to think what Perry would get up to. Born bayoneteer. You should see what he can do with a rifle and bayonet to a bag of straw. And talking about guts I suppose if I were a Jap the Head would expect me to commit Mata Hari.'
Slymne ignored the mistake. He was beginning to feel distinctly sorry for the Major. After all, the man might be a fool but he'd never been as malicious as Glodstone and it had been no part of Slymne's plan to get him sacked.
'They probably won't use any of those bullets,' he said by way of consolation and wondered what he could do to save the Major's job.
It was not a consideration that had top priority with the Headmaster. Mr Clyde-Browne's eruption from the lavatory clutching the two replica revolvers he had dredged from the cistern in an attempt to make the thing flush had honed to a razor's edge the Headmaster's only gift, the capacity for extempore evasions.
'Well I never,' he said. 'Would you believe it?'
'No,' said Mr Clyde-Browne.
'Boys will be boys,' continued the Headmaster in the face of this blunt refusal to accept his rhetoric, 'always up to some practical jokes.'
Mr Clyde-Browne fingered the revolvers dangerously. He had yet to realize they were replicas. 'And maniacs will presumably be maniacs. Since when have you and that man Slymne made a habit of hiding offensive weapons in the cistern of your lavatory?'
'Are you suggesting '
'No. I'm stating,' said Mr Clyde-Browne, 'I intend to present these firearms to the police as proof that you are wholly unfit either by virtue of insanity or criminal tendency to be in charge of anything more morally responsible than an abattoir or a brickyard.'
The Headmaster struggled with these alternatives but Mr Clyde-Browne was giving tongue again. 'Marguerite!' he yelled, 'Come here at once.'
Mrs Clyde-Browne crept from the study. 'Yes, dear,' she said meekly.
'I want you to bear witness that I have discovered these two guns in the water closet of this '
But the sight of her husband aiming two revolvers at the Headmaster was witness enough.
'You're mad, mad, mad!' she wailed and promptly had a fit of hysterics.
The Headmaster seized his opportunity. 'Now look what you've done,' he said appealing to Mr Clyde-Browne's better feelings in vain. 'Your poor wife...'
'Keep your hands off that woman,' snarled her husband, 'I give you fair warning...' He waved the revolvers as the Headmaster tried to calm her.
'There, there,' he said, 'now come and sit down and...'
Mr Clyde-Browne was more forthright. Putting the guns on a side table, he whisked a bowl of faded roses from it and did what he had been longing to do for years. It was not a wise move. With water running down her face and a Wendy Cussons in her hair, Mrs Clyde-Browne's hysterics turned to fury.
'You bastard,' she yelled and seizing one of the guns, aimed it at her husband and pulled the trigger. There was a faint click and Mr Clyde-Browne cowered against the wall.
The Headmaster intervened and took the gun from her. 'Toys,' he explained, 'I told you it was simply a prank.'
Mr Clyde-Browne said nothing. He knew now where Peregrine had got his demonic gifts from and he no longer cared where the sod was.
'Come into the study,' said the Headmaster, making the most of the domestic rift. 'The School Secretary will see to Mrs Clyde-Browne's needs and I'm sure we could all do with a drink.'
The respite was only temporary. By the time the Clyde-Brownes drove off half an hour later, Mrs Clyde-Browne had threatened to divorce her husband if Peregrine wasn't found and Mr Clyde-Browne had passed the threat on in terms that included legal damages, the end of the
