“Distin hates him.”
The constable drew a long breath, and he had hard work to preserve his equanimity in good official style.
“My dear Macey,” cried the rector reproachfully, “surely you are not going, on account of a few boyish disagreements, to think that your fellow-pupil would make such a murderous attack. Come, you don’t surely believe that?”
“No,” said Macey slowly, “I don’t now: I can’t believe that he would be such a wretch.”
“There!” cried the rector, triumphantly. “Now, constable, there is no more to say, except that I beg you will not expose me and mine to painful trouble, and yourself to ridicule by going on with this baseless charge.”
“Can’t say, sir, I’m sure,” replied the constable. “I want to do my dooty, and I want to show respect to you, Mr Syme, sir, as has always been a good, kind gentleman to me; but we’re taught as no friendly or personal feelings is to stand in the way when we want to catch criminals. So, with all doo respect to you, I can’t make no promises.”
“I shall not ask you, my man,” replied the rector; “what I do say is go home and think it over. In a day or two I hope and trust that my pupil Vane Lee will be well enough to enlighten us as to who were his assailants.”
“I hope so, sir. But suppose he dies?”
“Heaven forbid! my man. There, do as I say: go back and think over this meeting seriously, and believe me I shall be very glad to see you come to me to-morrow and say frankly, from man to man—I have been in the wrong. Don’t shrink from doing so. It is an honour to anyone to avow that he was under a misapprehension.”
“Thankye, sir, and good-night,” said the constable, as the rector rang for Joseph to show him out; and the next minute all sat listening to his departing steps on the gravel, followed by the click click click click of the swing-gate.