Yet the above misgiving grew by dwelling upon, and there were times when Haviland would feel exceedingly uncomfortable and almost make up his mind to give up these perilous expeditions. Were they worth the risk? The end of the term was drawing near, and his irksome restraint would, of course, end with it; whereas, were he detected, the result would be inevitable expulsion. Mr Sefton’s words would strike uncomfortably home to his mind, and, after all, embittered and reckless as he might feel, he had no desire to be expelled. His accomplice would get off with a sound swishing, for which, of course, he himself was too old. He would certainly be expelled.
But such prudential moods were not destined to last. His close confinement galled him more and more, and, besides, there was one expedition the pair had promised themselves, and that was to extend their midnight marauding to Hangman’s Wood. That would be a famous exploit. They would shoot two or three pheasants there—the place just grew pheasants—and at night they would be entirely safe, because no one dared go into it on account of the ghost. Yes, it would be the crowning exploit of all, and the sooner they undertook it the better, while there was some moonlight left.
They might have been less easy in their minds, however, could they have assisted unseen in a discussion then going on in the Doctor’s study between that potentate and Laughton, with a couple of the senior prefects.
“It is really becoming a serious matter,” the Headmaster was saying, “and I am considering what action I shall take. Again I have had complaints. Both Mr Worthington’s and Lord Hebron’s keepers have been to me again. There is no doubt as to the truth of their stories, I am afraid. Their woods are overrun and pheasants taken—they gave me ample proof of that. They have even found a place where the birds have been cooked and eaten, and a good many of them too.”
“Surely, sir, that’s no evidence whatever that it has been done by any of the school,” said Laughton, as the Doctor paused, as though inviting opinion.
“I think it is, Laughton. The ordinary poacher, you see, would remove his game, not cook and eat it in a dry ditch. Furthermore, the footmarks observed by the keepers were made by cricket shoes, and not large enough nor broad enough to be imprinted by the village ne’er-do-well.”
“But Lord Hebron’s preserves are too far away, sir,” urged Medlicott. “No fellow would have time to get there and back unless he got leave from calling-over.”
“That’s true,” rejoined the Doctor; “but the Question is, has anybody been getting such leave of late, and, if so, how many? I shall inquire into that. And now have any of you any other suggestions to offer?”
The prefects looked at each other rather blankly. It was, of course, very flattering, and all that sort of thing, to be taken thus into the counsels of the redoubtable Doctor; but then, unfortunately, they hadn’t the ghost of a notion what to suggest. At last Laughton said:—
“I should think, sir, the best plan would be for the owners of the shootings to increase their staff of keepers. It seems hard for them to lay the blame on the school when there’s so little to justify the suspicion.”