“Extraordinary!” he said to himself. Then he thought of the Panoukians and began to fidget at the idea of being late. He abominated unpunctuality. Had he not again and again had to punish young Panoukian for indulgence in the vice? The six-twenty-four had given him ample time. He pulled out his watch: Still twenty-five minutes, but he must hurry. He looked round the bare, dingy room vaguely, wonderingly. Incisively the idea of his situation bit into his brain. He was in custody—carcer, a prison. How absurd it was, rather funny! It only needed a little quiet, level-headed explanation and he would be free. The “chief” would confirm his story, his identity. . . . They would laugh over it. Very funny: very funny. A wonderful story for the club. He chuckled over it to himself until he began to think of the outcome. More than once he had served on a Grand Jury and had slept through the consideration of hundreds of indictments: a depressing experience for which the judge had rewarded him with nothing but compliments and an offer of a pass to view His Majesty’s prison. That brought him up with a jerk. He was in custody, charged with a most serious offence, for which he would be tried at the Assizes. It was monstrous, preposterous! It must be stopped at once. What a grotesque mistake! What an egregious, yet what a serious blunder! That officious idiot of a parson!
The Head Master arrived. He glowered at his colleague and seemed very agitated. He said:
“This is very serious, most unfortunate. It is—ah—as well for the prestige of the school that it has happened at the end of term. We must hush it up, hush it up.”
Beenham explained. He told the whole story, growing more and more amazed and indignant as he set it forth. The Head Master only said:
“I form no opinion. We must hush it up. It must be kept out of the papers.”
Not a word more could be wrung from him. With a stiff back and pursed lips he nodded and went away. He returned to say:
“Of course you will not appear at Speech Day. I will write to you as soon as I have decided what had best be done.”
“I shall be at Bigley,” said Old Mole.
He was released on bail and told to surrender himself at the police court when called upon.
In a dream he wandered out into the street and up into the main thoroughfare, along which every day in term time he walked between the station and the school. Impossible to go to the Panoukians; impossible to return to Bigley. Suppose he had been recognized! Any number of his acquaintances might be going out by the six-forty-nine. He must have been seen! Bigley would be alive with it! . . . He sent two telegrams, one to the Panoukians, the other to his housekeeper to announce that he would not be back that night.