Tom Brown's Body

His hearers were much too honest to challenge this last statement.

*

'No sign of the rope, either? Well, I think I'd like a word with the owner of the cottage,' said the local Superintendent of police, when the official photography was over, and permission had been given for the body to be removed to the mortuary. 'There will be an inquest, of course, but meanwhile . . . Mr Kay, isn't it, sir?'

The yellow-faced Mr Kay came forward at once.

'But I don't know anything about it, you know,' he said. 'The full extent of my knowledge is the same as your own and that of Mr Semple, who was on the spot, actually, a little sooner than I was myself.'

'I see, sir. So Mr Semple, then, was the person who may be said to have discovered the body. Perhaps, Mr Semple, you would just let me have the details.'

'Oh, Lord!' thought Mr Semple. 'I wish I'd never let myself in for this! Might have known there was something fishy about a Dago! The little tick means to rat. Oh, well, here goes!'

He accompanied the Superintendent into the cottage and there gave an account of himself and of the discovery of the body. It had been seen, he averred, by himself and Mr Kay at approximately the same instant.

'Mr Kay, then, was left here while you went up to the School to inform the Headmaster, Mr Semple?' said the Superintendent. 'How long, sir, do you think you were gone?'

'I couldn't tell you to within a minute or so, but I should think I was gone about ten to twelve minutes. I ran to the School House, but walked back with Mr Wyck.'

'And when you returned the body was, of course, sir, in the same position as when you left it?'

'Oh, Lord, yes, so far as I'm aware. You don't suppose Kay turned it over and faked the evidence, do you?'

'I don't suppose anything yet, sir,' replied the Superintendent in tones of reproof. 'I believe it was Mr Kay who sent for the doctor?'

'Yes, it was, but we agreed upon it, of course. It was just that it was his telephone.'

'Then if you will kindly step outside, sir, I had better speak to him in here.'

Mr Wyck had already returned to the School House, leaving word with the police that he would be grateful for a word with the Superintendent when he had finished with Mr Semple and Mr Kay.

Mr Semple, who had retrieved his spikes, ran after the Headmaster and caught him up at the entrance to the School House garden.

'I need not repeat my request to you to keep all this to yourself for the present, Semple,' said Mr Wyck.

'Of course, sir.'

'What puzzles me,' continued the Headmaster, as they went into the House by the side door from which they had left it, 'is what on earth poor Conway could have been doing at Kay's cottage. I thought they avoided one another as a usual thing.'

'The doctor didn't say anything in our presence as to the time it all took place, sir, did you notice?'

'I had not realized that. But, yes, the time of death would make a difference, no doubt, although I cannot see, at this stage, quite what difference. The whole business is black; very black. I am completely puzzled. One would have supposed that if a miscreant had attacked poor Conway, Kay would have heard some sound of it. And in any case, what was Conway doing there? That is the immediate problem.'

'The last I saw of Conway yesterday was at just after eleven,' volunteered Mr Semple. 'I was in the Common Room talking to Saville and Manley when Conway came in. He saw us, and went straight out again. I knew the time, more or less, because Manley suddenly looked at his watch and said that it was past eleven and he would be locked out if he did not go. As soon as he went, Saville and I went to our rooms, and I went to bed. I should think I was in bed by about a quarter to twelve.'

'But why on earth should Conway have gone out to the cottage so late at night?' asked Mr Wyck, perplexed. 'He didn't even like Kay, did he?'

It was after this that the rumours flew round the School, and the voice of surmise and suspicion was heard in the land.

'I say!' said one pop-eyed Lower Boy to another. 'There's been a murder! Somebody has cut Mr Conway's throat, and there's pools of blood all over Mr Wyck's garden.'

'I say,' said Meyrick to Eaves. 'You don't think – you didn't think – I mean, you don't suppose Merrys and Skene murdered Mr Conway, do you, while they were A.W.O.L. again?'

'Good Lord, no,' said Eaves, horrified. 'And don't you start saying things like that. In fact – look here –' They went into a guilty huddle, and did not hear the bell for the next lesson.

His Housemaster sent for Scrupe.

'Er, Scrupe,' said Mr Mayhew. 'That is – Mr Reeder tells me – I feel it cannot possibly have any bearing, but –'

'You mean the statistics for murder in this county, sir?' said Scrupe helpfully. 'No, sir. Not an inkling. Just ornery curiosity, sir, I assure you.'

'Just – ?' said Mr Mayhew.

'Ornery – a low-grade American adjective indicative of something repellent or undesirable, governing the word curiosity, noun, abstract, neuter gender, deriving from – I'm afraid I don't know any Latin, sir, but in Spanish it would be curiosidad, and therefore I deduce that it would have a Latin root, but, of course, as I don't take Latin any more, I am probably wrong, sir. I say, sir,' he added, in his natural tones, 'I'm awfully sorry about Mr Conway. You know, he rescued me from that beastly farmer.'

'Oh, not at all, Scrupe. Thank you, thank you,' said Mr Mayhew hurriedly. 'I just sent to ask you – to make quite certain –'

'Of course, sir, I may be psychic,' suggested Scrupe, disappearing again behind his protective facade.

'Oh, I hardly think so. I hardly think so,' said Mr May-hew, even more hurriedly than before. 'But you're sure you don't – didn't – that is, of course not! Of course not! Thank you, Scrupe. You will not, of course, repeat this conversation.'

'Just as you say, sir,' said Scrupe. He went straight to the two boys who shared his study and informed them that Mayhew obviously had a guilty conscience.

'I say, Tar-Baby,' said Everson of the School House to the most picturesque member of Mr Loveday's, 'I suppose your natural instincts didn't get the better of you during last night?'

'Yes, please, Everson?' said Prince Takhobali, the good-tempered but temperamental scion of a West African royal house. He had been called Tar-Baby, needless to say, since the first mention of his name coupled with the sight of his dark face. He had been ragged very little since his introduction into Mr Loveday's House, for he accepted everything English with the same unconquerable, gleaming, ritual, fatalistic smile, and was apt to indicate his opinion of his questioners with a different sort of relish.

'Mr Conway's been murdered,' explained Everson, 'so, of course, we thought it might be you.'

'I heard that Mr Conway was drowned,' agreed the Tar-Baby. 'It is great luck for some persons.'

'You're telling me!' said Everson, with vigour. 'Although of course he wasn't drowned. He's been knifed. And I should say it is luck for some persons. Were you one of them?'

'I? Oh, no. I do not need to be lucky. I am good,' said the Tar-Baby simply, his smile widening. He caught Everson's flying foot and landed him flat on his back. 'You should not kick good men. And he was drowned.'

'Dash it!' said Everson, rubbing the back of his head. 'He wasn't drowned, you ass! He was murdered.'

'Drowned and murdered, yes,' agreed the Tar-Baby. 'Drowned and murdered, Mr Everson.'

'How do you know? Did Issy tell you?'

'Nobody told me. I found out for myself. Mr Conway was choked round his neck, and then he was put in the water.'

'What water, image?'

'Mr Loveday's bath,' replied the Tar-Baby.

*

'I say,' said Merrys to Skene, 'what are we going to do?'