Chapter Eight.
I know a Bank.
Jonah Trimble may not have been a genius of the first water, but he was at least wise enough to know that he could not both have his cake and eat it. His discovery of Jeffreys’ villainy was a most appetising cake, and it wanted some little self-denial to keep his own counsel about it, and not spoil sport by springing his mine until all the trains were laid.
Another consideration, moreover, which prevented his taking immediate action was that Jeffreys was extremely useful at Galloway House, and could not be spared just yet—even to the gallows. In a few months’ time, when the good name of the school, which had rapidly risen since he came upon the scene, was well established, things might be brought to a climax. Meanwhile Jonah Trimble would keep his eye on his man, read his Eugene Aram, and follow up his clues.
Jeffreys awoke on the following morning with a feeling of oppression on his mind which for a little time he could not define. It was not his guardian’s words, bitter as they had been; it was not the insolence of his fellow-usher, intolerable as that was becoming. When at last his wandering thoughts came in and gave the trouble shape, he found it took a much more practical form. He was in debt seven pounds to Mr Frampton. It never occurred to him to wonder whether Mr Halgrove had been telling him the truth or not, nor to his unbusinesslike mind did it occur that his guardian, as the trustee responsible for what money he once had, was liable for the debt, however much he might like to repudiate it.
No; all he knew was that Mr Frampton was owed seven pounds, and that he himself had nothing, or next to nothing, to pay. By hard saving during the six months he had managed to save a sovereign, but of this only last week he had spent the greater part in boots and clothing. Now his worldly wealth consisted of four shillings! He was down early that morning, and was relieved to find that Mrs Trimble was in the parlour alone, without her son. The good lady was in an amiable mood. The school was getting on, and something told her that it was not greatly due either to her own exertions or the influence of Jonah. Therefore, being a mathematical old lady, she subtracted herself and Jonah from the present school staff, and came to the conclusion that Jeffreys must have had a hand in the improvement.
“Young man,” said she, in reply to her assistant’s greeting, “you’ve been with me six months. Are you comfortable?”
“Pretty well,” said Jeffreys. “I’m very fond of my boys, and I always get on comfortably with you.”
The mathematical dame once more went to work, and answered, “You and Jonah don’t hit it, I suppose. You don’t know Jonah, young man. He may not be easily satisfied, but he’s a gentleman.”
“I’m sure,” said Jeffreys, to whom this tribute seemed the last he should expect to hear bestowed on his amiable fellow-usher, “I try to get on with him, and shall go on trying.”
“That’s right,” said Mrs Trimble, once more shuddering at the prospect of being left short-handed. “What I was going to say to you was, that now you’ve been here six months, and are not a forward young man, and don’t drink, I shall raise your wages, and give you thirty shillings a month instead of twenty. How will that suit you?”
“You are very kind,” said the grateful Jeffreys, with a tremble in his voice which quite moved the old lady’s heart; “it will be very acceptable.”
“Very good. You need not mention it to Jonah,” added she hurriedly, as that young gentleman’s footsteps were heard that moment on the stairs.
The only difference which the unconscious Jeffreys was aware of in the conduct of Jonah Trimble towards himself was that the young gentleman was a trifle more hectoring and a trifle more facetious than before.
But even to the little mind of Jonah Trimble it had been revealed that at present it would be extremely awkward for Galloway House if Jeffreys went “on strike.” He was a good teacher and manager; and his boys were devoted to him. Of course, when a boy goes home from school full of the praises of his teacher, his parents are pleased too, and think well of the school, and tell their friends what a nice place it is for boys, and so on. It is a good advertisement, in fact. Besides, with Mrs Trimble so lazy, and Jonah himself so unattractive, it would involve a great deal of trouble all round if Jeffreys deserted it. They knew by experience that young fellows of good education did not as a rule jump at the situation of second usher in Galloway House. And they knew, also, something of the horrors of a prolonged vacancy in their staff.
Jonah was rather relieved when Jeffreys, immediately after school, shut himself up in his own room, and remained there studying for the rest of the evening. The proceeding favoured a little idea of his own, which was to revisit the spot where he had tied his bootlace the evening before, and see if an examination of that fatal spot would throw any fresh light on his investigation. Accordingly after tea he sallied forth with a trowel in his coat pocket. It was rather a dismal expedition, for it rained, and there was a cool breeze. The lane was muddy even in the roadway, and on the banks it was a quagmire. Still Jonah was too full of his mystery seriously to mind the weather.
He trudged up and down the lane, sharply scrutinising the hedge for his bootlace. For a long time his perseverance was unrewarded. At length, however, his eye detected the welcome flutter of a bright tag among the leaves, and he recognised the scene of last night’s damp sojourn.
He clambered up onto the bank, regardless of his garments, and commenced an anxious scrutiny. The bank itself showed no signs of a “mystery.” Even the traces of Jeffreys’ visit to it the night before were obliterated by the soaking rain. The field on the other side was equally unsuggestive. Jonah trampled around in circles on the young corn, but never a pistol, or a rusty knife, or a bottle of poison, did he discover.
Yet he had heard the villain say distinctly,—
“This was the very place!”
He scrambled back rather crestfallen on to the bank. It was getting dark, and the rain came down ceaselessly, yet so strong was his certainty that here he should discover the evidence he was looking for, that for another half-hour he plied his trowel diligently. Sometimes when it struck on a stone or the roots of a bramble, he trembled with anticipation; and once, when, groping under a hedge, his hand suddenly encountered a dead rat, his hair literally stood on end.
He began to get nervous and uncomfortable. The night became suddenly dark, and the wind whistled all sorts of weird tunes among the trees. Jonah did not exactly believe in ghosts; still, if there were such things, this was just the night and just the place for the ghost he was looking for to take its walk abroad. He did not like it, and began to wish he was safe at home. The bushes round him began to rustle noisily, and a gate in the field swung to and fro with an almost human groan. He fancied he could descry wandering lights and white gleams in the darkness, and the vague consciousness of something coming nearer and nearer.
At last, with a great effort, he roused himself from his moist seat, and leaped down from the bank into the lane.
The instant his feet touched the road he was conscious of a low growl, and next moment found himself pinned, with his back to the bank, by a furious dog.
His yell of terror had mingled with the wind for a couple of minutes before he became aware of the red glow of a cigar in front of him, and behind that the dim countenance of the man whose talk with Jeffreys he had overheard the previous evening.
“Oh, Mr Julius!” he howled; “help me. Call him off; I shall be torn to pieces.”
“And pray how come you to know the name of my dog?” said Mr Halgrove; “eh, my little highwayman?”
“Please, sir, I’m not a highwayman. I was only looking for something on the bank. Oh, Mr Julius!”
“My dog is not used to be called Mr,” replied Mr Halgrove.
“Oh, I—I thought that was your name,” whimpered Jonah, not daring to stir an inch for fear of incurring the resentment of the dog.
“And pray how came you to think my name was Julius?” said Mr Halgrove, becoming interested.
“Oh! please sir, wasn’t it you that was talking to Jeffreys last night in the minster yard?”
It was too dark for Jonah to see Mr Halgrove’s eyebrows go up at this unexpected question.
“Julius, come in, sir. So you know the gentleman I was speaking to yesterday,” said he, coolly. “What did you say his name was?”
“Jeffreys, sir. He’s an—”
Jonah pulled up. This man, whatever his name was, was Jeffreys’ accomplice. Jonah felt he must not commit himself.
“I beg your pardon,” said Mr Halgrove, noticing the abrupt pause.
“I am saying—it’s—it’s rather a wet night, sir,” said Jonah, making a move to walk on.
Mr Halgrove snapped his fingers to Julius, and next instant the wretched Jonah was pinned again to the bank.
“What did you say he was?” asked Mr Halgrove, lighting a fusee.
“Oh, please, sir, please call him off. My assistant, sir.”
“Oh! your assistant—in what? Highway robbery?”
“No, sir. In teaching a school. Please, sir, call him off.” Mr Halgrove paid no heed to the entreaty, but proceeded to extract numerous particulars as to his ward’s conduct and mode of life at Galloway House.
“So he’s taken to minding little boys, has he? and you are his employer? You are aware that you have a treasure of course?”
Even Trimble was not so dense as to miss the sneer with which the inquiry was made. It emboldened him considerably.
“I dislike him; so does ma. We consider him a dangerous character.”
Mr Halgrove laughed.
“What makes you think that?”
“There’s a—oh, sir, please call off the dog—mystery about him. He’s—”
“Is that the reason you spied on him yesterday?”
“No, sir—that is—” for at that moment Julius growled—“yes, sir. I thought if there was anything wrong it was my duty to the school to know it, sir.”
“Exemplary pedagogue! And now you know it? Eh?”
“Well, sir, I have my suspicions.”
“No! And what might your suspicions be?”
“Oh, sir,” replied the wretched Jonah, feeling like a blue-bottle on a pin, “I believe he’s a murderer in hiding. I really do.”
“Clever little ferret! You’ve found that out, have you?”
“I feel no doubt about it,” said Jonah, plucking up a little confidence.
“Don’t feel any. When and where did the interesting event take place?”
“Oh, you could tell me that better than I can tell you,” stammered Trimble.
“Indeed!” said Mr Halgrove, his eyebrows going up ominously in the dark.
“Of course I shouldn’t—that is—I should never dream of getting you into trouble, sir.”
Mr Halgrove took his cigar out of his mouth and stared at the speaker.
“I’d wait till you were safe away in America, sir; and even then I wouldn’t let your name be known, you know, as an accomplice.”
Mr Halgrove put his cigar back into his mouth, and changed his cane from his left hand to his right.
“Fetch him here, Julius,” said he, stepping back into the middle of the road.
It was in vain the wretched Jonah howled and called for mercy.
“So you won’t let my name be known as an accomplice! How very kind!”
And he gave practical proof of his gratitude by caning Jonah till both were tired.
“Now good-night,” said Mr Halgrove when he had done, “and thank you for a pleasant evening. I dare say Mr Jeffreys will make up for any little deficiencies on my part if you ask him. Ask him, with my compliments, to show you the little game he played with one of his old school-fellows. Good-night, Mr Trimble. Wish him good-night, Julius.”
Julius once more pinned his affrighted victim to the bank, and then following at his master’s heels, left the bruised and bewildered Jonah to limp home as best he could.
The day he had had yesterday had been nothing in comparison with to-day! In the school, meanwhile, there was jubilation and thanksgiving over the fact that Jonah had a bad headache. Jeffreys, with the first and second classes merged for the occasion into one, amazed Mrs Trimble by the order and industry which he commanded.
“The young man’s worth his money,” said the good lady, with a sigh of relief, for she had counted on losing her nap for that day at least, and was grateful beyond measure to find her fears disappointed.
As for the first class, they got completely spoiled by their day’s change of teacher, and vowed they would all become dunces in order to be put back in the second class.
“I say, Jeff,” said Teddy confidentially, as the school was being dismissed, “is there any chance of his dying? It’s been so ripping to-day without him.”
“Hold your tongue, sir,” said Jeffreys, in a tone which astonished his bloodthirsty young confidant; “you’re old enough to know better than talk like that.”
Teddy looked very miserable at this rebuke.
“Don’t be in a wax with me, Jeff,” he said appealingly. “Whatever would I do if you got to hate me?”
Jeffreys was not proof against this, and walked home with his two young friends, beguiling the way with cheery talk, which effectually dispelled the cloud which his passing anger had roused.
On his way back he felt impelled to climb for a moment on the bank at his favourite spot. It amazed him to see the ground all torn up, and to find a trowel lying half bedded in the turf at the top. Still more did it surprise and perplex him to find a penknife, which he recognised at once as belonging to Trimble, and which he distinctly recollected having seen in that hero’s hand during school the afternoon of the preceding day. What did it all mean?