“That’ll keep,” said Clowes, nodding. “What’s the yarn?”
“Do you remember about a year ago a chap named Patterson getting sacked?”
Clowes nodded again. He remembered the case well. Patterson had had gambling transactions with a Wrykyn tradesman, had been found out, and had gone.
“You remember what a surprise it was to everybody. It wasn’t one of those cases where half the school suspects what’s going on. Those cases always come out sooner or later. But Patterson nobody knew about.”
“Yes. Well?”
“Nobody,” said Trevor, “except Ruthven, that is. Ruthven got to know somehow. I believe he was a bit of a pal of Patterson’s at the time. Anyhow,—they had a row, and Ruthven went to Dexter—Patterson was in Dexter’s—and sneaked. Dexter promised to keep his name out of the business, and went straight to the Old Man, and Patterson got turfed out on the spot. Then somehow or other Rand-Brown got to know about it—I believe Ruthven must have told him by accident some time or other. After that he simply had to do everything Rand-Brown wanted him to. Otherwise he said that he would tell the chaps about the Patterson affair. That put Ruthven in a dead funk.”
“Of course,” said Clowes; “I should imagine friend Ruthven would have got rather a bad time of it. But what made them think of starting the League? It was a jolly smart idea. Rand-Brown’s, of course?”
“Yes. I suppose he’d heard about it, and thought something might be made out of it if it were revived.”
“And were Ruthven and he the only two in it?”
“Ruthven swears they were, and I shouldn’t wonder if he wasn’t telling the truth, for once in his life. You see, everything the League’s done so far could have been done by him and Rand-Brown, without anybody else’s help. The only other studies that were ragged were Mill’s and Milton’s—both in Seymour’s.