Tom Brown's Body

5. 'O Weep for Adonaïs'

*

Where shall we find such another Set of practical Philosophers?

IBID. (Act 2, Scene 1)

ON the edge of Mr Kay's garden, just in front of the railings, they saw the body, this time of a man, and neither had the slightest doubt whose body it was, although it was lying on its face.

'Good Lord! It's Conway!' exclaimed Semple. 'Surely he's not. . .?'

'Surely he's not!' reiterated Kay, going up close. 'Good heavens! He must have been lying here for hours! He's soaked right through from the rain!'

He stopped down by the body and was about to turn it over when Semple said:

'What about a doctor? Just in case there's something that could be done. Anyhow, I wouldn't touch him. If he's got any broken bones you'll do more harm than good. Perhaps we could just loosen his collar. I'll do it while you send for a doctor.'

'Right. I'm on the phone,' said Kay, immediately straightening. 'Could you go over to Mr Wyck? I think he ought to know about this. I'm sure poor Conway is dead. Don't you think we should get Mr Wyck as soon as we can?'

'Yes, I do,' replied Semple. 'And I'll have to make certain no boys are likely to come this way. When you've telephoned for a doctor, I think we ought to get the police. Conway's been attacked, I rather think. Come and look at this deep mark on his neck! It looks as though someone tried some thuggery on him. I'm going to suggest to Mr Wyck that we call the police!'

He walked quickly out of the cottage garden – for he had stepped over the fence to look at the body – and then he stepped on to the turf and began to run. Mr Kay went into the cottage and picked up the telephone receiver.

*

Mr Wyck made no attempt to disguise his incredulity at the report brought by Mr Semple.

'Conway? Dead? Killed? – or suicide? Oh, nonsense!' he said. Then he added, 'It's quite impossible.'

'I'm afraid it's happened, sir,' said Mr Semple patiently. He accompanied the Headmaster to the cottage, where Mr Wyck was able to satisfy himself that matters were as dreadful as Mr Semple had indicated.

'We must have a doctor at once,' he said.

He stood looking down at the sprawled figure of Mr Conway from a point of vantage which gave him a view of the sinister deep red line which seared the young man's thick neck, and he realized at once that no doctor could make any difference.

'Mr Kay has telephoned, sir,' said Mr Semple. 'Here he comes.' Mr Kay came out of the cottage as the Headmaster looked up. He was very pale, but he greeted Mr Wyck in his usual tones, and with the accepted formula.

'Good morning, Headmaster.'

The Headmaster lifted gloomy eyes to Kay's face. He nodded an acknowledgement of the greeting but did not reply to it. After a few moments of brooding upon Mr Conway's body, he murmured:

'Terrible, terrible! Poor fellow! I wonder what possessed him? I had no idea of this! No idea at all. He must have been in some trouble we did not know of.'

'You don't really suppose this was suicide, sir?' asked Mr Semple incredulously. 'Look at the mark on his neck! You can see it plainly, even without turning him over. And then, sir, who cut him down? And where is the rope or weapon – or anything?'

'Come further off, my dear fellow,' said Mr Wyck, 'and explain to me what you mean.'

'Well, sir,' said Mr Semple, when they were at what Mr Wyck apparently regarded as a seemly distance from the body, 'I saw a bit of dirty work during the war ... I was a Commando, as I think you know . . . and if ever I saw a man who'd been set on, I'm afraid it's poor Conway. Besides, he was the very last type to make away with himself. He was far too conceited, although I don't want to criticize him now.'

'I don't believe you are right about that, you know,' said Mr Wyck soberly. 'He had the kind of character which I have often associated with suicides. Still, there is the other violence you mentioned. If the poor fellow has been set on and robbed, you had better keep all your information for the police. I will telephone them immediately, and then we had better all three wait until they turn up. Fortunately it is still very early. We shall not be missed for an hour or more yet. You will both keep silent upon this subject, of course, as long as you possibly can. Rumours will spread soon enough. I wonder – there was that farmer, a brutal, uncontrolled person –'

By this time Mr Kay, who had been looking anxiously up the road for the first sign of the doctor's car, had joined them, and the Headmaster turned to him, and seemed to scrutinize him closely. A flush rose beneath the yellow colouring of Mr Kay's sallow countenance, and he said, in a tone to which Mr Wyck was unaccustomed:

'There is no need to look at me like that, Headmaster! I can assure you that, although the circumstances look particularly black against me, I had no hand whatever in this deed!'

'I beg your pardon, Kay,' replied Mr Wyck equably to this outburst, although his eyebrows had risen and he looked grim. 'And I think perhaps you should ask mine. I had no thought in my head about the blackness of the circumstances except in so far as they affect poor Conway himself. I take it that you are concerned to find him like this within the bounds of your garden?'

'I most certainly am!' replied Mr Kay, with the same explosive energy as that to which the Headmaster had already objected. 'And I'm concerned to think of the attitude the police will adopt towards this business! I am bound to be involved, and I dislike the thought very much.'

'Well, you had better take another short stroll along the road, and see whether anyone is coming,' said Mr Wyck, perceiving that Mr Kay was really overwrought, and that there was nothing to be gained at the moment from discussing the tragedy with him.

Mr Kay, without another word, stepped over the low fence which separated his cottage garden from the School drive, and walked out through the gates.

'Unstable, unstable,' muttered Mr Wyck, who was feeling overwrought, too, as his active brain began to realize the magnitude of the disaster which had fallen like a blight upon the School. 'Now what can he know about it, Semple? No, don't answer, my boy! That is a most improper question for me to ask. And keep an open mind, my dear fellow, and a still tongue. And remember that farmer.'

'Of course, sir,' said Mr Semple, who, as an Old Boy, had never learned to call Mr Wyck by the title in use by the rest of the staff.

At this moment there was the sound of a car, and the doctor arrived from the village. He was the School doctor, and knew Mr Wyck well. He was shown the body and he knelt on the wet earth beside it. His examination was brief.

'Bad show,' he said, standing up and looking down at the sticky mould on the knees of his trousers. 'Better not brush that off until it dries. Yes, he's dead, I'm afraid. All his own work, do you suppose? . . . Don't answer that. It couldn't be. No weapon. And, unless I'm a half-wit, the fellow's been drowned. Post-mortem will settle that, though. Don't touch, him. Have you sent for the police? . . . Don't answer that either. Sorry for you! Damned sorry! Somebody didn't like him very much!'

His hearers were much too honest to challenge this last statement.

*

'No sign of the rope, either? Well, I think I'd like a word with the owner of the cottage,' said the local Superintendent of police, when the official photography was over, and permission had been given for the body to be removed to the mortuary. 'There will be an inquest, of course, but meanwhile . . . Mr Kay, isn't it, sir?'

The yellow-faced Mr Kay came forward at once.

'But I don't know anything about it, you know,' he said. 'The full extent of my knowledge is the same as your own and that of Mr Semple, who was on the spot, actually, a little sooner than I was myself.'

'I see, sir. So Mr Semple, then, was the person who may be said to have discovered the body. Perhaps, Mr Semple, you would just let me have the details.'

'Oh, Lord!' thought Mr Semple. 'I wish I'd never let myself in for this! Might have known there was something fishy about a Dago! The little tick means to rat. Oh, well, here goes!'

He accompanied the Superintendent into the cottage and there gave an account of himself and of the discovery of the body. It had been seen, he averred, by himself and Mr Kay at approximately the same instant.

'Mr Kay, then, was left here while you went up to the School to inform the Headmaster, Mr Semple?' said the Superintendent. 'How long, sir, do you think you were gone?'

'I couldn't tell you to within a minute or so, but I should think I was gone about ten to twelve minutes. I ran to the School House, but walked back with Mr Wyck.'

'And when you returned the body was, of course, sir, in the same position as when you left it?'

'Oh, Lord, yes, so far as I'm aware. You don't suppose Kay turned it over and faked the evidence, do you?'

'I don't suppose anything yet, sir,' replied the Superintendent in tones of reproof. 'I believe it was Mr Kay who sent for the doctor?'

'Yes, it was, but we agreed upon it, of course. It was just that it was his telephone.'

'Then if you will kindly step outside, sir, I had better speak to him in here.'

Mr Wyck had already returned to the School House, leaving word with the police that he would be grateful for a word with the Superintendent when he had finished with Mr Semple and Mr Kay.

Mr Semple, who had retrieved his spikes, ran after the Headmaster and caught him up at the entrance to the School House garden.

'I need not repeat my request to you to keep all this to yourself for the present, Semple,' said Mr Wyck.

'Of course, sir.'

'What puzzles me,' continued the Headmaster, as they went into the House by the side door from which they had left it, 'is what on earth poor Conway could have been doing at Kay's cottage. I thought they avoided one another as a usual thing.'

'The doctor didn't say anything in our presence as to the time it all took place, sir, did you notice?'

'I had not realized that. But, yes, the time of death would make a difference, no doubt, although I cannot see, at this stage, quite what difference. The whole business is black; very black. I am completely puzzled. One would have supposed that if a miscreant had attacked poor Conway, Kay would have heard some sound of it. And in any case, what was Conway doing there? That is the immediate problem.'

'The last I saw of Conway yesterday was at just after eleven,' volunteered Mr Semple. 'I was in the Common Room talking to Saville and Manley when Conway came in. He saw us, and went straight out again. I knew the time, more or less, because Manley suddenly looked at his watch and said that it was past eleven and he would be locked out if he did not go. As soon as he went, Saville and I went to our rooms, and I went to bed. I should think I was in bed by about a quarter to twelve.'

'But why on earth should Conway have gone out to the cottage so late at night?' asked Mr Wyck, perplexed. 'He didn't even like Kay, did he?'

It was after this that the rumours flew round the School, and the voice of surmise and suspicion was heard in the land.

'I say!' said one pop-eyed Lower Boy to another. 'There's been a murder! Somebody has cut Mr Conway's throat, and there's pools of blood all over Mr Wyck's garden.'

'I say,' said Meyrick to Eaves. 'You don't think – you didn't think – I mean, you don't suppose Merrys and Skene murdered Mr Conway, do you, while they were A.W.O.L. again?'

'Good Lord, no,' said Eaves, horrified. 'And don't you start saying things like that. In fact – look here –' They went into a guilty huddle, and did not hear the bell for the next lesson.

His Housemaster sent for Scrupe.

'Er, Scrupe,' said Mr Mayhew. 'That is – Mr Reeder tells me – I feel it cannot possibly have any bearing, but –'

'You mean the statistics for murder in this county, sir?' said Scrupe helpfully. 'No, sir. Not an inkling. Just ornery curiosity, sir, I assure you.'

'Just – ?' said Mr Mayhew.

'Ornery – a low-grade American adjective indicative of something repellent or undesirable, governing the word curiosity, noun, abstract, neuter gender, deriving from – I'm afraid I don't know any Latin, sir, but in Spanish it would be curiosidad, and therefore I deduce that it would have a Latin root, but, of course, as I don't take Latin any more, I am probably wrong, sir. I say, sir,' he added, in his natural tones, 'I'm awfully sorry about Mr Conway. You know, he rescued me from that beastly farmer.'

'Oh, not at all, Scrupe. Thank you, thank you,' said Mr Mayhew hurriedly. 'I just sent to ask you – to make quite certain –'

'Of course, sir, I may be psychic,' suggested Scrupe, disappearing again behind his protective facade.

'Oh, I hardly think so. I hardly think so,' said Mr May-hew, even more hurriedly than before. 'But you're sure you don't – didn't – that is, of course not! Of course not! Thank you, Scrupe. You will not, of course, repeat this conversation.'

'Just as you say, sir,' said Scrupe. He went straight to the two boys who shared his study and informed them that Mayhew obviously had a guilty conscience.

'I say, Tar-Baby,' said Everson of the School House to the most picturesque member of Mr Loveday's, 'I suppose your natural instincts didn't get the better of you during last night?'

'Yes, please, Everson?' said Prince Takhobali, the good-tempered but temperamental scion of a West African royal house. He had been called Tar-Baby, needless to say, since the first mention of his name coupled with the sight of his dark face. He had been ragged very little since his introduction into Mr Loveday's House, for he accepted everything English with the same unconquerable, gleaming, ritual, fatalistic smile, and was apt to indicate his opinion of his questioners with a different sort of relish.

'Mr Conway's been murdered,' explained Everson, 'so, of course, we thought it might be you.'

'I heard that Mr Conway was drowned,' agreed the Tar-Baby. 'It is great luck for some persons.'

'You're telling me!' said Everson, with vigour. 'Although of course he wasn't drowned. He's been knifed. And I should say it is luck for some persons. Were you one of them?'

'I? Oh, no. I do not need to be lucky. I am good,' said the Tar-Baby simply, his smile widening. He caught Everson's flying foot and landed him flat on his back. 'You should not kick good men. And he was drowned.'

'Dash it!' said Everson, rubbing the back of his head. 'He wasn't drowned, you ass! He was murdered.'

'Drowned and murdered, yes,' agreed the Tar-Baby. 'Drowned and murdered, Mr Everson.'

'How do you know? Did Issy tell you?'

'Nobody told me. I found out for myself. Mr Conway was choked round his neck, and then he was put in the water.'

'What water, image?'

'Mr Loveday's bath,' replied the Tar-Baby.

*

'I say,' said Merrys to Skene, 'what are we going to do?'

'Do?' said Skene. 'Be your age. What the hell can we do?' He was paler even than usual, and looked dogged. His doughy face was puffy.

'We could say we knew Mr Kay was at that house that night, and was threatening to do someone in.'

'What good would that do? Yes, and where would it land us? Hang it, Conway wasn't murdered at that house! Besides, we don't know anything about the time!'

'I know. But he was found in Spivvy's garden, and we heard what was said about somebody hanging for somebody.'

'Somebody said Mr Wyck's garden, but it wasn't. As a matter of fact, I heard he'd been drowned in the Roman Bath. He wasn't found in Spivvy's garden at all. So you see that lets Spivvy out.'

'Good Lord, of course it doesn't! If Spivvy did it, the last place he'd choose would be his own garden. Don't be a fool.'

'Well, why does everybody say it was Spivvy's garden, then?'

'Because of the blood. I wish we hadn't mentioned murder to Meyrick and Eaves, all the same, though. They'll think we know something. And, after all, we don't, really. We can't be sure that it was the Spiv who said anything, and, anyhow, it was days ago!'

'I don't like it much, though,' said Merrys. 'Say what you like, Spivvy was there when hanging was being talked about, and it was Spivvy's garden where the blood was found – though chaps still say it was the body. I asked Stallard what would happen next, and he said he supposed the police would have to be brought here.'

'They've been here already. Issy saw them. He sees everything. They'll trace our footprints and the marks of Albert-Edward's bike, I suppose,' said Skene gloomily. 'And there's your beastly fountain pen. If anybody finds that – '

'Well, I did say I wanted to find it. It was you that –'

'Well, never mind that. It's a beastly nuisance, anyway.'

'Yes, I know. Perhaps I didn't lose it in that garden, after all, though.'

'That wouldn't matter particularly. Wherever it's found, we're sunk. The police are like bloodhounds. They never let go when they've got their teeth in you.'

'That's bulldogs, you fool. Anyway, let's wait till the pen is found. Better still, let's find it ourselves before the police do. Hang it, we've got the start of them. And, whatever you do, don't you go blabbing your head off. It won't do any good, and it'll mean we'll be sacked for certain. And my father's ill. I don't want to go home and say I'm sacked. It'd be perfectly beastly. Swear you'll keep your mouth shut.'

'That's all very well, and of course I shall. But, hang it all, it was your idea. I say, that cottage was a bit weird, you know. I heard that a witch lives there, and those women who opened the door were sort of queer. Honestly, what do you think we ought to do?'

'Nothing!' said Merrys, too much afraid now to take the risks he had previously advocated. 'It was ages ago, anyway. It couldn't have anything to do with Conway, could it? Do you know what I think? I think that farmer's got something to do with it.'

'What farmer?'

'Why, the one that swore Scrupe had taken one of his cockerels and killed it.'

'Why him? He wouldn't know Conway.'

'Well, Conway sailed into him all right when he went for Scrupe with his cart-whip.'

'I expect he's had his revenge, then.'

'The police will soon find that out. They'll trace his footprints.'

'Do you think footprints would be clear enough, with chaps barging in and out from the gate and all that?'

'There might be blood on his boots.'

'I say, shut up! Look here, let's keep quiet about the cottage. We don't want to get mixed up in things. Murder or no murder, we'd still be sacked if it came out where we'd been. And I don't see why we should tell. It's nothing to do with us, really.'

'As long as Spivvy didn't recognize us we're all right; but the thing is, did he?'

'If only you hadn't been chump enough to wear your school cap and drop your beastly fountain pen!'

'Well, I couldn't help it, you ass!'

'You can be had up for being an accessory, you know,' pursued Skene. 'You can get seven years, I believe.'

'We'll have to chance that. What strikes me is that if we go about blabbing we may find ourselves in Queer Street. A bloke who would murder Conway wouldn't be inclined to stick at us.'

'But you don't honestly think Spivvy did it? Hang it, he wouldn't stand a chance against Conway.'

'Not if Conway knew, but Issy says that Conway didn't know. He was set on and – and finished off, before he knew what was happening. Look here, I'll tell you what! If Spivvy is arrested, we shall know it's all right. But if anybody else is arrested – one of the beaks, I mean – we shall have to tell.'

'You said just now – I thought we agreed –'

'That can't be helped. If somebody got hanged and we hadn't said anything, we'd be murderers ourselves.'

'I wouldn't mind being a murderer. Look at Landru.'

'Well, we'd be just the same as the cads, then. They never stick their necks out.'

'Why should we?'

'Oh, be your age!' said Merrys irritably, already again beginning to regret his unusual lapse into chivalry. 'We've jolly well got to, that's all. Besides' – his face brightened – 'don't you see? Spivvy won't split on us.'

'No, but what about him murdering us?'

'We can't keep on going over that. Are we going to say anything or aren't we?'

'Let's see what happens,' said Skene. Rumours and counter-rumours continued to infest the School. They were not resolved into truth and falsehood until after the report of the inquest, but this was not yet. Mr Kay began to shun his fellow men, and, after dark, he crept down to Mrs Harries's cottage again.