Fallen Into the Pit

“Yes, we had him first period this morning.”

“It must be pretty awful for him,” she said.

“He looked kind of sick, but he acted just the same as ever. But—” Dominic scowled down at the apple he was wrapping, and said no more.

“What are we going to do?” asked Pussy grimly.

“The same we’ve been doing, only twice as hard. Just go on watching out for walking-sticks—anywhere, doesn’t matter where, doesn’t matter how you do it, only get a close look at all you can, until we find the right one.”

“I have been doing. And it isn’t so easy, because I’m not allowed in the bar and the snug, but I’ve done it. I bet I haven’t missed many this week, and I’ll bet almost every stick in the place has been in by now, but I haven’t seen anything like we’re looking for. And it’s all very well for you, but I’ve nearly been caught two or three times creeping about with my little bit of paper, and you can’t always think of something credible to say.”

“All very well for me? I like that! You’ve got it easy, you just sit around and wait for people to bring the sticks to you, but I have to go out and look for them. I’m fagged out running errands, just to get into people’s halls and see if there are any sticks. All this week I’ve run about for Mummy like a blinking spaniel,” said Dominic indignantly, but miserably, too.

“I bet she thinks you’re sickening for something,” said Pussy cynically.

“Oh, well, she thinks I’m trying to get round her by being extra good because of the row we had when we came home late that night.” He looked a little guilty at this, however convenient he had found it to be; for he had inherited something of Bunty’s sense of justice, and was uncomfortable in even the shabbiest of haloes when he had not earned it. “But that’s not all. Even from school I’ve collected notes to deliver, and all sorts of beastly errands, just to get into more places, and I can tell you it isn’t such fun getting yourself a reputation like I’m getting with the other fellows. But I wouldn’t care, if only we could get something from it.”

“Is it any use going on?” asked Pussy despondently.

“What else can we do? And I’m absolutely sure that if we can only find that stick, Pussy, we’ve done it, we’re through.”

“Well, of course, it would be a big thing,” she owned dubiously, “but I don’t know that everything would be settled. This other business—it seems to make the stick a bit of a back-number now.”

“It doesn’t, I’m sure it doesn’t. I’ve got a hunch. The two things are connected somehow, I’m certain. And the only clue we’ve got in either case is this.” He fished the little paper shield out of his pocket, and smoothed it ruefully on his thigh, fingering the faint convolutions of the leaves. “So you can please yourself, but I’m jolly well going on plugging and plugging at this until I do find the stick it came from. Or until I can think of something better to do.”

“O.K.!” said Pussy, sighing, “I’m with you. Only I can’t say I’m expecting very much.”

Dominic could not honestly have said that he was expecting very much himself, but he would not be discouraged. He had a hunch, and not being in a position of exact responsibility, as his father was, he could afford to play his hunches. That seemed to him the chief difference between them; he was a piece of George, bound by no rules and regulations except the normal ones of human decency, and he could do, and he would do, the things from which George was barred, like following will-o’-the-wisps of intuition, and butting his head obstinately against the weight of the evidence—such as it was—and taking subtle, implied risks which he himself could not define. And what he found he would give to George, and where he failed no one was involved but himself. But he must not fail. There was only one channel to follow, and therefore he could give every thought of his mind, every particle of his energy, to the pursuit of the walking-stick.

Sitting back on his heels among the straw, he argued the possibilities over again, and could get nothing new out of them. It is possible to burn a stick, or drop it down a pit; but would the murderer think it necessary, just because a tiny plate without a name had been lost from it? Because there was always a risk of things thrown away turning up again in inconvenient circumstances, and even things committed to the fire had been known to leave identifiable traces behind. Much simpler to keep the thing, and see if the plate came into the evidence at the inquest. And of course it had not, and even now no one knew anything about its discovery except Pussy, Dominic and the police; ergo, in all probability the owner would congratulate himself on the way things had worked out, and behave as normally as usual, destroying nothing where there was no need, not even hiding the stick, because no one was looking for it. He might use it less than usual for a time, but he wouldn’t discard it, unless he’d been in the habit of ringing the changes on several, because its disappearance might be noticed and commented on by someone who knew him. Every man, even a murderer, must have some intimates.

Conclusion number one, therefore, and almost the only one: it was worth looking in the normal places, hallstands, and the lobbies of offices, and the umbrella-stands in cafes, or in the church porch on Sundays, where one could examine everything at leisure. And the obsession had so got hold of him that he had even crept into the private staff hall at school, and hurriedly examined the single ebony cane and two umbrellas discarded there. And almost got caught by old Broome as he was sneaking out again, only luckily Broome jumped easily to the conclusion that his business had been with the headmaster, and of a nature all too usual with Dominic Felse; and he couldn’t resist making a rather feeble joke, about it, whereupon Dominic took the hint, and got by with a drooping crest and a muttered reply, and took to his heels thankfully as soon as he was round the corner.

Sometimes even he became despondent. There were so many walking-sticks. Among the young they were not so frequent, perhaps, but lots of the older men never went anywhere without them, and the old grandees like Blunden, and Starkie from the Grange, and Britten the ex-coal-owner practically collected the things. Dominic had never realized before how many were still in constant use. Ordinarily they constituted one of the many things about the equipment of his elders to which his selective eyes were quite blind, they came into sight only when they threatened him; and the days of his more irresponsible scrapes, in which he had occasionally been involved with indignant old men thus armed, were some years behind him now, so that he had forgotten much of what he had learned.

Fortunately he had a strain of persistence which had sometimes been a nuisance, and could now for once be an asset. A single objective suited him very well; he fixed his eyes on it, and followed stubbornly.

George played fair with him. The silver plate was Dominic’s piece of evidence, honestly come by, and he was entitled to know what they could discover of its significance. George would much have preferred to edge him out of the affair, even now, but if he insisted on his rights he should have them. Therefore the results of the tests on the shield were faithfully, if briefly, reported as soon as completed. Dominic expected it; almost the first thing he did when he came from school each day was to put his head in at the office door to see if George was there, and if he was, to fix his brightly enquiring eyes on him and wait for confidences without asking, with a touching faith.