School prefects at Wrykyn did weekly essays for the headmaster. Thosewho had got their scholarships at the 'Varsity, or who were going up inthe following year, used to take their essays to him after school andread them to him--an unpopular and nerve-destroying practice, akin tosuicide. Trevor had got his scholarship in the previous November. Hewas due at the headmaster's private house at six o'clock on the presentTuesday. He was looking forward to the ordeal not without apprehension.
The essay subject this week had been "One man's meat is another man'spoison", and Clowes, whose idea of English Essay was that it should bea medium for intempestive frivolity, had insisted on his beginningwith, "While I cannot conscientiously go so far as to say that oneman's meat is another man's poison, yet I am certainly of opinion thatwhat is highly beneficial to one man may, on the other hand, to anotherman, differently constituted, be extremely deleterious, and, indeed,absolutely fatal."Trevor was not at all sure how the headmaster would take it. But Cloweshad seemed so cut up at his suggestion that it had better be omitted,that he had allowed it to stand.
He was putting the final polish on this gem of English literature athalf-past five, when Milton came in.
"Busy?" said Milton.
Trevor said he would be through in a minute.
Milton took a chair, and waited.
Trevor scratched out two words and substituted two others, made acouple of picturesque blots, and, laying down his pen, announced thathe had finished.
"What's up?" he said.
"It's about the League," said Milton.
"Found out anything?""Not anything much. But I've been making inquiries. You remember Iasked you to let me look at those letters of yours?"Trevor nodded. This had happened on the Sunday of that week.
"Well, I wanted to look at the post-marks.""By Jove, I never thought of that."Milton continued with the business-like air of the detective whoexplains in the last chapter of the book how he did it.
"I found, as I thought, that both letters came from the same place."Trevor pulled out the letters in question. "So they do," he said,"Chesterton.""Do you know Chesterton?" asked Milton.
"Only by name.""It's a small hamlet about two miles from here across the downs.
There's only one shop in the place, which acts as post-office andtobacconist and everything else. I thought that if I went there andasked about those letters, they might remember who it was that sentthem, if I showed them a photograph.""By Jove," said Trevor, "of course! Did you? What happened?""I went there yesterday afternoon. I took about half-a-dozenphotographs of various chaps, including Rand-Brown.""But wait a bit. If Chesterton's two miles off, Rand-Brown couldn'thave sent the letters. He wouldn't have the time after school. He wason the grounds both the afternoons before I got the letters.""I know," said Milton; "I didn't think of that at the time.""Well?""One of the points about the Chesterton post-office is that there's noletter-box outside. You have to go into the shop and hand anything youwant to post across the counter. I thought this was a tremendous scorefor me. I thought they would be bound to remember who handed in theletters. There can't be many at a place like that.""Did they remember?""They remembered the letters being given in distinctly, but as forknowing anything beyond that, they were simply futile. There was anold woman in the shop, aged about three hundred and ten, I shouldthink. I shouldn't say she had ever been very intelligent, but nowshe simply gibbered. I started off by laying out a shilling on somepoisonous-looking sweets. I gave the lot to a village kid when I gotout. I hope they didn't kill him. Then, having scattered ground-baitin that way, I lugged out the photographs, mentioned the letters andthe date they had been sent, and asked her to weigh in and identifythe sender.""Did she?""My dear chap, she identified them all, one after the other. The firstwas one of Clowes. She was prepared to swear on oath that that was thechap who had sent the letters. Then I shot a photograph of you acrossthe counter, and doubts began to creep in. She said she was certain itwas one of those two 'la-ads', but couldn't quite say which. To keepher amused I fired in photograph number three--Allardyce's. Sheidentified that, too. At the end of ten minutes she was pretty surethat it was one of the six--the other three were Paget, Clephane, andRand-Brown--but she was not going to bind herself down to anyparticular one. As I had come to the end of my stock of photographs,and was getting a bit sick of the game, I got up to go, when in cameanother ornament of Chesterton from a room at the back of the shop. Hewas quite a kid, not more than a hundred and fifty at the outside, so,as a last chance, I tackled him on the subject. He looked at thephotographs for about half an hour, mumbling something about it notbeing 'thiccy 'un' or 'that 'un', or 'that 'ere tother 'un', until Ibegan to feel I'd had enough of it. Then it came out that the real chapwho had sent the letters was a 'la-ad' with light hair, not so big asme--""That doesn't help us much," said Trevor.
"--And a 'prarper little gennlemun'. So all we've got to do is to lookfor some young duke of polished manners and exterior, with a thatch oflight hair.""There are three hundred and sixty-seven fellows with light hair in theschool," said Trevor, calmly.
"Thought it was three hundred and sixty-eight myself," said Milton,"but I may be wrong. Anyhow, there you have the results of myinvestigations. If you can make anything out of them, you're welcome toit. Good-bye.""Half a second," said Trevor, as he got up; "had the fellow a cap ofany sort?""No. Bareheaded. You wouldn't expect him to give himself away bywearing a house-cap?"Trevor went over to the headmaster's revolving this discovery in hismind. It was not much of a clue, but the smallest clue is better thannothing. To find out that the sender of the League letters had fair hairnarrowed the search down a little. It cleared the more raven-lockedmembers of the school, at any rate. Besides, by combining his informationwith Milton's, the search might be still further narrowed down. He knewthat the polite letter-writer must be either in Seymour's or inDonaldson's. The number of fair-haired youths in the two houses wasnot excessive. Indeed, at the moment he could not recall any; whichrather complicated matters.
He arrived at the headmaster's door, and knocked. He was shown into aroom at the side of the hall, near the door. The butler informed himthat the headmaster was engaged at present. Trevor, who knew the butlerslightly through having constantly been to see the headmaster onbusiness _via_ the front door, asked who was there.
"Sir Eustace Briggs," said the butler, and disappeared in the directionof his lair beyond the green baize partition at the end of the hall.
Trevor went into the room, which was a sort of spare study, and satdown, wondering what had brought the mayor of Wrykyn to see theheadmaster at this advanced hour.
A quarter of an hour later the sound of voices broke in upon his peace.
The headmaster was coming down the hall with the intention of showinghis visitor out. The door of Trevor's room was ajar, and he could heardistinctly what was being said. He had no particular desire to play theeavesdropper, but the part was forced upon him.
Sir Eustace seemed excited.
"It is far from being my habit," he was saying, "to make unnecessarycomplaints respecting the conduct of the lads under your care." (SirEustace Briggs had a distaste for the shorter and more colloquial formsof speech. He would have perished sooner than have substituted"complain of your boys" for the majestic formula he had used. He spokeas if he enjoyed choosing his words. He seemed to pause and thinkbefore each word. Unkind people--who were jealous of his distinguishedcareer--used to say that he did this because he was afraid of droppingan aitch if he relaxed his vigilance.)"But," continued he, "I am reluctantly forced to the unpleasantconclusion that the dastardly outrage to which both I and the Press ofthe town have called your attention is to be attributed to one of thelads to whom I 'ave--_have_ (this with a jerk) referred.""I will make a thorough inquiry, Sir Eustace," said the bass voice ofthe headmaster.
"I thank you," said the mayor. "It would, under the circumstances, benothing more, I think, than what is distinctly advisable. The manSamuel Wapshott, of whose narrative I have recently afforded you abrief synopsis, stated in no uncertain terms that he found at the footof the statue on which the dastardly outrage was perpetrated adiminutive ornament, in shape like the bats that are used in the gameof cricket. This ornament, he avers (with what truth I know not), washanded by him to a youth of an age coeval with that of the lads in theupper division of this school. The youth claimed it as his property, Iwas given to understand.""A thorough inquiry shall be made, Sir Eustace.""I thank you."And then the door shut, and the conversation ceased.
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