For just one minute Rouse had stood at his window staring like one transfixed into the night, his head a little to one side as if in hopes of catching the gist of Pointon’s words. This had been hopeless. The distance was too great and the breeze was blowing away from Morley’s. In the growing dusk it had even been difficult to distinguish the crowd of waiting boys outside the Head’s room sufficiently clearly to gather from the sight how things were going. One sign alone gave him his cue. It was the silence.
He had hoped forlornly for an outburst of fanatical cheering. That would have meant that the day was won, that his selection stood, that the coming year, in spite of these troublous opening days, would not, after all, be lean. No sound whatever came. The hush was ominous. For just that minute he stood, a lonely figure, at his open study window. Then the answer reached him in a way that was unmistakable.
The night was suddenly broken by a roar of clashing voices, a riotous outburst of fierce cries, then the whole assembly was in sudden movement. He strained his eyes for a clear sight of what was happening, tried all he knew to catch the sense of all the clamour. No set phrase reached him. All he could properly distinguish here and there in the turmoil was the sound of his own name shouted again and 111again as if in passionate loyalty by many voices that he could not recognise.
But it was evidence enough. The last resort of discipline had failed. The school had been irremediably snubbed. And, as he waited, there came to him an almost dreaded thought. The school would still not take it. He read this as the message of that chaotic shouting. They were coming for him. The Head had dragged him from his high estate and the school would not lie down that night until they had hoisted him up again, if only to see him enthroned upon their shoulders as a little tin god, idolised and ten times as strongly established as their captain now than ever before, whatever the Head might have to say.
It came to Rouse as a fear.
He imagined himself hatefully in the limelight, a puffed-up and imaginary hero without just cause. He had some inkling now as to the temper of the school and he knew what it would mean.
He listened again. They were certainly coming towards him. Above the lasting din he could still hear his own name shouted ever and again. He looked round his study nervously, suddenly spotted the lofty cupboard, darted into it and shut the door gingerly behind him.
Two minutes later the clatter of a great stampede was breaking the peace of Morley’s. He crouched in his hiding-place and scarcely dared to breathe. Soon the forerunners were pounding up the stairs and along the passage shouting his name in turn as they came, with a desperate affection that would not be denied.
The door of his study flew open and he heard them tumble in one after the other, and finally cry the news back to those behind.
“He isn’t here. He’s gone!”
This meant no ending to the uproar. He heard 112the message passed to those on the road outside, in high-pitched voices that clamoured for ideas as to where he could be hiding. Then those below, realising that they would now be foremost in the search, turned excitedly, scrunching the gravel underfoot, and made off towards the school again. But those who were in the house intended first to make a proper job of it, while they were here, and he heard them running like a pack of hounds into the common room, and down to the dining-hall below, whilst all the time they shouted for him pleadingly, hoping against vain hope that he would answer and produce himself at last.
Then, in the end, they seemed resolved that he was nowhere there, and off they set in a stern chase after the body of the hunt, racing across the open spaces towards the school again.
He heard the placid tones of Mr Morley feebly remonstrating, then threatening angrily, and towards the end entreating with them, but he was brushed aside by mere strength of numbers and left in the hall of his house shouting mildly after them to show their common-sense and keep the peace.
All this Rouse could hear and understand, and when the house seemed quiet again he very cautiously opened the cupboard door and stretched himself. Next moment he received the surprise of his life. The light was suddenly switched on and revealed him. At the same time Terence Nicholson spoke.
“Come out,” said he. “Come along out, there’s a good fellow.”
For a fleeting space Rouse was absolutely nonplussed and he could only stare. Then he recovered himself with a miraculous effort, brushed his clothes with his hand and stepped daintily out of the cupboard.
“Absolutely NO deception,” he observed. “Any 113gentleman in the audience is fully at liberty to come up and examine both the lady and the box.” He paused. “Nobody? I thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your very kind attention.” He bowed, paused again, rendered the National Anthem as a cornet solo, cried: “Pass out quickly, please!” and finally stepped up to Terence, who was regarding him with an affectionate pity and faced him defiantly.
“Now, how did you know I was in that cupboard?” said he. “And how on earth did you come into this room without my hearing you?”
“Elementary,” said Terence, “my jolly old Dr Watson. I came in with the mob. When they ran out again I stayed here and slipped behind the door. Nobody missed me, and as soon as they’d cleared off I simply waited for you to come out. You see, old boy, there’s always something wrong with your schemes. The light from the passage, for example, shone directly upon the cupboard door, and it lit up with strange distinctness a tuft of your coat which was protruding through the slit between the door and the cupboard.”
Rouse regarded his coat critically.
“A nice piece of material, too,” said he. “Try the feel of it, sir.”
Terence smiled grimly.
“As soon as I saw you were apparently not here, though, I of course looked towards that cupboard first.”
“Thinking,” said Rouse gently, “to reach yourself a piece of pie so soon as the place was clear. I’m inclined to think, young Nicholson, that you were as surprised as I was.”
Terence made an abrupt gesture.
“The Head’s given his answer.”
“What is it?”
Terence told him.
114“The name of the new Rugger captain,” said he, “is Roe.”
Rouse looked him through and through, the while his expression slowly changed from one of puzzled misunderstanding to one of set resignation.
He asked no questions. He just thought it out for himself whilst Terence watched him. It was no use saying: “What do you mean?” The words were an explanation in themselves. At last, however, he spoke. His face was a little drawn and his eyes shone with an almost feverish light, but his voice was natural.
“Roe?” said he brightly. “Not young Roe, the son of old Roe?”
Terence nodded.
“Soft Roe, I expect,” continued Rouse, “the son of hard Roe.”
There came a brief silence. Terence was clearly disinclined for mere frivolity. He sat down at the table and supported his chin with both hands.
Rouse gazed at him fondly.
“What an awful shame it is that all this trouble is about me. If only you’d been the one, what a difference it would have made now. So far as Rugger is concerned I do certainly believe I could have made a real success of things, but instead of that you see what’s happening. Within twenty-four hours I shall be looked to to lead a revolution. And,” he added forcefully, “if you can imagine for one moment the buffoon I should look strutting at the head of a mutinous procession in a red nightcap, beating the air with a piece of old iron, you can see at once how impossible it’s going to be. I tell you frankly, Nick, I shall be no good at it at all....” He paused. “If only it had been you all the fuss was about, nobody could have preached rebellion from the top of an egg-box with greater vehemence than I. No paid agitator could ever 115be a more successful firebrand. I should have thoroughly had my heart in the thing. As it is, I’m merely going to feel an unutterable fool from start to finish. I’ve taken to blushing already—and any advertisement will tell you what an awkward habit that is.” He sighed. “Besides,” he added, “what line are we going to adopt? Do you suppose the fellow wants to come here? If he’s anything of a man at all he’ll be fed up to the teeth at leaving Wilton to come here like this. Supposing he refuses to take it on. What then?”
“The Head didn’t speak as though there was any chance of him refusing to take it on,” said Terence. “He seems to have him pretty securely under his thumb.”
Rouse shook his head gloomily.
“I’d far rather keep out of this. I’m beginning to feel unpleasantly like a man trying to get elected for Parliament. Every time I say anything decent to a chap I wonder whether he thinks I’m only saying it so as to get his vote. I’ve a very strong desire to slide away quietly and hide under a leaf.”
“I know,” said Terence; “it isn’t for you to head a revolution. But if they need someone to show ’em the way they haven’t got far to look. If they want a leader—there’s me. I know you better than anyone else.... I’m captain of cricket, too, and I know what’s wanted in the fellow that skippers the school. That’s why I know what they’ve missed in losing you. And this madman—who is he?—a stranger to the school—a miserable outcast—whose first week’s work has been to trample down all the school traditions and snub six hundred fellows with a snap of his fingers. He’ll have to give in. Now that I come to think of it, I shouldn’t be surprised if Toby fights on our side himself. All I can say is that if he does the new Head’s well beaten from the start.”
116“Let’s go out for a stroll,” said Rouse. “No one will go to bed yet awhile, and that horde of savages will be coming back after me in a minute. We will escape into the night.”
They moved out of the study and down the corridor slowly and in silence. There was still an uncanny quiet about the house. Their footsteps echoed from end to end of the passage.
“Seems queer, doesn’t it?” said Terence. “Like being at school in holiday time.”
But on the floor below they heard voices. They were not distinct but they were undoubtedly excited. It seemed that three or four people must be debating some dark point behind the closed door of a study. Then turning a corner they came unexpectedly upon the figure of Bobbie Carr, his back against the wall, his thoughts evidently far away. His eyes were fixed absent-mindedly on the study door, and at first he did not hear footsteps. Looking up suddenly and noticing who came, he shot into an attitude of alertness and watched them uncertainly. They stopped and smiled at him.
“Were you responsible for any of that hullabaloo outside?” demanded Rouse. “Was that you calling out my name about ten minutes ago?”
“I did cheer a bit,” admitted Bobbie. “Everyone’s looking for you. They want to chair you round the school. They’re thinking of burning an effigy of the Head too. Only they can’t find anything suitable to burn.”
Terence slowly nodded his head. Next moment he had turned sharply. The sound of those high-pitched voices had broken out anew. There was no doubt now whence they came. They came from Coles’ study, and one of the most prominent amongst them was the voice of Coles. He was addressing his friends as “Gentlemen!” with a peculiar frequency; also his voice had a froggy croak.
117Rouse turned his head and looked queerly at the door, glanced once at Terence and finally bent a questioning eye on Bobbie.
“Are you ... waiting for Coles?”
Bobbie looked at them, in turn, in evident distress, and made no answer. So they waited a moment, looked once again towards the door, and then proceeded thoughtfully upon their way.
Outside Morley’s they turned behind the house and strolled slowly under the trees. Here was a point of vantage from which they could dimly see the school; the still turbulent ranks of rebels arm-in-arm were goose-stepping proudly up and down before the Head’s room, waiting as if for news that Rouse had been unearthed, and all at once Terence found himself distracted by an unexpected turn of events. It was the sound of cautious footsteps on the gravel, and when he saw who was passing he laid a hand upon Rouse’s arm and silently drew him round. Then, with a finger upon his lips, he pointed with the other hand towards the wall of Morley’s.
It was none other than Henry Hope, and he was making his way laboriously alongside the wall. Now and again he looked up at the windows and paused as if guided by the increasing sounds of revelry that came from the only occupied study in all the building.
Neither of the two who watched him as he moved was quite clear what he was about, but the sight was exceedingly diverting, and a slow and puzzled smile came into Rouse’s countenance.
“It’s Coles he’s after,” whispered Terence, after careful observation. “What’s he going to do?”
“Heave a brick at his window, perchance,” said Rouse, hoarse with delight. “He’s got an idea that Coles has some mysterious kind of hold over that kid Carr, and he says the way to find out what it is is to get a hold on Coles. He’s starting by getting a 118hold on the drain-pipe, you see. I hope he won’t let go. I shouldn’t at all like to see our Henry a mere splash of vermilion on the gravel path. Fancy having to clean up Henry with a spade....”
His voice trailed away into silence.
Slowly, and with considerable difficulty, Henry laboured up the pipe. Once he paused and seemed to be grunting out a prayer for the strength with which to continue. He looked down dizzily, then up again, and finally, after a battle with his nerves, continued the perilous ascent. At last he came opposite Coles’ window. He reached out a hand like that of some family ghost, clutched the window-ledge, and drew himself up to a moderately secure position. The moment had clearly come for the dénouement.
Henry was the master-detective in his element. He pulled his cap furtively over one eye. Then he raised his hand and rapped three times upon the window-pane. There came a sharp silence in the room, and afterwards a sudden scuffle over chairs. Evidently Henry was to be rewarded. Somebody could be hear............