It is just as well that the gift of second sight is accorded to but few. If Fenn could have known at this point that his adventures were only beginning, that what had taken place already was but as the overture to a drama, it is possible that he would have thrown up the sponge for good and all, entered Kay’s by way of the front door—after knocking up the entire household—and remarked, in answer to his housemaster’s excited questions, “Enough! Enough! I am a victim of Fate, a Toad beneath the Harrow. Sack me tomorrow, if you like, but for goodness’ sake let me get quietly to bed now.”
As it was, not being able to “peep with security into futurity,” he imagined that the worst was over.
He began to revise this opinion immediately on turning in at Kay’s gate. He had hardly got halfway down the drive when the front door opened and two indistinct figures came down the steps. As they did so his foot slipped off the grass border on which he was running to deaden the noise of his steps, and grated sharply on the gravel.
“What’s that?” said a voice. The speaker was Mr. Kay.
“What’s what?” replied a second voice which he recognised as Mr. Mulholland’s.
“Didn’t you hear a noise?”
“ ‘I heard the water lapping on the crag,’ ” replied Mr. Mulholland, poetically.
“It was over there,” persisted Mr. Kay. “I am certain I heard something—positively certain, Mulholland. And after that burglary at the school house—”
He began to move towards the spot where Fenn lay crouching behind a bush. Mr. Mulholland followed, mildly amused. They were a dozen yards away when Fenn, debating in his mind whether it would not be better—as it would certainly be more dignified—for him to rise and deliver himself up to justice instead of waiting to be discovered wallowing in the damp grass behind a laurel bush, was aware of something soft and furry pressing against his knuckles. A soft purring sound reached his ears.
He knew at once who it was—Thomas Edward, the matron’s cat, ever a staunch friend of his. Many a time had they taken tea together in his study in happier days. The friendly animal had sought him out in his hiding-place, and was evidently trying to intimate that the best thing they could do now would be to make a regular night of it.
Fenn, as I have said, liked and respected Thomas. In ordinary circumstances he would not have spoken an unfriendly word to him. But things were desperate now, and needed remedies to match.
Very softly he passed his hand down the delighted animal’s back until he reached his tail. Then, stifling with an effort all the finer feelings which should have made such an act impossible, he administered so vigorous a tweak to that appendage that Thomas, with one frenzied yowl, sprang through the bush past the two masters and vanished at full speed into the opposite hedge.
“My goodness!” said Mr. Kay, starting back.
It was a further shock to Fenn to find how close he was to the laurel.
“ ‘Goodness me,
Why, what was that?
Silent be,
It was the cat,’ ”
chanted Mr. Mulholland, who was in poetical vein after the theatre.
“It was a cat!” gasped Mr. Kay.
“So I am disposed to imagine. What lungs! We shall be having the R.S.P.C.A. down on us if we aren’t careful. They must have heard that noise at the headquarters of the Society, wherever they are. Well, if your zeal for big game hunting is satisfied, and you don’t propose to follow the vocalist through that hedge, I think I will be off. Good night. Good piece, wasn’t it?”
“Excellent. Good night, Mulholland.”
“By the way, I wonder if the man who wrote it is a relation of our Fenn. It may be his brother—I believe he writes. You probably remember him when he was here. He was before my time. Talking of Fenn, how do you find the new arrangement answer? Is Kennedy an improvement?”
“Kennedy,” said Mr. Kay, “is a well-meaning boy, I think. Quite well-meaning. But he lacks ability, in my opinion. I have had to speak to him on several occasions on account of disturbances amongst the juniors. Once I found two boys actually fighting in the junior dayroom. I was very much annoyed about it.”
“And where was Kennedy while this was going on? Was he holding the watch?”
“The watch?” said Mr. Kay, in a puzzled tone of voice. “Kennedy was over at the gymnasium when it occurred.”
“Then it was hardly his fault that the fight took place.”
“My dear Mulholland, if the head of a house is efficient, fights should be impossible. Even when he is not present, his influence, his prestige, so to speak, should be sufficient to restrain the boys under him.”
Mr. Mulholland whistled softly.
“So that’s your idea of what the head of your house should be like, is it? Well, I know of one fellow who would have been just your man. Unfortunately, he is never likely to come to school at Eckleton.”
“Indeed?” said Mr. Kay, with interest. “Who is that? Where did you meet him? What school is he at?”
“I never said I had met him. I only go by what I have heard of him. And as far as I know, he is not at any school. He was a gentleman of the name of Napoleon Bonaparte. He might just have been equal to the arduous duties which devolve upon the head of your house. Goodnight.”
And Fenn heard his footsteps crunch the gravel as he walked
