-past was marked by the hands of the big dial, quarter to twelve, and then five minutes to mid-day, and in a few minutes the masters would rise; but there was no summons, and, what was more, the Doctor had not been in the class-room that morning.It was exactly one minute to twelve, and just as Singh’s spirits were rising fast from the effect of having fully settled in his own mind that the Colonel would not come down that day, that his heart sank with a rush, for Wrench entered with the familiar announcement that the Doctor wished to see Mr Severn and Mr Singh in his study.The boys followed the footman, and as soon as they were outside Glyn began to question him.“Has my father come, Wrench?”“Yes, sir,” said the man coldly, for since the beginning of the trouble and the sharp examinations that had taken place, the behaviour of the servants had been distant in the extreme, and such friendly intercourse as had existed between the pupils and masters had received a decided check. In fact, as the days glided away, the Doctor’s establishment had become more and more haunted by the evil spirit, suspicion.“How long has my father been here?” asked Glyn.“About an hour, sir,” replied the man shortly. “I didn’t look at the clock. This way, please, sir. I am busy.”It was so different from the Wrench of the past that it sent a chill through the boys, as they followed on and began whispering so that the man should not hear.“Go on first, Glynny,” whispered Singh.“Get out! I haven’t lost my belt,” was the reply.“But the Colonel’s your father.”“Well, I can’t help that, can I? It’s about your business. You go on first.”“I shan’t. I have got something wrong with my legs,” said Singh. “They feel quite weak.”“Come on together,” cried Glyn, and he thrust his arm through Singh’s, as the door was opened and the boys uttered a sigh of relief in concert, for the Doctor was not present, and at first they had to see the Colonel alone.It was a strange sensation that ran through both, a mingling of dread, despair, and misery, as they gazed in imagination into the stern, threatening countenance of the fierce-looking old soldier, and wished themselves a thousand miles away. For Glyn felt more uncomfortable than ever before in his life, and as he darted a quick sideways glance at his companion it was to see no haughty indignant prince ready to stand defiantly upon his rights, but a fellow-pupil appearing as mild and troubled as could be.All this was little more than momentary, and the fierce threatening face they had come to encounter was all fancy made; for the Colonel’s looks as he held out his hand was very much the same as when they had dined with him the last time at his hotel, and his salute was just a hearty English:“Well, boys, how are you? But you two fellows have been making a pretty mess of it over that belt!” And before either of them could reply, he continued, in his short, giving-order style, “Great nuisance and bother to me. I have had quite two months taken up with your affairs, Singh—Dour business, you know—and I shall be very glad when you are old enough to take the reins in your hand and drive yourself.”“But, guardian—” began Singh, who was breathing more freely, the warm pressure of the Colonel’s hand having thrilled him through and through.“Oh yes, I know, my boy; I didn’t mean that. I am not going to be pensioned off. I am going to be a sort of House of Lords to you two commoners, and you will come and refer all big matters to me. Let’s see, what was I saying? Oh, I’ve been busy two months over the Dour affairs. Got them pretty straight, and I was going up into Scotland for a month’s rest. I meant to write from there if you had been doing your sums a little better, Glyn, and if you, Singh, had improved a bit in your spelling, for the way in which you break your shins over the big words in your letters is rather startling.”“Oh, guardian, aren’t you rather too hard?” said the boy appealingly. “But you weren’t only going to write to the Doctor about that?”“Humph! No. I had some idea about salmon-fishing when the season comes on.”“Oh, fishing!” cried the boys in a breath.“Yes,” said the Colonel. “It won’t be like getting up in the hills amongst the mahseer. Bah! Here am I running away about fishing! I caught a forty-pounder last time I tried, and a big fight too. But the Doctor wanted me to come out here about this wretched belt business, and I have had to leave my club and put off my journey to come down and see about this.—It’s a bad business, Glyn. I am afraid you have not been so sharp as you should have been.”“I have tried my best, father.”“I suppose so; but the best’s bad.”“Don’t be hard on him, guardian,” said Singh, laying his hand affectionately on the Colonel’s shoulder. “It was all my fault, and I know better now.”“Know better? What do you mean by that, sir?”“Well, sir,” said Singh hesitatingly, “I know it was weak and foolish of me to want to have a showy thing like that to wear; but I was not so English then as I am now.”“Showy thing like that, eh?” said the Colonel. “Ahem! Well, I don’t know that you need excuse yourself about that. It’s rather natural. A soldier likes showy regimentals. I was always proud of my uniform, boys. No, I am not going to fall foul of you about that, Singh, so long as you didn’t make a goose of yourself with it. But when you had such a showy thing, you ought to have had gumption enough to know how to take care of it. Well, it will be a lesson to you to know how to behave by-and-by when you come out among your own people as a prince. You won’t go pitching your jewels about then as if you were asking people to come and help themselves.”“But it was like this, father—” began Glyn.“Halt!” cried the Colonel sharply. “Wait till the Doctor comes. He is going through it all quietly with you, and he has asked me to sit like a judge till it has all been put before me, and then I am to give my verdict. He asks me to say whether the matter shall be placed in the hands of the police. Well, one of you had better ring, and—”As he was speaking, there was a tap at the door, which was gently opened, and the Doctor said, “May I come in?”“Yes, sir. Come in, come in. I have had my say to the boys, and told them what I think about their carelessness, and to a certain extent our young friend here, Singh, agrees, I believe, that it was rather a mistake for him to have that piece of vanity at school.”“I am glad, Colonel,” said the Doctor, seating himself, “that they are ready to confess a fault; but as one who seeks to hold the scales of justice evenly, I hope you will excuse me for saying that I think my pupils are not entirely to blame; for—I beg you will not be offended—I venture to think it was rather indiscreet on your part to give way to my young friend Singh, however much he may have pressed you, and placed in his hands so valuable an heirloom.”“Humph! You think so, do you?” grunted the Colonel. “However, it is not of so much consequence. He has got plenty more valuable jewels—enough to make himself look as gay as a peacock by-and-by.”“Excuse me, Colonel Severn,” said the Doctor stiffly; “I think the matter is of very great consequence. Not only is it a serious loss—”The Colonel grunted again.“But I feel as if the honour and reputation of my school are at stake, and it was for that reason that I wrote and asked you to come down to consult with me as to what steps should be taken now towards the recovery of the belt. This, before placing the matter in the hands of the police.”“Oh, hang the police!” said the Colonel shortly. “We can settle this little matter, I am sure, without calling in the help of policeman A or Z.”“I am very glad to hear you say so, Colonel; for it would be most repugnant to me, and painful to my staff of assistants, and for my pupils, I may add. There are the servants too, and the publicity in the town, where I am afraid the matter is too much talked about already. You think, then, that we may dispense with the police?”“Certainly,” said the Colonel; “unless,” he added drily, “Singh here wants the business carried to the bitter end.”“I, sir? Oh no!” cried Singh. “If I could do as I liked I wouldn’t have another word said about it. I hate the old belt. Can’t even think of it without seeming to have a nasty taste in my mouth.”“Oh,” said the Colonel; “but we can’t stop like that. I think, for every one’s sake, the shoe should be put on the right foot.—What do you say, Dr Bewley?”“I quite agree with you, sir. We have talked the matter pretty well over this morning, and I have told you what I have done. I was bound to question the servants, though all of them have been with me for years, and I have perfect confidence in their honesty. As to my pupils, I could not examine and cross-examine every boy. It would have been like expressing a doubt of every little fellow’s truth. It has been a most painful thing for me, sir; and if you can help me or advise me in the wearisome business, I should be most grateful.”“Very well, sir. I suppose I have had a little experience acting the part of magistrate in India, where petty thefts are very common; and I have attended trials in England, and have been vain enough to think to myself that I could examine a witness or cross-examine more to the point than I have heard it done in some of our courts.”“Then,” said the Doctor, “you were good enough to suggest two or three little things this morning. What should you do first?”“Well,” said the Colonel thoughtfully, “I think, first of all, it is due to those gentlemen who act as your ushers that they should be asked to join in our consultation.”“Certainly. Quite right,” said the Doctor, and, ringing the bell, he sent a message by Wrench to the class-room, and if the masters were not there, bade the man find them in the grounds.There was a pause in the proceedings here, during which the Doctor and his visitor chatted about political matters, and the boys sat whispering together about the last match.But they had not long to wait. Morris came bustling in to bow to the Colonel and take the seat to which the Doctor pointed, while Rampson and Monsieur Brohanne came in together from a walk round the grounds.Then, after a very few preliminaries, forming a sort of introduction to the masters of the boys’ father and guardian, the Colonel spoke about the great unpleasantness of the matter and the Doctor’s desire to have what seemed like a cloud hanging over his establishment swept away.He addressed a few words then to Rampson, who had nothing more to say after declaring his perfect certainty that not one of the boys he had the honour of instructing would have been guilty of such a crime.Monsieur Brohanne, too, declared himself as lost in astonishment at the trouble which had come upon them like a sudden tempest. No, by his faith, he said, he could not think how such an outrage could have taken place.Morris was disposed to be more voluble, and the Colonel more ready to examine him, while the master was prompt and eager in his replies, sighing as if with relief as the Colonel at length stopped short and sat patting the carpet with his right toe. “Well, sir,” said the Doctor at last, “seeing that, as I told you, I carefully examined the servants, I had plunged as far as this in the mystery before.”“Humph!” grunted the Colonel, with his eyes closed, and Glyn and Singh exchanged glances.“The servants,” said the Colonel softly; “the servants. Doctor, I should like you to ring for that man of yours.”Morris glanced at the Doctor, who bowed his head, and the usher stepped to the bell.“Oh, father!” cried Glyn excitedly, “pray don’t suspect Wrench!”“Hold your tongue, sir,” said the Colonel sternly. “Wait and hear what is said, and don’t jump at conclusions.”
Neither of the boys enjoyed his breakfast that morning, and their studies afterwards fared very badly, for their attention was principally directed from their books to the door, which opened again and again for some reason or another, but not for the delivery of the message they expected.
Knowing the military precision of the Colonel, both boys began to wonder at a quarter-past eleven why they had not been summoned, for the Colonel had said in his curt epistle to Glyn—which “looked cross,” so the boy said—that he would be at the Doctor’s at eleven.
Half-past was marked by the hands of the big dial, quarter to twelve, and then five minutes to mid-day, and in a few minutes the masters would rise; but there was no summons, and, what was more, the Doctor had not been in the class-room that morning.
It was exactly one minute to twelve, and just as Singh’s spirits were rising fast from the effect of having fully settled in his own mind that the Colonel would not come down that day, that his heart sank with a rush, for Wrench entered with the familiar announcement that the Doctor wished to see Mr Severn and Mr Singh in his study.
The boys followed the footman, and as soon as they were outside Glyn began to question him.
“Has my father come, Wrench?”
“Yes, sir,” said the man coldly, for since the beginning of the trouble and the sharp examinations that had taken place, the behaviour of the servants had been distant in the extreme, and such friendly intercourse as had existed between the pupils and masters had received a decided check. In fact, as the days glided away, the Doctor’s establishment had become more and more haunted by the evil spirit, suspicion.
“How long has my father been here?” asked Glyn.
“About an hour, sir,” replied the man shortly. “I didn’t look at the clock. This way, please, sir. I am busy.”
It was so different from the Wrench of the past that it sent a chill through the boys, as they followed on and began whispering so that the man should not hear.
“Go on first, Glynny,” whispered Singh.
“Get out! I haven’t lost my belt,” was the reply.
“But the Colonel’s your father.”
“Well, I can’t help that, can I? It’s about your business. You go on first.”
“I shan’t. I have got something wrong with my legs,” said Singh. “They feel quite weak.”
“Come on together,” cried Glyn, and he thrust his arm through Singh’s, as the door was opened and the boys uttered a sigh of relief in concert, for the Doctor was not present, and at first they had to see the Colonel alone.
It was a strange sensation that ran through both, a mingling of dread, despair, and misery, as they gazed in imagination into the stern, threatening countenance of the fierce-looking old soldier, and wished themselves a thousand miles away. For Glyn felt more uncomfortable than ever before in his life, and as he darted a quick sideways glance at his companion it was to see no haughty indignant prince ready to stand defiantly upon his rights, but a fellow-pupil appearing as mild and troubled as could be.
All this was little more than momentary, and the fierce threatening face they had come to encounter was all fancy made; for the Colonel’s looks as he held out his hand was very much the same as when they had dined with him the last time at his hotel, and his salute was just a hearty English:
“Well, boys, how are you? But you two fellows have been making a pretty mess of it over that belt!” And before either of them could reply, he continued, in his short, giving-order style, “Great nuisance and bother to me. I have had quite two months taken up with your affairs, Singh—Dour business, you know—and I shall be very glad when you are old enough to take the reins in your hand and drive yourself.”
“But, guardian—” began Singh, who was breathing more freely, the warm pressure of the Colonel’s hand having thrilled him through and through.
“Oh yes, I know, my boy; I didn’t mean that. I am not going to be pensioned off. I am going to be a sort of House of Lords to you two commoners, and you will come and refer all big matters to me. Let’s see, what was I saying? Oh, I’ve been busy two months over the Dour affairs. Got them pretty straight, and I was going up into Scotland for a month’s rest. I meant to write from there if you had been doing your sums a little better, Glyn, and if you, Singh, had improved a bit in your spelling, for the way in which you break your shins over the big words in your letters is rather startling.”
“Oh, guardian, aren’t you rather too hard?” said the boy appealingly. “But you weren’t only going to write to the Doctor about that?”
“Humph! No. I had some idea about salmon-fishing when the season comes on.”
“Oh, fishing!” cried the boys in a breath.
“Yes,” said the Colonel. “It won’t be like getting up in the hills amongst the mahseer. Bah! Here am I running away about fishing! I caught a forty-pounder last time I tried, and a big fight too. But the Doctor wanted me to come out here about this wretched belt business, and I have had to leave my club and put off my journey to come down and see about this.—It’s a bad business, Glyn. I am afraid you have not been so sharp as you should have been.”
“I have tried my best, father.”
“I suppose so; but the best’s bad.”
“Don’t be hard on him, guardian,” said Singh, laying his hand affectionately on the Colonel’s shoulder. “It was all my fault, and I know better now.”
“Know better? What do you mean by that, sir?”
“Well, sir,” said Singh hesitatingly, “I know it was weak and foolish of me to want to have a showy thing like that to wear; but I was not so English then as I am now.”
“Showy thing like that, eh?” said the Colonel. “Ahem! Well, I don’t know that you need excuse yourself about that. It’s rather natural. A soldier likes showy regimentals. I was always proud of my uniform, boys. No, I am not going to fall foul of you about that, Singh, so long as you didn’t make a goose of yourself with it. But when you had such a showy thing, you ought to have had gumption enough to know how to take care of it. Well, it will be a lesson to you to know how to behave by-and-by when you come out among your own people as a prince. You won’t go pitching your jewels about then as if you were asking people to come and help themselves.”
“But it was like this, father—” began Glyn.
“Halt!” cried the Colonel sharply. “Wait till the Doctor comes. He is going through it all quietly with you, and he has asked me to sit like a judge till it has all been put before me, and then I am to give my verdict. He asks me to say whether the matter shall be placed in the hands of the police. Well, one of you had better ring, and—”
As he was speaking, there was a tap at the door, which was gently opened, and the Doctor said, “May I come in?”
“Yes, sir. Come in, come in. I have had my say to the boys, and told them what I think about their carelessness, and to a certain extent our young friend here, Singh, agrees, I believe, that it was rather a mistake for him to have that piece of vanity at school.”
“I am glad, Colonel,” said the Doctor, seating himself, “that they are ready to confess a fault; but as one who seeks to hold the scales of justice evenly, I hope you will excuse me for saying that I think my pupils are not entirely to blame; for—I beg you will not be offended—I venture to think it was rather indiscreet on your part to give way to my young friend Singh, however much he may have pressed you, and placed in his hands so valuable an heirloom.”
“Humph! You think so, do you?” grunted the Colonel. “However, it is not of so much consequence. He has got plenty more valuable jewels—enough to make himself look as gay as a peacock by-and-by.”
“Excuse me, Colonel Severn,” said the Doctor stiffly; “I think the matter is of very great consequence. Not only is it a serious loss—”
The Colonel grunted again.
“But I feel as if the honour and reputation of my school are at stake, and it was for that reason that I wrote and asked you to come down to consult with me as to what steps should be taken now towards the recovery of the belt. This, before placing the matter in the hands of the police.”
“Oh, hang the police!” said the Colonel shortly. “We can settle this little matter, I am sure, without calling in the help of policeman A or Z.”
“I am very glad to hear you say so, Colonel; for it would be most repugnant to me, and painful to my staff of assistants, and for my pupils, I may add. There are the servants too, and the publicity in the town, where I am afraid the matter is too much talked about already. You think, then, that we may dispense with the police?”
“Certainly,” said the Colonel; “unless,” he added drily, “Singh here wants the business carried to the bitter end.”
“I, sir? Oh no!” cried Singh. “If I could do as I liked I wouldn’t have another word said about it. I hate the old belt. Can’t even think of it without seeming to have a nasty taste in my mouth.”
“Oh,” said the Colonel; “but we can’t stop like that. I think, for every one’s sake, the shoe should be put on the right foot.—What do you say, Dr Bewley?”
“I quite agree with you, sir. We have talked the matter pretty well over this morning, and I have told you what I have done. I was bound to question the servants, though all of them have been with me for years, and I have perfect confidence in their honesty. As to my pupils, I could not examine and cross-examine every boy. It would have been like expressing a doubt of every little fellow’s truth. It has been a most painful thing for me, sir; and if you can help me or advise me in the wearisome business, I should be most grateful.”
“Very well, sir. I suppose I have had a little experience acting the part of magistrate in India, where petty thefts are very common; and I have attended trials in England, and have been vain enough to think to myself that I could examine a witness or cross-examine more to the point than I have heard it done in some of our courts.”
“Then,” said the Doctor, “you were good enough to suggest two or three little things this morning. What should you do first?”
“Well,” said the Colonel thoughtfully, “I think, first of all, it is due to those gentlemen who act as your ushers that they should be asked to join in our consultation.”
“Certainly. Quite right,” said the Doctor, and, ringing the bell, he sent a message by Wrench to the class-room, and if the masters were not there, bade the man find them in the grounds.
There was a pause in the proceedings here, during which the Doctor and his visitor chatted about political matters, and the boys sat whispering together about the last match.
But they had not long to wait. Morris came bustling in to bow to the Colonel and take the seat to which the Doctor pointed, while Rampson and Monsieur Brohanne came in together from a walk round the grounds.
Then, after a very few preliminaries, forming a sort of introduction to the masters of the boys’ father and guardian, the Colonel spoke about the great unpleasantness of the matter and the Doctor’s desire to have what seemed like a cloud hanging over his establishment swept away.
He addressed a few words then to Rampson, who had nothing more to say after declaring his perfect certainty that not one of the boys he had the honour of instructing would have been guilty of such a crime.
Monsieur Brohanne, too, declared himself as lost in astonishment at the trouble which had come upon them like a sudden tempest. No, by his faith, he said, he could not think how such an outrage could have taken place.
Morris was disposed to be more voluble, and the Colonel more ready to examine him, while the master was prompt and eager in his replies, sighing as if with relief as the Colonel at length stopped short and sat patting the carpet with his right toe. “Well, sir,” said the Doctor at last, “seeing that, as I told you, I carefully examined the servants, I had plunged as far as this in the mystery before.”
“Humph!” grunted the Colonel, with his eyes closed, and Glyn and Singh exchanged glances.
“The servants,” said the Colonel softly; “the servants. Doctor, I should like you to ring for that man of yours.”
Morris glanced at the Doctor, who bowed his head, and the usher stepped to the bell.
“Oh, father!” cried Glyn excitedly, “pray don’t suspect Wrench!”
“Hold your tongue, sir,” said the Colonel sternly. “Wait and hear what is said, and don’t jump at conclusions.”
Chapter Thirty Five.Under Examination.Then there was a tap and Wrench appeared. “Come in, my man,” said the Colonel, “and close the door.”Wrench started, turned pale and then red, as he looked sharply at his master, who sat perfectly still and avoided his gaze.“Come a step nearer, my man,” said the Colonel. Wrench gazed at him defiantly, shook himself, jerked up his head, looked hard at the two boys, who were watching him, tightening his lips the while, and then, after taking two steps instead of one, stood facing the Colonel, as much as to say: “Now, ask me as many questions as you like.”“Your master has deputed me, my man, to carry on this investigation, and I should be obliged by your replying in a straightforward, manly way. You are not before a magistrate, and hence are not sworn. Doctor Bewley gives you an admirable character for honesty and straightforward conduct, and if I ask you questions that sound unpleasant in your ears, don’t run away with the idea that it is because you are suspected.”Wrench’s manner changed a little, for the references to his uprightness and rectitude sounded pleasant in his ears.“I give you credit,” continued the Colonel, “for being as desirous as these gentlemen here and I am to find out the culprit.”“Yes, sir; certainly, sir, and Mr Singh and Mr Severn, sir, will tell you that I have been as much cut up about it as if the blessed—I beg your pardon, gentlemen—as if the belt had been my own.”“Exactly,” said the Colonel. “Now then, it seems that the time when the belt was lost cannot be exactly pointed out, since it may have been taken at one of the times when Mr Singh’s travelling-case was left unlocked.”“Oh, sir, but nobody ever goes up into his room except the maids and Mrs Hamton and me; and, bless your heart, sir, the Doctor will tell you that he wouldn’t doubt any of us to save his life.”“Hah!” said the Colonel. “A good character, my man, is a fine thing. Now, what about strangers—people from the town—peddlers, or hawkers, or people with books to be subscribed for? You have such people come, I suppose, to the house?”“Lots of them, sir; but they never come any farther than the door,” cried Wrench, laughing. “You see, sir, Mr Singh’s dormitory is on the first floor of the new building, over the little lecture-hall. Nobody ever went there.”“Could any strangers come up through the grounds and get into the passage or corridor after dusk?”“No, sir; not without coming through the house. I have laid awake lots of times, sir, trying to put that and that together; but it’s all been like a maze, sir—a sort of maze, sir, made like with no way in and no way out.”“Humph!” said the Colonel, looking at the man searchingly. “I have heard of cases where people have come to a house and asked the servants if somebody was at home when the speaker knew that he was out, and then made an excuse to be shown into a room to write a letter to the gentleman, say the Doctor, whom he wanted to see; Did such a thing happen in your recollection? No, no; don’t hurry. Tax your memory.—Ah!—What is it?”“I’ve got it, sir!” cried Wrench excitedly.“Oh!” said the Colonel quietly. “Well, what did happen?”“To be sure, somebody did come just as you said, sir, as you asked me that question, once. But it hasn’t got anything to do with the stealing of that belt.”“Perhaps not,” said the Colonel; “but let us hear. You say somebody did once come and ask for the Doctor when he was out?”“Begging your pardon, sir, no, sir. It wasn’t to see the Doctor, sir. It was on the day when everybody was out, gone to the Strongley cricket-match, and there was nobody at home but the maids and me, for Mrs Hamton our housekeeper, sir, had leave from the Doctor to go and see a friend who was ill.”“Well,” said the Colonel sharply, “what is it, Glyn?” For the boy had jumped up excitedly.“That was the day, father, when Singh left the keys in the lock of his box.”“Exactly,” said the Colonel. “Sit down, my boy.—Well, my man, whom did this stranger ask to see?”“Please, sir, it wasn’t a stranger; it was a gentleman the Doctor knew, and who came here to dinner once, and he asked for Mr Morris.”“Oh!” cried Morris, springing up. “Impossible!”“Mr Morris, I must ask you to be silent,” said the Colonel sternly.“But—”“I will hear anything you have to say, sir, when I have finished with this witness,” said the Colonel firmly.—“Go on, my man. Who was this gentleman?”“Pro— Professor Barlow, sir. No, sir; Professor Barclay, sir. And he said he was very much disappointed, as he had come down expressly from London to see Mr Morris. He said he couldn’t stop, but he would write a letter if I would give him pens, ink, and paper.”“Go on,” said the Colonel, as the hearers bent forward with eager interest. “Did you supply him with pens, ink, and paper?”“Yes, sir. You see, he wasn’t a stranger, but a friend of master’s.”“And you took him to my study?” said the Doctor almost fiercely.“I beg your pardon, Doctor,” said the Colonel stiffly.“I beg yours, Colonel Severn, for the interruption.”“Now then, my man,” continued the Colonel; “you took this visitor, this Professor Barclay—”There was a low, indignant murmur here, and the Colonel looked round sharply.“You took this Professor Barclay into your master’s study, I understand, and gave him pens, ink, and paper, and left him to write the letter?”“No, sir, that I didn’t,” said Wrench, grinning with triumph. “I have been a servant too many years, sir, to go and do a thing like that. What, take him into master’s room, where he keeps his cash-box and cheque-book in the little iron safe in the closet! And there’s the presentation clock on the chimney-piece, and his old gold watch that he never wears in the table-drawer! No, sir. That gentleman was master’s friend to some extent; but he was a stranger to me, and if he’d been a royal duke I shouldn’t have done it.”“Then, what did you do?” said the Colonel.“Took him into the theaytre lecture-room, sir, where there’s little tables, and the young gentlemen writes out their exercises. That’s what I did, sir,” said Wrench triumphantly; and he looked hard at his master, who sat shaking his head at him solemnly.—“What! Wasn’t that right, sir?” cried Wrench.“Oh Wrench, Wrench, Wrench!” said the Doctor. “And you left him there, with the staircase close at hand leading right up to the corridor and the young gentlemen’s dormitories?”Wrench’s jaw dropped, and one hand went slowly up to the back of his head and began to scratch.“Well,” continued the Colonel; “and how long did this gentleman stay?”“I don’t know, sir. Not half an hour—I’d swear to that. I gave him long enough to write a letter, and then I come back to see if he was ready to go.”“Let me protest,” cried Morris indignantly. “No such letter was written for or delivered to me; that I declare.”“Pray be calm, sir,” said the Colonel judicially. “You can ask this man any questions when I have done with him.—Now, my man, go on. Did you find this gentleman where you left him?”“Yes, sir.”“And he gave you a letter to deliver to Mr Morris?”“No, sir,” cried Wrench sharply. “I’d forgotten all about it till you began arxing me questions like this. When I come in he got up in a disappointed sort of way and began tearing up the letter he had written quite small, and throwing it into the waste-paper basket. ‘It’s no use, my lad,’ he said. ‘I can’t say in a letter one-hundredth part’—I ain’t sure, sir, he didn’t say a thousandth-part—‘of what I want to tell Mr Morris. I’ll stay in the town to-night, and come and see Mr Morris in the morning.’”“And did he come and see Mr Morris in the morning?”Morris half-rose in his chair, but sat down again.“No, sir; and I haven’t seen him from that day to this, though I had often seen them together before.”“That will do, my man,” said the Colonel quietly.—“Now, Mr Morris; you wish to ask this man some questions?”“Yes, sir,” cried Morris springing up.—“Now, Wrench, did you ever tell me that Professor Barclay called when I was absent?”“No, sir. I suppose it was the cricket-match put it all out of my head.”“Bah!” cried Morris.“And then, you see, sir, I have so many things to think of about my work and the young gentlemen that I haven’t got room to remember everything; and I always have to tick things off.”“Tick things off? What do you mean by that?” cried Morris.“Well, sir, there’s things to do and there’s things that’s done; things I have got to remember, and things I haven’t. The Professor said that he’d come and see you, so that was his job and not mine; and if you’ll believe me, gentlemen all, I never remembered about his coming until Colonel Severn here asked me about any one coming and wanting to write a letter.”“I believe you,” said the Colonel quietly, as if speaking to himself; but it was sufficiently loud for Morris to hear, and he turned upon the speaker fiercely.“I protest, sir,” he cried indignantly, “partly against my name being dragged into this despicable theft, and partly on behalf of my friend Professor Barclay, a scholar, a gentleman, and a professor of Sanskrit and other Eastern languages; a gentleman, sir, though a poor and needy gentleman upon whom the world had frowned, but whom I considered it an honour and a privilege to know, as I should any gentleman whom I was introduced to by my revered principal the Doctor. I cannot sit still and hear such a man even suspected of being dishonest; and I beg you, sir, and the Doctor will go on with this investigation so as to prove to the world that Professor Barclay was a gentleman indeed.”
Then there was a tap and Wrench appeared. “Come in, my man,” said the Colonel, “and close the door.”
Wrench started, turned pale and then red, as he looked sharply at his master, who sat perfectly still and avoided his gaze.
“Come a step nearer, my man,” said the Colonel. Wrench gazed at him defiantly, shook himself, jerked up his head, looked hard at the two boys, who were watching him, tightening his lips the while, and then, after taking two steps instead of one, stood facing the Colonel, as much as to say: “Now, ask me as many questions as you like.”
“Your master has deputed me, my man, to carry on this investigation, and I should be obliged by your replying in a straightforward, manly way. You are not before a magistrate, and hence are not sworn. Doctor Bewley gives you an admirable character for honesty and straightforward conduct, and if I ask you questions that sound unpleasant in your ears, don’t run away with the idea that it is because you are suspected.”
Wrench’s manner changed a little, for the references to his uprightness and rectitude sounded pleasant in his ears.
“I give you credit,” continued the Colonel, “for being as desirous as these gentlemen here and I am to find out the culprit.”
“Yes, sir; certainly, sir, and Mr Singh and Mr Severn, sir, will tell you that I have been as much cut up about it as if the blessed—I beg your pardon, gentlemen—as if the belt had been my own.”
“Exactly,” said the Colonel. “Now then, it seems that the time when the belt was lost cannot be exactly pointed out, since it may have been taken at one of the times when Mr Singh’s travelling-case was left unlocked.”
“Oh, sir, but nobody ever goes up into his room except the maids and Mrs Hamton and me; and, bless your heart, sir, the Doctor will tell you that he wouldn’t doubt any of us to save his life.”
“Hah!” said the Colonel. “A good character, my man, is a fine thing. Now, what about strangers—people from the town—peddlers, or hawkers, or people with books to be subscribed for? You have such people come, I suppose, to the house?”
“Lots of them, sir; but they never come any farther than the door,” cried Wrench, laughing. “You see, sir, Mr Singh’s dormitory is on the first floor of the new building, over the little lecture-hall. Nobody ever went there.”
“Could any strangers come up through the grounds and get into the passage or corridor after dusk?”
“No, sir; not without coming through the house. I have laid awake lots of times, sir, trying to put that and that together; but it’s all been like a maze, sir—a sort of maze, sir, made like with no way in and no way out.”
“Humph!” said the Colonel, looking at the man searchingly. “I have heard of cases where people have come to a house and asked the servants if somebody was at home when the speaker knew that he was out, and then made an excuse to be shown into a room to write a letter to the gentleman, say the Doctor, whom he wanted to see; Did such a thing happen in your recollection? No, no; don’t hurry. Tax your memory.—Ah!—What is it?”
“I’ve got it, sir!” cried Wrench excitedly.
“Oh!” said the Colonel quietly. “Well, what did happen?”
“To be sure, somebody did come just as you said, sir, as you asked me that question, once. But it hasn’t got anything to do with the stealing of that belt.”
“Perhaps not,” said the Colonel; “but let us hear. You say somebody did once come and ask for the Doctor when he was out?”
“Begging your pardon, sir, no, sir. It wasn’t to see the Doctor, sir. It was on the day when everybody was out, gone to the Strongley cricket-match, and there was nobody at home but the maids and me, for Mrs Hamton our housekeeper, sir, had leave from the Doctor to go and see a friend who was ill.”
“Well,” said the Colonel sharply, “what is it, Glyn?” For the boy had jumped up excitedly.
“That was the day, father, when Singh left the keys in the lock of his box.”
“Exactly,” said the Colonel. “Sit down, my boy.—Well, my man, whom did this stranger ask to see?”
“Please, sir, it wasn’t a stranger; it was a gentleman the Doctor knew, and who came here to dinner once, and he asked for Mr Morris.”
“Oh!” cried Morris, springing up. “Impossible!”
“Mr Morris, I must ask you to be silent,” said the Colonel sternly.
“But—”
“I will hear anything you have to say, sir, when I have finished with this witness,” said the Colonel firmly.—“Go on, my man. Who was this gentleman?”
“Pro— Professor Barlow, sir. No, sir; Professor Barclay, sir. And he said he was very much disappointed, as he had come down expressly from London to see Mr Morris. He said he couldn’t stop, but he would write a letter if I would give him pens, ink, and paper.”
“Go on,” said the Colonel, as the hearers bent forward with eager interest. “Did you supply him with pens, ink, and paper?”
“Yes, sir. You see, he wasn’t a stranger, but a friend of master’s.”
“And you took him to my study?” said the Doctor almost fiercely.
“I beg your pardon, Doctor,” said the Colonel stiffly.
“I beg yours, Colonel Severn, for the interruption.”
“Now then, my man,” continued the Colonel; “you took this visitor, this Professor Barclay—”
There was a low, indignant murmur here, and the Colonel looked round sharply.
“You took this Professor Barclay into your master’s study, I understand, and gave him pens, ink, and paper, and left him to write the letter?”
“No, sir, that I didn’t,” said Wrench, grinning with triumph. “I have been a servant too many years, sir, to go and do a thing like that. What, take him into master’s room, where he keeps his cash-box and cheque-book in the little iron safe in the closet! And there’s the presentation clock on the chimney-piece, and his old gold watch that he never wears in the table-drawer! No, sir. That gentleman was master’s friend to some extent; but he was a stranger to me, and if he’d been a royal duke I shouldn’t have done it.”
“Then, what did you do?” said the Colonel.
“Took him into the theaytre lecture-room, sir, where there’s little tables, and the young gentlemen writes out their exercises. That’s what I did, sir,” said Wrench triumphantly; and he looked hard at his master, who sat shaking his head at him solemnly.—“What! Wasn’t that right, sir?” cried Wrench.
“Oh Wrench, Wrench, Wrench!” said the Doctor. “And you left him there, with the staircase close at hand leading right up to the corridor and the young gentlemen’s dormitories?”
Wrench’s jaw dropped, and one hand went slowly up to the back of his head and began to scratch.
“Well,” continued the Colonel; “and how long did this gentleman stay?”
“I don’t know, sir. Not half an hour—I’d swear to that. I gave him long enough to write a letter, and then I come back to see if he was ready to go.”
“Let me protest,” cried Morris indignantly. “No such letter was written for or delivered to me; that I declare.”
“Pray be calm, sir,” said the Colonel judicially. “You can ask this man any questions when I have done with him.—Now, my man, go on. Did you find this gentleman where you left him?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And he gave you a letter to deliver to Mr Morris?”
“No, sir,” cried Wrench sharply. “I’d forgotten all about it till you began arxing me questions like this. When I come in he got up in a disappointed sort of way and began tearing up the letter he had written quite small, and throwing it into the waste-paper basket. ‘It’s no use, my lad,’ he said. ‘I can’t say in a letter one-hundredth part’—I ain’t sure, sir, he didn’t say a thousandth-part—‘of what I want to tell Mr Morris. I’ll stay in the town to-night, and come and see Mr Morris in the morning.’”
“And did he come and see Mr Morris in the morning?”
Morris half-rose in his chair, but sat down again.
“No, sir; and I haven’t seen him from that day to this, though I had often seen them together before.”
“That will do, my man,” said the Colonel quietly.—“Now, Mr Morris; you wish to ask this man some questions?”
“Yes, sir,” cried Morris springing up.—“Now, Wrench, did you ever tell me that Professor Barclay called when I was absent?”
“No, sir. I suppose it was the cricket-match put it all out of my head.”
“Bah!” cried Morris.
“And then, you see, sir, I have so many things to think of about my work and the young gentlemen that I haven’t got room to remember everything; and I always have to tick things off.”
“Tick things off? What do you mean by that?” cried Morris.
“Well, sir, there’s things to do and there’s things that’s done; things I have got to remember, and things I haven’t. The Professor said that he’d come and see you, so that was his job and not mine; and if you’ll believe me, gentlemen all, I never remembered about his coming until Colonel Severn here asked me about any one coming and wanting to write a letter.”
“I believe you,” said the Colonel quietly, as if speaking to himself; but it was sufficiently loud for Morris to hear, and he turned upon the speaker fiercely.
“I protest, sir,” he cried indignantly, “partly against my name being dragged into this despicable theft, and partly on behalf of my friend Professor Barclay, a scholar, a gentleman, and a professor of Sanskrit and other Eastern languages; a gentleman, sir, though a poor and needy gentleman upon whom the world had frowned, but whom I considered it an honour and a privilege to know, as I should any gentleman whom I was introduced to by my revered principal the Doctor. I cannot sit still and hear such a man even suspected of being dishonest; and I beg you, sir, and the Doctor will go on with this investigation so as to prove to the world that Professor Barclay was a gentleman indeed.”