He himself had certainly got back in a very extraordinary manner.
However, he had got back, which was the main point.
XVIII
A Vain Quest
After all he had gone through that night, it disturbed Fenn very little to find on the following morning that the professional cracksman had gone off with one of the cups in his study. Certainly, it was not as bad as it might have been, for he had only abstracted one out of the half dozen that decorated the room. Fenn was a fine runner, and had won the “sprint” events at the sports for two years now.
The news of the burglary at Kay’s soon spread about the school. Mr. Kay mentioned it to Mr. Mulholland, and Mr. Mulholland discussed it at lunch with the prefects of his house. The juniors of Kay’s were among the last to hear of it, but when they did, they made the most of it, to the disgust of the School House fags, to whom the episode seemed in the nature of an infringement of copyright. Several spirited by-battles took place that day owing to this, and at the lower end of the table of Kay’s dining-room at tea that evening there could be seen many swollen countenances. All, however, wore pleased smiles. They had proved to the School House their right to have a burglary of their own if they liked. It was the first occasion since Kennedy had become head of the house that Kay’s had united in a common and patriotic cause.
Directly afternoon school was over that day, Fenn started for the town. The only thing that caused him any anxiety now was the fear lest the cap which he had left in the house in the High Street might rise up as evidence against him later on. Except for that, he was safe. The headmaster had evidently not remembered his absence from the festive board, or he would have spoken to him on the subject before now. If he could but recover the lost cap, all would be right with the world. Give him back that cap, and he would turn over a new leaf with a rapidity and emphasis which would lower the world’s record for that performance. He would be a reformed character. He would even go to the extent of calling a truce with Mr. Kay, climbing down to Kennedy, and offering him his services in his attempt to lick the house into shape.
As a matter of fact, he had had this idea before. Jimmy Silver, who was in the position—common at school—of being very friendly with two people who were not on speaking terms, had been at him on the topic.
“It’s rot,” James had said, with perfect truth, “to see two chaps like you making idiots of themselves over a house like Kay’s. And it’s all your fault, too,” he had added frankly. “You know jolly well you aren’t playing the game. You ought to be backing Kennedy up all the time. Instead of which, you go about trying to look like a Christian martyr—”
“I don’t,” said Fenn, indignantly.
“Well, like a stuffed frog, then—it’s all the same to me. It’s perfect rot. If I’m walking with Kennedy, you stalk past as if we’d both got the plague or something. And if I’m with you, Kennedy suddenly remembers an appointment, and dashes off at a gallop in the opposite direction. If I had to award the bronze medal for drivelling lunacy in this place, you would get it by a narrow margin, and Kennedy would be proxime, and honourably mentioned. Silly idiots!”
“Don’t stop, Jimmy. Keep it up,” said Fenn, settling himself in his chair. The dialogue was taking place in Silver’s study.
“My dear chap, you didn’t think I’d finished, surely! I was only trying to find some description that would suit you. But it’s no good. I can’t. Look here, take my advice—the advice,” he added, in the melodramatic voice he was in the habit of using whenever he wished to conceal the fact that he was speaking seriously, “of an old man who wishes ye both well. Go to Kennedy, fling yourself on his chest, and say, ‘We have done those things which we ought not to have done—’ No. As you were! Compn’y, ’shun! Say ‘J. Silver says that I am a rotter. I am a worm. I have made an ass of myself. But I will be good. Shake, pard!’ That’s what you’ve got to do. Come in.”
And in had come Kennedy. The attractions of Kay’s were small, and he usually looked in on Jimmy Silver in the afternoons.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, as he saw Fenn. “I thought you were alone, Jimmy.”
“I was just going,” said Fenn, politely.
“Oh, don’t let me disturb you,” protested Kennedy, with winning courtesy.
“Not at all,” said Fenn.
“Oh, if you really were—”
“Oh, yes, really.”
“Get out, then,” growled Jimmy, who had been listening in speechless disgust to the beautifully polite conversation just recorded. “I’ll forward that bronze medal to you, Fenn.”
And as the door closed he had turned to rend Kennedy as he had rent Fenn; while Fenn walked back to Kay’s feeling that there was a good deal in what Jimmy had said.
So that when he went down town that afternoon in search of his cap, he pondered as he walked over the advisability of making a fresh start. It would not be a bad idea. But first he must concentrate his energies on recovering what he had lost.
He found the house in the High Street without a great deal of difficulty, for he had marked the spot carefully as far as that had been possible in the fog.
The door was opened to him, not by the old man with whom he had exchanged amenities on the previous night, but by a short, thick fellow, who looked exactly like a picture of a loafer from the pages of a comic journal. He eyed Fenn with what might
