all.”
After tea the students always employed themselves in any legitimate way which suggested itself to them. There were various clubs and societies; there was a drama group, a choral union, an orchestra, and a chess club. There were facilities for make-and-mend; the workshops were open; coaching still went on for those who were particularly ambitious and energetic; there were tennis courts, a clock-golf course, the indoor and outdoor swimming pools, provision for squash and badminton. There was also a first-class library and an art room.
The evening meal was at eight and it was the custom for the whole staff to attend it. They sat at the high table in an orthodox setting and the high table at night always took on a festive appearance, with the men in dinner- jackets and the women in semi-formal attire. The glass and silver on the long tables all down the hall sparkled and shone, and the wine (strictly rationed but invariably provided) was poured by servants as impeccable and silent- footed as those in any nineteenth-century ducal mansion. Although the students were as talkative and noisy as those in any other college dining-hall, decorum reigned and the general atmosphere was happy and relaxed, as it was almost bound to be in the presence of such good food and palatable (although limited) wine.
The staff table had one vacant seat. As it was the custom for the whole faculty to be present at the evening meal unless anybody happened to be on leave, Gascoigne, at a pause in the conversation, remarked upon Jones’s absence from the board.
“I have no idea where he can be,” said Henry, who was seated, as usual, upon the Warden’s left. (Miss Yale invariably sat at his right hand, as the senior woman present). “I don’t remember seeing him since just after lunch.”
“I really wish he wouldn’t go into the village so often,” said Gascoigne. “It doesn’t do our image any good to have him always hanging round that public-house.”
“I’ll mention it to him, if you like.”
“Oh, no, don’t do that. He must please himself, of course. I keep no tabs on the staff so long as they carry out their duties.”
“But he doesn’t carry out his duties,” said Miss Yale. “When is he ever in the gym? He prefers messing about on the field and causing injuries to the students and annoying and embarrassing my girls.”
“I shall speak to him about that. I have already dealt with him over the recent incident involving Bertha.”
“I shall do more than speak to him. I’ll drop the shot on his head if he doesn’t leave the girl students alone, and so I’ve told him.” And Miss Yale took wine in a determined manner.
Gascoigne turned the conversation on to other matters. The meal ended at nine, and the staff and students trooped out. At ten the Warden left the senior common room to which, as usual, he had been invited for coffee, and at eleven Henry did visiting rounds and locked up the mansion to keep out any prospective Romeos who might fancy a visit to the women students’ rooms and to keep indoors any of Miss Yale’s charges who had an urge to invade the halls of residence. He then took the keys to the Warden and they talked about College affairs and had a night-cap together as usual. Before returning to his quarters on this particular occasion, however, Henry had something unusual to report.
“Jones isn’t back,” he said, “but I thought I’d better lock up as usual, so I did. All right?”
“Jones? Davy? Dear me! I suppose he went to the village. He very often does. I was surprised, all the same, not to see him at dinner. Perhaps his car has broken down.”
“The Bricklayers’ Arms closes at half-past ten, and he knows plenty of people there,” said Henry. “It’s a quarter to twelve. He’d have got a lift back by now.”
“Oh, well, he’ll have to knock somebody up when he does come in, but it’s very unsatisfactory of him, I must say. I hate the servants to be disturbed at night.”
“I shan’t be going to bed yet. I’ll wait up for him, if you like.”
But midnight came, and twelve-thirty. At a quarter to one Henry decided that Jones had found somewhere in the village to sleep. He might be too drunk to drive, or, if his car had broken down, he might have begged a bed at the Bricklayers’ Arms and would hope to cadge a lift back to College in the morning.
There was no sign of Jones at breakfast, but nobody on the staff felt any concern until lunchtime came and there was still no word of him.
“I can’t understand it,” said Henry. The Warden looked gloomy and wagged his head, but offered no words.
chapter
4
The Whale’s Belly
« ^ »
Surely he can’t have slung his hook without a word to anybody,” added Henry to Hamish, as they left the building, following their after-lunch coffee, Henry bound for the field and Hamish to meet his men’s and women’s relay squad for a coaching-session in the covered pool. Ordinarily he preferred the outdoor fifty-metre swimming bath, but the drill on this particular afternoon was to be the practice of starts, take-overs and turns, and for such the indoor pool was more satisfactory than the other.
He was able to make use of it because there was no diving practice that day, Celia being on duty at the municipal baths in the town. She had first claim on the indoor pool when she was at the College, for its boards were of standard height and there were no swimmers to get in the way of her divers. These also preferred a covered bath because there was no wind to upset their balance and concentration. The upland pastures which surrounded Joynings were always breezy, they complained.
Neither Hamish nor Henry had hurried over coffee, for the students took no part in sports or swimming for at least an hour after lunch, but by the time Hamish entered the covered bath-house his squad were changed and ready for him. It was while they were resting after the first work-out that he received what he interpreted as a hint. It seemed that the whereabouts of the missing Jones was known to some members of the College, if not, in fact, to all. It began when the end door opened and an attendant, bearing clean towels, entered. He deposited these and
