Chapter Eight.
The Doctor has a Word or Two with Railsford’s House.
Railsford’s house was not famous for early risers. The chapel-bell in winter began to ring at 7.30, and “call-over” was at 7.45. Between these two periods, but chiefly at the 7.45 end, most of the rising in the house was accomplished. Master Simson, the Shell-fish, was in for the hundred yards under fourteen at the sports; and being a shy youth who did not like to practise in public, he had determined to rise before the lark and take a furtive spin round the school track while his schoolfellows and enemies slept. It was a cold, raw morning, and before he was fully arrayed in his flannels he had had more than one serious idea of relapsing into bed. Be it said to his credit, he resisted the temptation, and gallantly finished his toilet, putting on an extra “sweater” and pea-jacket to boot—for he had seven pounds to run off between now and the sports. He peered out of the window; it was dark, but a patter on the panes showed him that a light sleet was falling outside. If so, being of a frugal mind, he would not run in his new shoes, but in his old boots.
Now, his old boots were in the cupboard under the staircase by the front door. And the reader understands at last why it is I have taken so much trouble to describe Master Simson’s movements on this particular morning.
It was so rare an event for any boy to be up at six o’clock on a winter morning in Railsford’s, that no one had ever thought about making a rule to prevent the early birds leaving the house at that hour, if they could succeed in getting out. Simson, who had interest with the cook, believed he could get an exeat through the kitchen window; meanwhile he must get his boots. He armed himself with a match—the last one in the box—and quietly felt his way along the corridor and down the stairs. There was a glimmer of light from under the maids’ door as he passed, which told him they were up and that he would not have long to wait downstairs. At the foot of the stairs he turned sharp round, and following the wall with his hand, came at length on the familiar handle of the “boot-box.” To his surprise the door was locked, but the key was on the outside.
“A sell if I hadn’t been able to get in,” said he to himself, opening the door.
Now Simson, like a cautious youth, aware of the frailty of matches, wisely resolved to penetrate as far as possible into the interior of the cupboard, in the direction in which he knew his particular boots to be, before striking a light.
But at the first step he tripped on something and fell prostrate over a human carcase, which emitted a muffled gasp and moved heavily as he tumbled upon it. Then there went up a yell such as curdled the blood of half Railsford’s as they lay in their beds, and made the domestics up-stairs cling to one another in terror, as if their last moment had come.
Simson, with every hair on his head erect, made a frantic dive out of that awful den, banging the door and locking it behind him in a frenzy of fright. Then he dashed up-stairs, and plunged, as white as his shirt, into the dormitory.
Another yell signalised his arrival. Not his, this time, but the joint performance of the other occupants of the room, who, sitting up with their chins on their knees, half petrified by the horror of the first shriek, now gave themselves up for lost when the door broke open in the dark, and a gasping something staggered into the room.
“There’s some—bo—dy been mur—dered,” gasped Simson, “in the bo—ot-box!”
Everybody was on his feet in a moment.
“Murdered?”
“Yes,” said Simson, wonderfully comforted by the noise and general panic. “I got up early, you know, to have a grind on the track, and went to get my boots, and—I—I fell over it!”
“Over what?”
“The bo—od—y,” whispered Simson.
“Has anybody got a light?” shouted Arthur.
But at that moment a light appeared at the door, and Ainger came in.
“What’s all this row—what’s the matter?”
“Simson says somebody’s been murdered in the boot-box,” replied Arthur. “I say, hadn’t we better go and see?”
It was a practical suggestion. The corridor was already full of half-dressed inquirers, and a moment later Mr Railsford’s door opened. The story was repeated to him.
“Come with me, Ainger,” said he, quietly; “the rest of you return to your dormitories, and remain there.”
Arthur, seized by a noble desire not to leave his future kinsman unprotected in such an hour of peril, elected to disregard this last order, and, accompanied by his henchman, followed the candle at a respectful distance down the stairs.
“There’s no blood on the stairs,” observed the baronet, in a whisper.
“They’ve left the key in the door,” muttered Arthur.
“Hold the light,” said Railsford, turning the key, and entering.
Prostrate on the ground, bound hand and foot, and enveloped down to the waist in a sack, lay the figure of a man, motionless, but certainly not dead, for sounds proceeded from the depths of the canvas. In a moment Railsford had knelt and cut the cords round the prisoner’s feet and hands, while Ainger drew the sack from the head.
Arthur gave a whistle of consternation as the features of Mr Bickers came to light, pale and stern. The sudden sight of Medusa’s head could hardly have had a more petrifying effect. The victim himself was the first to recover. Stretching his arms and legs in relief, he sat up, and coolly said,—
“Thank you.”
“Whatever does all this mean?” exclaimed Railsford, helping him to rise, for he was very stiff and cramped.
“That I cannot say. Kindly reach my hat, Ainger.”
“Who has done this?”
“That, too, I cannot say. I can walk, thank you.”
“Won’t you come to my room and have something? You really must,” said Railsford, taking his arm.
Mr Bickers disengaged his arm, and said coldly, “Thank you, no; I will go to my own, if you will open the door.”
Arthur at this moment came up officiously with a glass of water, which Mr Bickers drank eagerly, and then, declining one last offer of assistance, went slowly out towards his own house.
Railsford retired to his room and threw himself into his chair in a state of profound dejection. Mysterious as the whole affair was, one or two things were clear. The one was that his house was disgraced by this criminal and cowardly outrage, the other was that the situation was made ten times more difficult on account of the already notorious feud between himself and the injured master. His high hopes were once more dashed to the ground, and this time, it almost seemed, finally.
Mark Railsford was no coward, yet for half an hour that morning he wished he might be well out of Grandcourt for ever. Then, having admitted cooler counsels, he dressed and went to the captain’s study.
“Call the other prefects here, Ainger. I want to talk to you.”
The seniors were not far off, and speedily assembled.
“First of all,” said the master, who perceived at a glance that it was not necessary for him to explain the gravity of the situation, “can any of you give me any information about this disgraceful affair?”
“None, sir,” said Ainger, a little nettled at the master’s tone; “we have talked it over, and, as far as we are concerned, it’s a complete mystery.”
“Have you any reason to suspect anybody?”
“None at all, sir.”
“You know, all of you, I needn’t tell you, that the credit of the house is at stake—in fact, it’s gone till we find the offenders. Mr Bickers will naturally report the matter to Dr Ponsford, and I am going to the doctor for the same purpose. I wished to consult you before taking any step, because this is a matter in which we must work together.”
“Certainly, sir,” said Ainger, speaking for the rest.
“What I mean is, that no personal feeling must come between us and the duty we all owe to Grandcourt to see this wrong put right; you understand me?”
“Yes,” said the downright Ainger; “we none of us like Mr Bickers, but we must find out the fellows who scragged him, all the same.”
“Exactly; and I am glad to hear you say that. There is one other matter. Two of you, Stafford and Felgate, recently felt specially aggrieved by something which Mr Bickers said to you. You must forget all that now, and remember only that your duty to the whole school requires that you should do everything in your power to help to put an end to this scandal.”
“Of course we shall,” said Felgate, curtly, in a tone which Railsford did not consider particularly encouraging.
However, having opened his mind to his lieutenants, he went away straight to the doctor’s. Mr Bickers was leaving just as he entered, and Railsford read in his looks, as he brushed past, no great encouragement to hope that things would soon be made right.
“Mr Bickers,” said he, advancing almost in front of his colleague, “I must tell you how distressed I am at what has occurred. I—”
“Yes, it is trying for you,” said the injured master, drily. “Excuse me, though; I want my breakfast.”
It was not easy to feel cordial sympathy with a man like this. However, there was nothing for it but to go and lay his case before the doctor, and Railsford entered accordingly.
Dr Ponsford was at breakfast, and asked his visitor to take a seat.
“You have come to tell me that Mr Bickers’s assailants are discovered?” said he.
“I wish I could,” said Railsford. “I have only had time to speak to my prefects.”
“Two of whom are not to be trusted, and profess a personal spite against Mr Bickers.”
This was just like the doctor. He gave other people information and never wanted any himself.
“I know, of course, what you refer to. I have not myself found any reason to consider Felgate or Stafford untrustworthy. Mr Bickers says—”
“I know what Mr Bickers says; but what do you say?”
“Well, sir, frankly, I do not feel quite sure of Felgate; and Stafford is too amiable to say ‘no’ to anybody.”
“Now let me hear about the affair this morning.”
Railsford gave a careful account of the discovery of Mr Bickers in the boot-box, and was conscious that the doctor, although he gave little sign of it, was not quite blind to the unfortunate position in which he, as the new master of the offending house, was placed.
“Have a call-over of your house at ten o’clock, Mr Railsford. I will come.”
This announcement was about as cheerful a one in Grandcourt as an appointment made by the Court of the Inquisition would have been, once upon a time, in Spain, Railsford rose to go.
“You had better stop and have breakfast here,” said the doctor, ringing the bell for another cup. During the meal no further reference was made to the event of the morning, but Railsford was drawn out as to his work and the condition of his house generally, and was painfully aware that the doctor was making the best of his time to reckon him up. He only wished he could guess the verdict. But on this point he received no light, and went off presently charged with the unpleasant task of summoning his house to answer for themselves at the bar of the head-master.
It was a curious spectacle, the crowd of boys which assembled in the common room that morning at Railsford’s. Some were sulky, and resented this jumbling of the innocent and guilty. Some were so anxious to appear guileless and gay, that they overdid it and compromised themselves in consequence. Some were a little frightened lest an all-round flogging should be proposed. Some whispered mysteriously, and looked askance at one or two fellows who had been “mentioned” as possibly implicated. Some, like Arthur and the baronet, with Simson squeezed in between them, looked knowing and important, as though horses and chariots would not drag their secret out of them. Ainger looked pale, and his big chest went up and down in a manner which those who knew him felt to be ominous. Stafford looked alternately solemn and sneering, according as he turned to the captain or Felgate. And Barnworth alone looked comfortable, and, apparently, had not an idea what all the excitement was about.
At ten o’clock Railsford entered in his cap and gown, and Ainger immediately began to call over the roll. Every one answered to his name except Maple of the Shell, who was away at his father’s funeral, and Tomkins the Baby, who had been so scared by the whole affair, that he had turned sick during breakfast, and retired—with the dame’s permission—to bed.
During the call-over the doctor had entered and seated himself at the master’s desk. His quick eye took in each boy as he uttered his “Adsum,” dwelling longer on some than on others, and now and then turning his glance to the master and senior prefect. When it was all over and Ainger had handed in the list, the head-master took his eyeglass from his eye, laid the list on the desk before him, and said—
“Boys, this is an unusual and unpleasant visit. You know the object of it; you know the discredit which at present lies on your house and on Grandcourt, and you know what your duty is in the matter. If any boy here does not know what I mean, let him stand up.”
It was as much as the life of anybody present was worth to respond to this challenge. One or two who could never hear a good story too often would not have objected if somebody else had demanded further information. But for their own part, their discretion outdid their curiosity, and they retained their seats amidst a dead silence.
“Very well. Now I will put a question to you as a body. It is a very serious question, and one which no honest boy here, if he is able to answer it, can afford to evade. A great deal more depends on your answer than the mere expulsion of one or more wrong-doers. You boys are the guardians of the honour of your house. The only honourable thing at a time like this is to speak the truth, whatever the consequences. The question I ask is this— Was any boy here concerned in the outrage on Mr Bickers? or does any boy know who was? I will wait for two minutes, that you may understand the importance of the question, before I call for an answer.”
Dead silence. The boys for the most part looked straight before them with heightened colour, and watched the slow progress of the minute-hand of the clock.
“I repeat the question now,” said the doctor, when the allotted time had run—“Was any boy here concerned in the outrage on Mr Bickers? or does any boy know who was? If so, let him stand up.”
The silence which followed was broken to some by the thumping of their own hearts. But no one rose; and a sense of relief came to all but Railsford, who felt his spirits sink as the prospect of a near end to his trouble receded.
“Every boy here,” said the doctor, slowly, “denies all knowledge of the affair?”
Silence gave consent.
“Then,” continued the head-master, more severely, putting up his eyeglass, and handing the list to Ainger, “I shall put the question to each boy separately. Call over the list, and let each boy come up and answer.”
Ainger began by calling out his own name, and forthwith walked up to the master’s desk.
“Do you know anything whatever of this affair?” asked the doctor, looking him full in the face.
“No, sir,” said Ainger, returning the look, after his fashion, half defiantly.
The next name was called, and its owner marched up to the desk and uttered his denial. Railsford, as he stood scanning keenly the face of each boy in turn, felt that he was watching the action of some strange machine. First Ainger’s clear voice. Then the short “Adsum,” and the footsteps up to the desk. Then the doctor’s stern question. Then the quick look-up and the half-defiant “No, sir,” (for they all caught up the captain’s tone). And, finally, the retreating footsteps, and the silence preceding the next name.
There was no sign of faltering; and, wherever the secret lurked, Railsford saw little chance of it leaking out. A few boys, indeed, as was natural, gave their replies after their own fashion. Barnworth looked bored, and answered as though the whole performance was a waste of time. Arthur Herapath was particularly knowing in his tone, and accompanied his disclaimer with an embarrassing half-wink at his future kinsman. Felgate said “No” without the “sir,” and swaggered back to his place with an ostentatious indifference which did not go unnoted. The baronet, who was nothing if not original, said nothing, but shook his head.
“Reply to the question, sir!” thundered the doctor, ominously.
Whereat Sir Digby, losing his head, said, “No, thank you, sir,” and retired, amid some confusion.
Simson, when interrogated, mildly added to his “No, sir” the explanatory sentence, “except finding him there when I went for my boots”; and Munger, the cad, added to his answer, “but I’ll try to find out,” with a leer and an oily smile, which Ainger felt strongly tempted to acknowledge by a kick as he passed back to his place. Stafford, painfully aware that he was one of the “mentioned” ones, looked horribly confused and red as he answered to his name, and satisfied several of the inexpert ones present that it was hardly necessary to look further for one of the culprits.
So the call-over passed, and when once more Ainger handed in the list Railsford seemed further than ever from seeing light through the cloud which enveloped it. The doctor’s brow darkened as he took once more his glass from his eye.
“This is very serious,” said he, slowly. “When I came here it was with the painful feeling that the house contained boys so cowardly and unprincipled as to waylay a defenceless man in the dark, and to treat him as Mr Bickers has been treated. But it is tenfold worse to believe that it contains boys cowardly enough to involve the whole house in their own disgrace and punishment. (Sensation.) I will not mince matters. Your house is deeply disgraced, and cannot pretend to rank any longer with the other houses, who at least have a good name, until you have yourselves made this matter right. It rests with you to retrieve your credit. Meanwhile—”
Everybody took a long breath. The occasion was as when the judge puts on the black cap before passing sentence of death.
“Meanwhile the house will cease to dine in Hall, but will dine in this room at one o’clock daily; and on Saturdays, instead of taking the half-holiday in the afternoon, you will take it in the morning, and assemble for school at twelve o’clock. I still trust that there may be sufficient self-respect among you to make this change only of slight duration; or that,” and here the doctor’s tone grew bitter, and his mouth gathered sarcastically—“at least self-interest may come to your assistance, and make it possible to return to the old order.”
And he stalked from the room.
“Let us off easy, eh?” said the baronet.
“Easy?” fumed Arthur; “he might as well have given us a bit of rope a-piece and told us to go and hang ourselves! Look at Ainger; do you suppose he thinks we’ve been let off easy?”
The captain’s face left no doubt on that question.