Tom Brown's Body

'Suit yourself,' said Skene. 'It's your pen.'

The wretched Merrys gloomily agreed that this was so, and racked his brains to discover some method by which he could discover the whereabouts of his pen without breaking the School rules or his country's laws. He was not successful, and the pen remained undiscovered until after the Helston match.

This game was played on a Wednesday afternoon on a skating-rink of thin mud and amid tumultuous battle- cries. Spey were weak behind the scrum but had a formidable pack, and, coached to this end by Mr Semple when he perceived how the weather was going to turn out, they kept the ball at their feet and gave the Helston three- quarters little chance. If a Helston man did pick up the ball he was ruthlessly tackled or rudely thrown into touch. The only try of the match was scored by Murray, of the School House, the left-wing three-quarter of the Spey fifteen, who picked up an awkward pass from Keithstone and fell over the line almost on the corner flag.

Spey failed with the kick, but, putting out every effort, they kept Helston from their line. Cartaris, to his own satisfaction, played a sound and safe game at full-back, and the School returned in the dusk to taste the pleasures of victory. Cartaris, in fact, was in such mellow mood – besides being tired – that Merrys felt emboldened to put to the test a last desperate plan for the recovery of his pen.

'I say, Cartaris,' he said, when the House was lining up for evening Chapel, 'do you think the Old Man would give us a Saturday half in spite of the gating? If you asked him, I think. . .'

'Think again,' said Cartaris. 'Think of your skin, and hop it while you've still got a whole one, you cheeky little beast!'

'Er . . . yes. Thanks, Cartaris,' said Merrys. 'Sidey brute!' he added vengefully afterwards to Skene; for hero- worship is not as potent as it was. 'Anybody would think it was him that scored the try.'

'He,' said Skene, with the automatic grammatical accuracy of a Scotsman.

'Funny ass!' said Merrys, bitterly. 'How am I going to find my bally pen?'

This question exercised his mind day and night, to the obstruction of learning and the confounding of sleep.

'Merrys is sickening for something,' said Miss Loveday to her brother. 'Have you noted him?'

Mr Loveday noted nothing that had not been noted previously by somebody else, unless his Roman Bath was in question.

'No,' he replied. 'I think I shall have to reconsider a thought I had. I had made up my mind to let boys who had been detained by Conway have a turn later on in the Bath. But now that the poor fellow is dead, it seems like speaking ill of him to do so. What do you think?'

'If you had made up your mind to do it before the death, I don't see that the death makes any difference,' replied Miss Loveday. 'But the Roman Bath must come second to Merrys's health.'

This was obviously a new idea to Mr Loveday. He considered it with scholarly detachment, and committed himself to its justness.

'Yes, yes, I suppose so,' he said. 'Well, then, I think perhaps I will grant Cartaris an extra turn. He played well against Helston, and upheld the credit of the House.'

'Isn't that treating him as if he were a little boy?' enquired Miss Loveday.

'Doubtless,' her brother agreed. 'Very well. I will not mention it. . . although . . .'

'But I shall,' said Miss Loveday at once. 'I shall request him to test the temperature by going in. I shall say that I do not trust the furnace man to keep the water at seventy degrees. This will ensure that he is rewarded in a manner consistent with his dignity.'

Mr Loveday reflected, without bitterness, that his sister was the better Housemaster. This thought brought with it, however, the sound of a hateful voice. Was the House governed by two elderly women, himself and his sister? He put the point at dinner.

'Would you say the House is governed by two elderly women?' he enquired.

'Shades of Gerald Conway!' exclaimed Miss Loveday. 'What else did the wretched youth say?'

Mr Loveday, who had not even known that Mr Conway's Christian name was Gerald, made no reply for a moment. Then he said:

'Did it ever occur to you, Annette, that John Semple might have been crossed in love?'

Miss Loveday stared in amazement at this suggestion, which at first appeared to her fantastic in the extreme, but soon she collected herself sufficiently to retort:

'Not, at any rate, by me! But there is something in what you say. I believe Gerald Conway had cut him out with Marion Pearson. But you don't suppose that modern youths kill their rivals in love? What surprises me is George Pearson's attitude.'

They stared at one another, fascinated by the thought which had come into both their minds.

'Nonsense!' said Mr Loveday loudly. 'Nonsense! Nonsense! Nonsense!'

'Considering the bottles of champagne, and the public announcement, no doubt you are right,' said his sister. 'But George detested Gerald Conway, and now Gerald Conway is no more.'

7. Dead Men Speak Dutch

*

But, hark you, my Lad. Don't tell me a Lye; for you know I hate a Liar.

IBID. (Act 1, Scene 6)

THE inquest on Mr Conway was held on the Saturday morning in the village schoolroom. The police had asked for an adjournment following the identification of the body and when the medical evidence was concluded. The latter turned out to be interesting and curious.

The coroner sat in the head-teacher's chair on a small platform or dais. The schoolroom was acrid with the smell of a coke stove and draughty from the open panes in the otherwise ecclesiastically air-proof windows.

The public included Scrupe, who had argued successfully with his Housemaster on the desirability of his being present at the inquest.

'But, as a pupil of Mr Conway, sir, I must see justice done. Just suppose, sir –'

'Nonsense, Scrupe. Justice has nothing to do with a coroner's court. Have you no general knowledge at all?'

'But, sir, out of respect –'

'Nonsense, Scrupe.'

'Sir, you are being cruel, sir. Just because I don't choose to show my feelings, that's no reason –'

'Nonsense, Scrupe.'

'No, but really, sir,' said Scrupe, in what masters believed to be his natural voice, 'I should be awfully glad of the chance. I shall be spending the rest of my life in the Argentine, sir, on my father's ranch, and I do think I ought to take out with me the tradition of English liberty. After all, sir –'

'Go, go, go!' said Mr Mayhew, out-talked as usual, and, as usual, annoyed by this fact. So Scrupe was among those present at the inquest, and listened with grave attention, a virtuous air, and great detachment, to the evidence.

Also present (apart from those such as the witnesses who were compelled to attend and did so most unhappily), were Mr Pearson, wearing a black tie, his daughter Marion (a pretty but shrewd-looking girl of about twenty-three) wearing a black hat, Mr Mayhew (not from choice but with a dim idea of keeping an eye on Scrupe), Mr and Miss Love-day, the latter wearing her usual garments but flourishing a black-edged handkerchief and nursing a pair of unworn black kid gloves, the Second Master, whose name was Regison, Mr Reeder, the School bursar, the School secretary, Mr Sugg, and a Housemaster named Mr Poundbury who had his own reasons for being an interested party.

Mr Semple and Mr Kay were called as witnesses, and Mrs Kay had turned up to support her husband. The other witnesses were the Headmaster (who, in the absence of any relatives, had perforce accepted the responsibility of identifying the body), the police, and the local doctor.

The doctor's wife had also come along, and had brought with her a black-eyed, beaky-mouthed, yellow- skinned, reptilian old lady whom Merrys and Skene might have recognized and whom Mr Kay obviously knew. He