'So you've said before, and it's not the lot.'
The Major tried to focus his thoughts. 'About the only other thing I can think of is that he asked me to let him have a couple of revolvers from the Armoury. Naturally I wasn't buying that one '
'A couple of revolvers from the School Armoury? Jesus wept! And that didn't tell you anything?'
'Only that he was obviously dead serious about the whole business. I mean obviously '
'A couple of revolvers, you moron,' shouted the Headmaster, 'not just one. Who the hell do you think the second one was for?'
'Now that you come to mention it '
'Mention it? Mention it?' yelled the Headmaster. 'What I want to know is why you didn't mention it at the bloody time?'
'Well, since he didn't get them there didn't seem much point,' said the Major. 'If Glodstone wanted to go off on some wild goose chase that was his affair and '
'Slymne,' interrupted the Headmaster before the Major could say it was no skin off his nose what Glodstone did, 'take him to the Armoury and see that there aren't two revolvers and half a dozen rifles missing. I want every weapon accounted for.'
'But I've just told you '
'I know what you've told me and I'm not taking any chances on your opinion. Now get out.'
As Slymne bundled the Major's wheelchair through the door, the Headmaster put his head in his hands. The situation was far worse than he had imagined. It had been bad enough to suppose that Glodstone had merely taken the wretched boy on some jaunt round the country, but that he'd almost certainly gone abroad with the lout on a so-called 'secret mission' to rescue another boy's mother verged on the insane.
The Headmaster corrected himself. It was insane. Finally, collecting what thoughts he could, he reached for the phone.
'Get on to International Enquiries and put a call through to Wanderby's mother in France. Her name's the Countess of Montcon. You'll find the address in the files. And put her straight through to me.'
As he slammed the phone down he saw the Clyde-Brownes' car drive up. The moment he had dreaded had come. What on earth was he going tell them? Something soothing, some mild remark...No, that wouldn't work. With an almost manic smile he got up to greet them. But Mr Clyde-Browne had come to be heard, not to listen. He was armed with a battery of arguments.
Peregrine had been in the school's care; he had last been seen on the school premises (the Headmaster decided not to mention Mrs Brossy's sighting in the village); the school, and on a more personal level, the Headmaster, had been and still were responsible for his well-being; Mr Clyde-Browne had paid the exorbitant sum of ten thousand pounds in advance fees; and if, as seemed likely, his son had been abducted by a possibly paedophilic master he was going to see that the name Groxbourne went down in legal history and was expunged from the Public Schools Yearbook, where, in his opinion, it should never have been in the first place. And what had the Headmaster to say to that?
The Headmaster fought for words. 'I'm sure there's a perfectly simple and straightforward...' he began without any conviction, but Mrs Clyde-Browne's sobs stopped him. She appeared to have gone into premature mourning. 'I can only promise...'
'I am not interested in promises,' said Mr Clyde-Browne, 'my son is missing and I want him found. Now, have you any idea where he is?'
The Headmaster shuddered to think, and had his agitation increased by the telephone.
'I can't get any number,' said the School Secretary when he picked it up, 'International Enquiries say there's no Countess de...'
