“Haven’t set eyes on him since Tuesday, sir.”
“What time on Tuesday?”
“About 6 p.m. (All right! All right! Be with you in a minute.)” The landlord moved further down the counter to attend to an impatient customer, and Henry carried the drinks to a table at which Hamish had managed to secure two seats.
“Any luck?” asked Hamish.
“Last seen for certain at around opening time on Tuesday evening. It doesn’t get us any further. We know he was out and about until after lunch on Wednesday.”
A hanger-on, who voluntarily collected empty glasses during rush hours in return for a free drink, came along and began to mop up their table.
“Hullo, Morgan,” said Hamish. “Mr. Jones been in tonight?”
“Ain’t seen ’im, sir, not for some time, nor yet tonight. Us thought maybe he was took bad,” said the rheumy- eyed old man. “Not like ’im to miss us out, it ain’t.”
“Quite,” agreed Henry. “Any special reason why you thought he might have been taken ill?”
“No, only just as he don’t appear to be around, like. A rare one for his regular two or three doubles, is Mr. Jones. Not as nobody ’ceptin’ the till ever benefited.”
“That shall never be said about me. Your reproachful tone touches my heart, Morgan.” A tenpenny piece changed hands. “And that is all you can tell us?”
“Now, then, Morgan!” called the landlord. “Glasses wanted!”
“Think ’e paid me, wouldn’t you?” grumbled the old man. “All right! All right! Comin’ over,” he savagely responded. He left Hamish and Henry and shambled to the bar counter with his thick fingers thrust inside half-a- dozen empty glasses which he dumped down in front of the landlord. At the same moment a second barmaid, in all her evening finery and with a tremendous corsage of artificial flowers pinned to the front of her dress, came out from behind the scenes and joined the landlord at the counter. With a word or two in her ear, the landlord left her and her companion to cope with the customers and came over to Hamish and Henry. He leaned over and spoke in low tones.
“Mr. Jones owes me fifteen nicker,” he said. “Carted off a car-load of stuff and five hundred fags last Monday. Asked him to pay me when he come in here Tuesday evening, but he said I’d have to wait ’til next day, as he hadn’t got his cheque book with him. ‘You know as I don’t take cheques,’ I said. Well, he agrees about that. ‘I mean the bank,’ he says. ‘I can’t get your money ’til I’ve been to the bank, and I can’t go there tonight, of course. You’ll get your money all right,’ he says. ‘What’s more, I’ve never welshed on you yet. I’m a good customer,’ he says, ‘so I don’t think much of your attitood.’ Well, he
“Oh, you’ll get it all right,” said Henry. He turned to Hamish. “The College will pay it,” he said. “I’ll make myself personally responsible for bringing it here tomorrow,” he added, addressing the landlord.
“God bless tomorrow, in case it ever comes,” said the landlord sardonically. “But what brings you gents here? Don’t tell me he’s done a bunk!”
The next news of Jones’s whereabouts was dramatic and shocking. A white-faced student—a blameless type who had been expelled from his school for being in possession of pornographic literature which had been palmed off on him by some unknown addict who must have heard that fifth-form studies were to be searched for drugs—came bursting into Hamish’s room just as he was preparing to go down to breakfast on the morning following the visit to the inn.
“James,” the boy said, “the dogs! They’re digging up the long-jump pit.”
“Buried a bone there, I suppose,” said Hamish, but with a horrid premonition of the truth.
“No!” said the boy. He made a retching sound. “We think they’re digging up Jonah.”
chapter
7
Talk
« ^ »
The dogs lived in College, but actually belonged to Celia. They were a couple of lively, friendly, agreeable, wire-haired fox-terriers, great favourites with the students, who groomed and exercised them and who teased the plump, good-natured Celia about them, alleging that she kept them to protect her virginity from the Warden’s predatory advances. As the Warden was a pillar of monkish virtue where the women on his staff and the women students were concerned, this had continued down the years as a time-honoured jest.
There was no jest attached to the present circumstances, however.
“Jones?” said Hamish. “Are you sure?” There was no need for the question. He had realized that before he asked it. The boy put his hand over his mouth and tore for the nearest lavatory. Hamish, striding along the corridor to Henry’s room, encountered Martin, who was just going down to breakfast. “Hold it!” he said. “I want you.”
“What the hell!” exclaimed Martin to the empty air; but, being simple-minded and naturally obedient, he remained where he was until Hamish came back accompanied by Henry. They leapt down the stairs and, once out of doors, began to run. There was no doubt about what was going on at the long-jump pit. The terriers were sending the heavy, damp sand flying in all directions. Hamish stepped into the pit and collared one of them; Martin picked up the other. The dogs squirmed in their arms and fought to get free.
“Take ’em away and lock ’em up somewhere,” said Henry. “It’s Jones all right. Get Gassie and then phone for a doctor. When you come back, we’d better get poor Jones to his quarters and clean him up a bit.”
