droned into him in her beautiful and sympathetic tones the fact that he would never again bite an opponent during a game of football. She pictured the game for him, she described his own emotions, and then she put a complete and absolute veto on the one particular way in which he was not to express them.
'You can play him against a girls' school now, if you like, Mr Cranleigh. He still won't bite them, however much he loves them!' she said, later, to the embarrassed but grateful captain of football. 'I think you may include him against Fieldbury if you wish, and very good luck with your match.'
This slight incident was regarded by the School as belonging to the cauldrons of witchcraft, for, to the delirious astonishment of everybody, Spey beat Fieldbury for the first time in living memory.
The first bit of luck for Spey came almost at once, for the Tar-Baby collected a wildly-slung pass and lobbed it neatly to Murray, who was just behind his left shoulder. Murray, who was unmarked at the moment, tore for the line, and, the full-back getting across, Murray let the Tar-Baby have the ball a bare ten yards from the line. Takhobali touched down, and the god-like Cartaris, taking the kick, made no mistake about it.
Fieldbury replied half-way through the second half, during a battle of Titans, with a try which, to the almost indecent joy of Spey, was not converted, and then Cranleigh, from his position as centre three-quarter, took an inspired drop at goal from almost the middle of the field and, to the dumb and then the tumultuous amazement of the School, brought it off. After that Spey fought until the whistle to keep Fieldbury off the Spey line.
Takhobali played like a demon throughout the game, but, as the beaming Cranleigh observed later to Mrs Bradley, like a muzzled demon. Cranleigh, in fact, to demonstrate his gratitude for Mrs Bradley's endeavours, capped the Tar-Baby after the game, an unprecedented occurrence at Spey, but one which found warm favour with the multitude, for, as one of Mr Loveday's ecstatic boys announced to his fellow-members of the Junior Day Room that evening, whatever you said about the Tar-Baby, he might be as black as a boot and as rich as old Ford, but he had not an ounce of side and never would have.
The Tar-Baby had himself photographed as soon as he could, wearing the fantastic head-gear of the First Fifteen. It accorded very oddly with his broad, noble, African face, but that mattered little. He himself was delighted with the effect, and he presented an equally delighted Mrs Bradley with a copy of the photograph, signed, 'From your Tar-Baby which has much thanks.'
'It is for
'I think you are not young enough to have one,' he remarked simply. 'But you have rewarded me for my lights, I believe.'
Mrs Bradley had not forgotten the lights, it was true. She took the earliest opportunity of mentioning them to Detective-Inspector David Gavin of the Criminal Investigation Department when that handsome young Highlander descended upon Spey on the following morning.
'Um,' said Gavin, who had been supplied with all the evidence the local police had collected and now had a formidable list of suspects at the back of his lively and imaginative mind. 'There wasn't any weed or mud or what- not on the clothes or in the innards of the body except the mud it had collected from being dumped on to that garden. Tell me something about all these people.'
He produced a list. It was headed by the name of the Headmaster and under that were the names of Marion Pearson, Mr Pearson, Mr and Mrs Poundbury, Mr and Mrs Kay, Mr and Miss Loveday, and John Semple.
'You should add one or two more names,' said Mrs Bradley. 'Put Issacher, Takhobali, Micklethwaite, Merrys, Skene, and Lecky Harries.'
'But aren't some of those boys at the School?' demanded Gavin. 'I've already argued with the Super about that. He thinks boys may have done it, but I'm pretty sure that's impossible. Public schoolboys don't murder the Staff.'
'I agree, in principle,' said Mrs Bradley, 'but Mr Conway appears to have been something of an anti-Semite and that may mean that he suffered from other aberrations such as colour-prejudice.'
'Say on,' said Gavin. 'I'm listening. But you don't really think boys did this. I can tell you don't.'
'No, I don't, but we must go to work methodically.'
Gavin glanced at her suspiciously. She had pulled his leg before.
14.
*
Poor Lad! How little does he know as yet of the Old Baily!
IBID. (
A TACTFUL inquiry on the part of the local police into Gerald Conway's financial affairs had disclosed that whatever his murderer's motive might have been, it had not been greed for money. Conway had banked in the town nearest to the School, and had had no income except his salary. This had been paid into his account at half-termly intervals by the governors, and Conway had spent almost all of it, the money remaining to his credit at the time of his death being the sum of sixty-one pounds, seventeen shillings, and five-pence.
'Well, that disposes of that,' said Gavin, disclosing the facts to Mrs Bradley. 'Can't quite see what he thought he was going to marry on, but perhaps his future father-in-law was prepared to come down handsome. Let's go and visit him, and see.'
Mr Pearson, the woodwork master, lived on the further side of the village in an architect-designed, delightful, modern house with a sun-lounge, a garden pool with a fountain, and all the amenities which money could provide, for Mr Pearson had other sources of income besides his salary. The details of these other sources – all innocent and praiseworthy enough – came out during the course of conversation, for, like many people whose chief vehicle of self-expression lies in working with their hands, the woodwork master was a simple-minded purveyor, and a voracious recipient, of gossip. The adjective 'old' in front of his name was misleading. He was fifty-two, and powerfully built.
'Never liked the chap,' was his verdict on Conway, 'but admired his guts and cheek. I got to know him first when he asked me to help him over a fancy dress. Two years ago, it would have been. I was interested in his idea, and I took more trouble, in a way, than the thing was worth. Still, when we'd finished it, it wasn't bad, although I say it.'
'Where was it made?' Gavin asked. He did not want to know, but the turn the conversation had taken promised well.
'Here, mostly, although we finished it up at the School. I made some stilts for him, too, at about the same time. I never saw him in the full kit, and I don't know what he did with the outfit after he'd worn it. It was supposed to be for the Chelsea Arts Club Ball. Cost? Oh, I don't know, quite. I think we did the whole thing for about two pounds ten. I didn't charge him beyond the cost of the materials. I was interested, you know. It was good fun making the thing.'
'Now another sort of question,' said Gavin.
'You needn't bother,' said the woodwork master, with a one-sided smile. 'I was very glad to hear of Conway's death. My daughter Marion, you know. Yes, girls are rather silly. Actually, I'm quite fond of my daughter, and I believe that people, even young people, should plan their lives as they think best, but Conway was a bit of a bounder. Still, my girl decided to get engaged to him. Yes, Conway asked my consent, and got it. Sorry I've no more information, but kids don't confide in their parents, and quite right, too.
'The champagne party? Oh, well, you know how it is. Everybody knew I didn't like the fellow, so I thought it best to put a good face on things, for Marion's sake. I suppose I overdid the congratulatory side of the business, but when you dislike people you're apt to lose your sense of proportion.
'Marion? Well, naturally, she was rather upset at his death, but she'll get over it. She's a sensible girl. Takes after me, I think. Yes, you can see her if you like. No, I've no objection to your questioning her. She's twenty-five, and quite capable, I hope, of telling you to mind your own business. Who else knew I'd made the mask and the rest of the outfit? Why, nobody, so far as I know, except Marion who helped quite a bit. That's how they got to know each other, really, Conway and Marion. I was rather sorry, in the end, that I'd let her help with the thing. You see, I'd heard a fair amount of gossip about him by then, one way and another. I retailed it afterwards to Marion, hoping to choke her off, but you know what girls are like. The bigger the rascal the more exciting the lover, to their minds, I
