“I am sure I hope so, young man,” said the little old woman. I offered to escort her home, but she would not hear of it. However, I hope I know my duty to the sex, so I followed behind, and, in Indian file, we crossed the park, whence all the revellers had departed, and gained the front door. Sir William himself opened it. He was in pyjamas.
“Ah,” said Mrs. Bradley, “and where did you leave the vicar, Sir William?”
“The vicar?” said Sir William. “On the sports field, damn his eyes! The interfering, muddle-headed, self- opinionated damned ass! Yes, and you can tell him so from me, Wells!” he continued, suddenly spotting me behind Mrs. Bradley.
“Then you haven’t made away with him?” I said idiotically.
“I’d like to,” said Sir William, savagely, “Are you coming in, or going out? One or the other, only make up your mind quickly, because I’m going to shut this damned door.”
“Good night. Good night, Mrs. Bradley,” I said, as curtly as I could. Then I ran back to the vicarage. Brown and the undergraduates were there, but Mrs. Coutts was not. She came in about ten minutes later, sat down at the table with a face like chalk, and her fingers went drumming, drumming, on the cloth. She said that she had searched Sir William’s shrubberies from end to end. Old Brown had his helmet off and was scratching his head in the intervals of assuring us all that there was nothing more to be done until the morning. William was standing by his aunt and looking washed out and scared stiff. My poor little Daphne was crying, and the two undergraduates were trying to stifle their yawns and betray their concern at one and the same time. Of course, it was after twelve midnight by this time, and we were all just about all in.
I was able to assure them that I felt certain the squire had done Mr. Coutts no bodily injury. This had its effect. Brown and the undergraduates made a move towards the door. Daphne sat up and dried her eyes. Two spots of colour came into Mrs. Coutts’ cheeks. Suddenly young William hooted:
“I say! Mrs. Gatty’s locked him up, I bet! Like she did Mr. Gatty in the crypt!
There was a sensation. Dash it, it seemed quite feasible. The poor woman was bats enough for anything. So off I went with Brown to the Moat House, leaving Bond and Miller to hold the fort at the vicarage.
The Gattys were in bed, and were not too pleased at being disturbed. Old Gatty was distinctly querulous, in fact, and wanted to know what the hell, and a lot of things like that when we hiked him out of bed to answer a few leading questions. He is one of those weird birds who wear night shirts. Most embarrassing!
When he heard the news, however, he calmed down and was most obliging. He went into the bedroom—we were interviewing him just outside his bedroom door with two startled maidservants goggling at us over the banisters of the landing above—and dug Mrs. Gatty out of bed. She appeared in curling rags and a dressing-gown and with her gold-rimmed pince-nez stuck firmly on her nose. I suppose she slept in them, or didn’t feel dressed without them, or something.
“The vicar?” she said.
“Yes,” we said.
“Dear me!”
“Yes.”
“Missing?”
“Yes.”
“You know,” said Mrs. Gatty, in the voice of one who sees a great light, “he must have fallen down the stone quarries. Most dangerous, those workings. I’ve always said so.”
You know, she really sounded quite sane, and old Gatty looked at us as one who should say:
“All done by kindness, mesdames and messieurs!”
We took our leave, and Brown returned to his home and I to the vicarage. We sent William to bed, and, in the end, I persuaded the others to go, too. Mrs. Coutts, I expect, lay awake all night, but having left the door unbolted, so that, if the vicar should return, he could let himself into the house with his key, I rolled into my bed and was soon asleep. I was pretty well tired out, you know, what with one thing and another.
CHAPTER VI
a student of dickens
« ^ »
At about five-thirty next morning I was awakened by William Coutts. His shining face, wet with perspiration and beaming with unholy joy and fierce excitement, loomed over me as I opened my eyes.
“I say, Noel! Oh, do wake up, you fool! Listen! I say! Noel! Noel!”
He thumped me vigorously and blew into my right ear, which was uppermost. My first thought was that I was back at school, so I sat up in bed with the idea of getting some rotter’s head in chancery and jolly well giving him beans. Then the identity of my assailant dawned on me, and so I merely rubbed my eyes and prepared to curse him.
“Get up!” commanded young William, before I could produce the book of words germane to the situation. “I’ve found him!”
“What!” I said, wide awake, of course. “Where?”
“In the pound,” said William, “and I can’t get him out. He’s chained up.”
Without stopping to reflect upon the peculiar nature of the tidings, I put on my shirt and trousers, thrust my feet into my boots, tied the laces, of course, and in about twenty seconds I was tearing after William down the stairs.
