We had not long to wait!
Chapter Two.
A Conspiracy of Silence.
As for me, I was very poor company for any one that afternoon of Hector’s funeral. Something was burning a hole in my pocket, and I felt myself in a most uncomfortable fix.
“It’s all up with old Dux,” said I to myself, “if it’s found out. But suppose it’s found on me? Still more precious awkward. I’d either have to lump it or let out. Don’t see much fun in either myself. Seems to me the sooner I get rid of the beastly thing the better. Fancy his letting it lie about in his locker! He’d give me a hiding for interfering, I know, if he only knew. But I wouldn’t for anything he got lagged. Old Dux is one of those chaps that has to be backed up against himself. Sha’n’t be my fault if he isn’t.”
The reader will have judged by this time that I belonged to the species prig in my youthful days. Let that pass; I was not a unique specimen.
Full of my noble resolve of saving the Dux from himself, I went out to take the air, and strolled aimlessly in the direction of the pond. A professional burglar could not have ordered his footsteps more circumspectly. I perambulated the pool, whistling a cheerful tune, and looking attentively at the rooks overhead. Not a soul was in sight. I began to throw stones into the water, small to begin with, then larger, then bits of stick about six inches long. Then I smuggled the unlucky pistol out of my pocket in my handkerchief, and whistled still more cheerfully. Although no one was looking, it seemed prudent to adopt an air of general boredom, as if I was tired of throwing sticks into the pond. I would only throw one more. Even that was a fag, but I would do it.
What a plump, noisy splash it made, sending out circles far and near, and gurgling in a sickening way as it sank in a very unsticklike fashion to the bottom.