Tom Brown's Body

maintain –'

'But did you really say Kay ought to be hanged?'

'Certainly not. I indicated to the Headmaster that I was not prepared to say what I thought. And what I think is your guess, and your guess is as good as another's. And now I have a letter of apology to write, and could contrive to word it better without so much babbling.'

'But what do you really think, Scrupe? Do you really think Kay's got it in him?'

'I think the Headmaster is a sensible and discreet man, my dear fellow, but that, in my time, I shall make a firmer Headmaster than he does. I shall hit harder, for one thing.'

'You are an ass,' said his interlocutor, in even more admiring tones than before. Scrupe shrugged, and settled to his task.

'Dear Mr Kay,' he wrote, 'I regret that any ill-considered words of mine should have added to the harassing nature of your thoughts. Yours sincerely, P. W. Scrupe.'

The Headmaster did not pass it on. Neither did he send for Scrupe again. It is not only in the East that madmen are feared and respected.

*

Mr Kay's troubles were not only caused by impudent and unkind boys, the Superintendent's patient, polite but incessant thirst for information, and the somewhat odd glances he received from his fellow masters.

During the evening of the day succeeding the death of Mr Conway he telegraphed to his wife to suggest that she should return home at once.

She had not left him; that was merely a romantic interpretation put upon her absence by some of the boys. Their relationship, although not a happy one, had not been so far strained that Mrs Kay was inclined to neglect her duty.

She was a cheaply-smart, ignorantly-sophisticated woman of twenty-nine, good-looking, selfish, as extravagant as Mr Kay's not unlimited means would allow, but generous enough to return at once when she heard that her husband was in trouble.

When she heard the particular nature of the trouble, she was, not unnaturally, horrified. What upset Mr Kay, however, was her doubt, somewhat baldly expressed, as to his innocence.

'You did hate the poor perisher,' she said. 'Couldn't you make it accidental death in a fight?'

'But I didn't do it, Brenda!' yelled her exasperated husband. 'Get that into your head, for goodness' sake! If I'd felt as bad about the fellow as all that, I'd have got another job! Good heavens, one doesn't go about murdering people! Whatever next!'

'Oh, well, sorry I spoke,' replied his wife, tossing her head. 'But if you didn't do it, and if Johnny Semple was with you when you found him, what have you got wind-up about?'

'Look here, Brenda,' said Mr Kay, dropping his voice, 'you've got to stick to me over this. The trouble is . . .'

'Well?'

'The trouble is,' said Mr Kay unhappily, 'that – oh, well, never mind.'

'Well, really!' exclaimed Mrs Kay, with justifiable fury. 'Of all the misleading, contemptible idiots. You mean you did do it, don't you? Why not be a man, then, and say so? I shan't give you away. I've too much self-respect.'

'Brenda,' said Mr Kay desperately, 'listen to me. I did not kill Conway. The trouble is, though, that I did tell someone I should.'

'Who?'

'Sanderson,' replied Mr Kay, referring to a retired Indian Clivil Servant whom he sometimes visited.

'Well, what of that? He won't give you away, either. You've let off hot air to him before. He's not a bad old stick.'

'I know. It isn't Sanderson I'm afraid of. But while I was there one night two boys came to the house, and I shouldn't be a bit surprised if they overheard what I was saying. I know hanging came into it – or was that after they'd gone?'

'What two boys?'

'That's the trouble. I don't know.'

'Boys from this School, do you mean?'

'I don't even know that, for certain. It was pretty dark, and they didn't stay a minute. It was all over and done with very quickly.'

'I can't see what you've got to be afraid of. I don't suppose the boys recognized you, any more than you recognized them.'

'Don't you think so?'

'No, I don't. It's no use your getting cold feet. Apart from that, why should anyone suspect you?'

'It isn't just anyone. It's the police. I don't see why they should, but I think they do.'

'Then make a clean breast of everything. Tell them you yelled out in a temper, and may have been overheard. Get Sanderson to confirm what you say.'

'It would look pretty black if I did. It would be playing straight into that Superintendent's hands. He's found out I hated Conway . . .'

'Well, you weren't the only one.'

'No, but. . . oh, well, I'll have to wait and find out what happens, that's all there is to it.'

'You're sure it was Sanderson you went to see?'

'Why, yes, of course.'

'Pity he wasn't at home. I happen to know he's on holiday in Cornwall,' said Mrs Kay sweetly and with venom. 'If you're going to trust me, trust me. If you're not going to trust me, take your dirty lies elsewhere and get somebody else to save your filthy neck for you.'

'Brenda!' called Mr Kay after her retreating figure, as she stepped on to the School drive. 'Brenda, for God's sake ...'

His wife stopped, paused, and then came back to him.

'Who were you with?' she said, with a calmness more threatening than her outburst of spiteful fury.

'Oh, go to hell!' said Mr Kay, also changing his tactics. He had his own reasons for not mentioning Mrs Harries.

*

'I say,' said Merrys to Skene, 'are you coming with me to find that confounded fountain pen?'

'No,' said Skene roundly. 'I'm not. If you're ass enough to have lost the thing, you can jolly well be ass enough to go and find it. You know we've all been gated except for the Helston match.'

'That's the point,' said Merrys, who was pretty sure that his friend would not finally fail him. 'I thought we might manage. The train stops at. . .'

'We're going in motor coaches, fool.'

'Oh, well .. . oh, well, I hadn't thought of that. Any chance we could sort of drop off the coach, and . . .?'

'Good Lord, no! There are to be at least a couple of beaks in charge of each coach.'

'I ... see ... yes ... hm! Well, I shall have to think it out. I must get that bally pen back. Can't you think of anything?'

'No, I can't,' said Skene crossly. 'And if I could, I jolly well wouldn't.'

'Well, hang it, I've got to find it. It simply isn't safe to leave it all over the county for Kay to pick up.'

'Well, what about telling him you've lost it? I should think he'd be as keen as anyone to get it found and returned.'

'Don't be an ass!'

'But I'm not being an ass,' said Skene, earnestly. 'Can't you see? It's what we said before! Spivvy won't want us going to the police about him, and if he doesn't want that, he's jolly well bound to help us. Then he'll know we'll keep our mouths shut.'

The criminal content of this idea shocked and disconcerted Merrys.

'But that's blackmail!' he exclaimed; and then exploded the ethical force of this observation by adding: 'And you can get about fourteen years for blackmail.'