Tom Brown's Body

8. Nancy's Fancies

*

A Lawyer is an honest Employment, so is mine. Like me too he acts in a double Capacity, both against Rogues and for 'em.

IBID. (Act 1, Scene 1)

AS the first week passed by, Mr Kay's popularity climbed (in his own view) to undesirable and embarrassing heights. The theory, now current in the School, that he might at any moment be arrested and charged with the murder, caused boys who, so far, had attended his lessons under protest and who had got through the hour as best they might, to seek him out not only in the form-room but in Extra-Tu (before-time a hated imposition reserved for the backward and the unwary) with requests for information with regard to imports and exports, inflation, vicious spirals, price controls, hard and soft currencies, the regulation of wages in industry, statistics of various kinds, and other, less obviously relevant subjects, so that they might pursue him, later on, to his cottage and feast their eyes upon the scene of the crime.

As his cottage had been placed out of bounds to all but his own pupils, these enjoyed a notoriety in the school to which they were unaccustomed and of which they took full advantage.

There was another popular member of the School besides Mr Kay. The rumour that he had stood up in form and advised Spivvy to escape while the going was good, and to take refuge on Mr Scrupe's Argentine cattle-ranch from which extradition was not possible, had raised Scrupe to the ranks of the bloods. His opinion was sought, his witticisms received the tribute due to them, and, most significant of all, his style of dress was copied by his admirers.

To do him justice, Scrupe took almost no notice of this evanescent fame.

Mr Mayhew had sent for him within an hour of his interview with Mr Wyck.

'I am sorry, Scrupe, that you should have been sent up to the Headmaster.'

'Yes, sir, so am I,' replied Scrupe, meditatively rubbing his bottom, an action calculated to infuriate his Housemaster, and in no sense failing of this purpose.

'I trust that your conscience is now clear,' said Mr May-hew, raging, but speaking calmly.

'My conscience, sir, is never less than clear. I envisage every act before I embark upon it, and, my being in, it is up to the opposed to beware of me.'

'I believe him,' said Mr Wyck, when he heard of this conversation. 'I hope that Scrupe will not underestimate his opponents, though. The boy has a brilliant future, if a future exists for any of us. I think I had better take a General Assembly in the morning.'

The Headmaster had considered carefully how best to address the boys on the subject of Mr Conway's death. His first move had been the natural and unexceptionable one of a memorial service in the School chapel. After that, he had not referred to the subject for a day or two, but, once the first inquest had been held, and his business with the police had been temporarily suspended, it was no longer possible for him to keep silent. Parents harried him, several boys were withdrawn without notice, and the Governors had convened a special meeting.

The Headmaster was glad to be quit of the police for a bit. They seemed to have been everywhere. He had even surprised one youthful constable up among the branches of the cedar tree on his lawn, making notes on the contents of his study. Other policemen were apt to bob up out of shrubberies without preliminary notice, and the Superintendent had interviewed Mr Kay a third time and to such effect that Mr Reeder had observed, over coffee in the Headmaster's drawing-room, that whether that poor fellow Kay had murdered Conway or not, he would have Mr Reeder's sympathy if he murdered a few policemen.

The School, which had felt slightly affronted that there had not been, so far, a General Assembly, was rather pleased when Mr Wyck kept them in the School Hall on the Wednesday morning after the inquest, and addressed them on the subject of Mr Conway's death.

'You are not children,' observed the Headmaster, 'and it is time that you should be taken into my confidence. This is a most unhappy term –'

'I don't know so much,' muttered Cartaris to Cranleigh. 'We beat Helston all right, didn't we?'

– 'But I do not wish to dwell upon the past. It is the present and the future which concern us. Now it seems to me' – he scanned the ranks before him, and many a young boy for whose innocence any one of the masters would have gone bail stirred uneasily under his gaze – 'that some boy or boys before me must know something more about this dreadful affair than has yet come to light. If there is such a boy – or if there are such boys – I should wish to have imparted to me this knowledge. Much may be forgiven a culprit who, by a recital of his own misdeeds, helps to shed light upon the strange and shocking circumstances in which we find ourselves. I shall, boys' – he paused, and even the Sixth Form slightly shifted their feet – 'I shall confidently await the course of events.'

'How much do you think the Old Man knows?' asked Merrys agitatedly of Skene. He had still been able to make no plan for retrieving his fountain pen, and was scared.

'Nothing, you ass! Be your age,' said his friend. 'He's only fishing.'

But Merrys was not reassured, and his acute anxiety soon became apparent, particularly when Mr Kay was given special leave three days later.

'Merrys,' said Miss Loveday to her brother, 'is a sensitive boy. This awful murder is preying on his mind. He would be all the better for an airing.'

The expression that a boy would be all the better for an airing was a favourite one with Miss Loveday. A boy needed an airing if she thought he needed dosing, thrashing, coddling, translation to a study, an extra turn in the Roman Bath, inclusion in the House cricket eleven (in which she took a deep, religious, and, to the boys, embarrassing interest), a term-time visit to the dentist, a hair-cut, or, indeed, anything which came outside the routine of the form-room. 'I should like Merrys to see a psychiatrist. I suppose his parents ought to be approached. I will see to it.'

'Yes, they must be approached. Some people are odd about psychiatry,' said Mr Loveday, who was accustomed to taking up his sister's suggestions without argument. 'For my own part –'

'Your own part doesn't matter,' interposed Miss Loveday. 'Your subconscious mind is no particular nuisance.'

Glad to be reassured on this point, Mr Loveday approached the Headmaster, and obtained Mr Wyck's consent to bring a psychiatrist into his House, provided that the Headmaster chose the psychiatrist himself. Mr Wyck had his own reasons for making this otherwise extraordinary stipulation.

Merrys's parents, who did not find Miss Loveday's writing very easy to read (she had an old-fashioned idea that to type letters to parents was discourteous), thought that the operative word was physicist, and, not being able to attach any meaning to the letter, they wrote back to agree with it because they did not think that anything could alter their son for the worse. They then forgot all about it and went to Torquay. They were, from Mr Loveday's point of view, ideal parents, for parents who take undue interest in their boys are the bugbear of all Housemasters.

Merrys, apprised of his fate, accepted his new role with philosophy.

'I believe Albert-Edward thinks I'm bats,' he confided to Skene. 'He talked about my reflexes. I thought he meant my biceps at first, but it seems not.'

'Reflexes are serious, you ass,' said Skene comfortingly. 'Criminals have them. I should say Albert-Edward is on to something.'

'More likely Nancy,' returned Merrys, discomfited. 'I believe she's mad herself. Madmen always think everyone else is.'

'She may not be far wrong in your case,' said Skene, amiably.

*

Miss Loveday had already rung up the doctor when the Headmaster informed her brother of his decision to choose the psychiatrist himself; therefore the doctor lost no time in communicating to his guest the welcome tidings that there was now no reason why she should not visit Spey School.

He had telephoned the Headmaster, and had received a cordial invitation from Mr Wyck to bring Mrs Bradley along at the earliest possible moment. He remembered their previous meeting, which had been at an Educational Conference some years previously, and it was with relief, he confessed, that he could at the same time accede to Mr Loveday's request and be certain that a reputable and sensible person would be invited to take charge of Merrys's conscious and subconscious mind.

'And she could have a look at the rest of the boys in that House,' said Mr Wyck to his wife, when he had put the telephone receiver down. 'I am not satisfied with matters there. It is really quite time that Loveday retired, although I haven't the heart at present to suggest it.'

'I'm longing to meet Mrs Bradley,' said Mrs Wyck. 'What is she like to look at?'

'As far as my memory serves me, singularly unprepossessing,' replied Mr Wyck judicially. 'But a character. Yes, certainly a character. And, of course, an exceptionally brilliant woman.'

But Mrs Wyck was accustomed to unprepossessing people in the persons of the masters, their wives, and the parents of the boys; and she had met so many brilliant people that one more or less made no difference.

'I suppose she will live at Loveday's,' she remarked.

'I expect Miss Loveday will invite her to do so.'

'Then we will have her to dinner once or twice, if that will do.'

'When she's examined Merrys and so forth, I'm going to ask her to stay on at the School until we get this awful business cleared up,' said Mr Wyck, suddenly. 'She has had some success, I believe, in such cases, and she may be able to cope with the police. They've already trodden twice on my rock garden.'

Mrs Bradley, quite as anxious to get to the School as Miss Loveday and the Headmaster were to have her there, burst upon Mr Loveday's astonished House at supper time, although she had arrived in time to pay an afternoon call upon her hostess.

At supper she sat upon Mr Loveday's right and scanned the ranks of Tuscany with interest. Her bright black eyes took in all details whilst she listened with every appearance of interest to Mr Loveday's conversation, for Mr Loveday, shying away from the point at issue, was giving her an earnest account of the construction and heating of his Roman Bath, so that comments and interjections on her part were redundant, which, with her usual intelligence, she had realized at the outset that they would be.

Miss Loveday, at the foot of her brother's table, conversed with the prefects Stallard and Compton (who agreed non-committally with her views and proffered none of their own) upon the House's chances of lifting the cricket cup next season. Of football Miss Loveday had less knowledge than of cricket, but football she referred to during May and June. She had a theory that it made boys nervous to have the current game discussed at meal-times, and she thought that this nervousness gave boys indigestion. She was known to the House as Nancy the Nark, a sufficiently descriptive nickname, and one which had wounded her when first she heard it, but it had resulted in a certain amount of ironic popularity which she learned to enjoy. Her brother placed her second only to his Roman Bath in his affections, and gave way to her lightest whim. Mild and easy-going as he was, he was known to have thrashed a boy severely merely for bouncing a tennis ball against the wall beneath her bedroom window whilst she was taking her afternoon rest. He was, in point of fact, afraid of her, a mental state which is apt to result in affection.

After supper the House prefects were summoned to Mr Loveday's drawing-room to be introduced formally to the guest with whom they had sat at supper.

'Stallard, my head boy, Cartaris, captain of football, and the School full-back, Compton. Here, also, are Edgeley and Findlay,' said Mr Loveday. 'Boys, this is Mrs Lestrange Bradley, of whom, no doubt, you have heard.'

The prefects looked obstinate, a sign of shyness, and Mrs Bradley, grinning, gave Edgeley, who was near her, a poke in the ribs. He yelped involuntarily, and the others laughed with embarrassed heartiness.

'Well, now that Edgeley has taken the edge off things,' said Miss Loveday (adding to the slight hysteria of the gathering by her awkward choice of nouns), 'we can get down to brass tacks, as you boys say.' The prefects, who would not have dreamed of employing this metaphor, maintained their previous expressions. 'Mrs Bradley,' continued Miss Loveday, 'has come to turn you all inside out, so here is your chance to show your guilt.'

'I don't want the House to be informed of this,' interposed Mr Loveday hastily, 'but you five, as House prefects, are to be taken into our confidence. Now, you must all begin by feeling thoroughly at ease.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Stallard, not knowing what else to say, and feeling anything but at ease. 'We – I think we understand what you mean.'

'That's that, then,' said Miss Loveday. 'Now, find seats. Findlay, the most lissome, had better sit on the floor, and Edgeley, his friend, may join him, and then we will all eat cake and drink sherry. I encourage the boys to like sherry,' she added to Mrs Bradley, whilst Mr Loveday busied himself with the decanter and Stallard handed round cakes, 'because I think it is so much better for them than the gin they all drink in the holidays.'

The boys, who were at the manly age when they were learning to drink beer in preparation for going up to the University, accepted the sherry politely, balanced plates on their knees, or, in the case of Findlay and Edgeley, on the fender, and wished that the social evening was over. It was to prove more interesting, however, than they had expected. After Mr Loveday, in a discouraging voice, had offered everybody a second glass of sherry, he put down the decanter, leaned against the mantelpiece, pulled at his lower lip for a moment, and then came out with it.

'As Miss Loveday has indicated,' he said, 'Mrs Bradley is here on very important business, and I shall look to my prefects to give her all the assistance in their power.'

'Of course, sir,' said Stallard, as this seemed to be expected.

'Certain boys in this House,' Mr Loveday continued, 'are showing signs of nervousness and unrest. These are indications of a disorder with which you prefects are not qualified to deal.' Findlay looked up quickly from his seat on the hearthrug. Cartaris looked down at his fingernails and smiled grimly. The others remained politely poker-faced, wondering what all this was about. 'Oh, I don't mean that kind of disorder,' added Mr. Loveday hastily. 'I mean –'

'In other words,' said Miss Loveday, who often embarrassed her brother by acting as his interpreter, 'your Housemaster means that Mrs Bradley is a psychiatrist and that she has come to interview Merrys.'

'You may perhaps wonder,' said Mr Loveday, resuming his position as head of the House, 'why I should take the responsibility of such proceedings. It is, of course, in connexion with Mr Conway's death.'

'Do you mean you think Merrys knows something, sir?' demanded Findlay; and the other prefects looked up, interested to hear Mr Loveday's reply.

'No, no. But the boy is in a nervous state, and I – Miss Loveday and I – think that treatment here might be better than sending him home. His parents concur in this view, and so Mrs Bradley has very kindly consented to examine him. She will place the boy under observation, and –'

'Is he – do you mean he's insane, sir?' blurted out Edgeley.

'No, of course not! It is merely –' Mr Loveday cast about for the most suitable words with which to remove an unfortunate impression.

'By the way, sir,' said Stallard, before his Housemaster could continue, 'that reminds me. I've never thought of it before, but I remember now that the week before Mr Conway's – before it happened to Mr Conway – Merrys came to me with some tale which caused me to give him permission to go round into your garden. I hope that was quite all right, sir?'

'My garden? But – Stallard, you don't think Merrys can have borrowed my bicycle? You know, it was borrowed.'

'I don't think anything, sir,' said Stallard uncomfortably, 'but I thought I ought to mention it, that's all.'

'And quite right, too!' said Mr Loveday emphatically. 'Quite right! What do you think, Annette?'

'I picked on Merrys, and it looks as though I was not far wrong,' said Miss Loveday, with great satisfaction.

'You will therefore excuse Merrys from all attendance at football practice if Mrs Bradley finds that the football practice hour is a convenient time at which to interview the boy,' said Mr Loveday, eyeing Cartaris, whom he privately suspected of beating boys who cut football, 'and the rest of you must keep an eye on him without appearing to do so. You must exercise great discretion. Great discretion. I would not have the boy know for the world that he is being watched. Miss Loveday and I have felt considerable anxiety as to the possible effects of this dreadful business on nervous and sensitive boys.'

'Merrys walks in his sleep, sir,' said Findlay. 'He frightens the boys in his dormitory.'

Everybody stared at Findlay; his fellow prefects because they admired his nerve in introducing this (to their minds) extraneous subject of conversation, and the Lovedays because they were genuinely taken aback. Mrs Bradley stared because she was summing up Findlay, whom she suspected of having invented this tit-bit of information for her benefit.

'Really, Findlay? How do you come to know that?' enquired Mr Loveday, excitedly.

'He was being ragged about it, sir. I happened to overhear. I took no notice at the time, but now all this has been mentioned –'

'Well!' said Miss Loveday, regarding Findlay with admiration. 'This is really uncanny, is it not? What do you say, Mrs Bradley, to Findlay's evidence?'

'Interesting, instructive, and misleading,' said Mrs Bradley emphatically. Findlay gave her a comical glance. He was an intelligent boy, Mrs Bradley decided, and when she needed help he should help her. He was likely to afford her more assistance than were the earnest Stallard and the ox-like Cartaris, she fancied.

*

She was not at all anxious to interview Merrys when he ought to have been playing football. Apart from the boy's own wishes – and he might be fond of football – she had an old-fashioned belief that games – even compulsory games – were not altogether bad for boys.

She had enjoyed meeting the prefects, but it did seem to her that the fewer people – certainly the fewer boys – who realized the purpose of her visit, the greater were her chances of success. She mentioned this to Mr Loveday on the following morning, after breakfast. She did not add, however, that the Headmaster was retaining her in another capacity – that of private detective.

'I tell my prefects everything,' said Mr Loveday. 'I find that it is the only way of inculcating a sense of true responsibility.'

'Who is Merrys's form-master?' Mrs Bradley enquired. It transpired that one Mr Lamphrey had now shouldered this onerous task. Mrs Bradley walked over to the School House to interview the Headmaster.

'Mr Loveday?' said Mr Wyck. 'Oh, yes, of course. His boys will be scattered in various forms, I am afraid. Merrys? Oh, yes, you may interview him when and where you please. If the boy knows anything about this unhappy business – the whole form? Well, of course, you could.' He conducted Mrs Bradley to Mr Lamphrey's form-room. Mr Lamphrey, his gown standing off from his shoulders like the wings of the archangel of doom, was in the apt of inviting a boy called Billings to recite the second stanza of Keats's Ode on a Grecian Urn. Both he and the boy seemed glad to be interrupted.

'Mrs Bradley', said Mr Wyck, 'would be interested in asking your boys a few questions, Mr Lamphrey.'

'With pleasure, Headmaster,' said Mr Lamphrey, horrified, and gazing for support at his First Boy, who was, of course, the enviable although not universally envied Micklethwaite.

'Gentlemen,' said Mrs Bradley, addressing the form, 'I want you to take a clean sheet of paper, to write your names clearly, and then to put down the first word that comes into your minds when I say –'

'Binet-Simon stuff!' muttered Micklethwaite. 'And about forty years out of date.' He said this to nobody in particular. Nobody in particular kicked him, as usual, and there was a slight shuffling as boys took up their pens.

'Right? Murder,' said Mrs Bradley succinctly. 'Blood. Sand. Rannygazoo. Aspidistra. Aunt. Bungle. Spiv. Oxen. South America. Cascara. Beast. Punitive. Matrix. Bicycle. Bluebells. Port Wine. Rabbit. Ink. Hieroglyphics. Dulcibella. Acid. Dogs. Egypt. Herrings. Dulcimer. Wallaby. Bath. International. Haemorrhage. Fitter. Cannibal. Cottage. Indicator. Merchant. Pens down.'

One boy, who had been writing a reciprocal to 'pens down' hurriedly scratched it out, and there was a clatter as of arms restored to an arm-rack. Mrs Bradley requested the first boy in each line of desks to collect the answers to her questions. She looked up at the form when she had looked through the papers.

'I want to speak to Mr Skene,' she said. Skene got up. Mrs Bradley motioned towards the door.

'Mr Skene,' said Mrs Bradley, when they were outside, 'I want the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. What say you?'

'I don't know,' said Skene. Mrs Bradley clicked her tongue. 'I mean, I don't know what you want to know.'

'Suppose we cast our minds back to the night of the murder?'

'Yes?'

'Mr Skene, confide in me. I am not so foolish as to suppose that you and Mr Merrys murdered Mr Conway, even if you did go out on Mr Loveday's bicycle. Believe me, you must be frank.'

'But we didn't use Mr Loveday's bicycle on the night of the murder!' said Skene, horrified. 'It was like this – but we don't want to be sacked –'

*

'And now, Mr Merrys,' said Mrs Bradley, waylaying the unfortunate youth after morning school, 'what is all this about a fountain pen? Had we not better search for it? Is it possible that it can incriminate us? Exactly where were we when the murder was committed, I wonder? And how vengeful were we towards our Mr Conway? What ill-will did we bear him, and for what reason?'

'We were – well, we weren't vengeful,' said Merrys anxiously. 'You see, it was a week before Mr Conway – before Mr Conway –'

'We broke out at night, did we not? And we borrowed our Housemaster's bicycle.'

'I say, you wouldn't tell anybody that?'

'We found ourselves outside a certain cottage.'

'We only wanted to know the way back. We were lost.'

'But at the cottage we found no one to direct us.'

'Oh, I say!' said Merrys, suddenly enlightened. 'It was you at that cottage?' Mrs Bradley cackled. 'But, you know, it had nothing to do with Mr Conway. We'd gone to the Dogs, and we couldn't – well, it didn't seem worth it to go in, and on the way back we lost our way, and – well, that's all.'

'Is it?' said Mrs Bradley severely.

'Yes.'

'Then what alarms us?'

'Nothing. We aren't. I mean –'

'We saw and heard.'

Merrys looked at her and saw that she knew it all.

'We did hear Mr Kay say he'd like to murder somebody, and we thought he put his fist through the window,' he concluded. Mrs Bradley nodded.

'And we know nothing more?'

'No. Honestly we don't.'

Mrs Bradley returned to Mr Loveday's House to receive coffee and a sandwich from Miss Loveday.

'Were Mr Lamphrey's boys discouraging?' Miss Loveday enquired. 'They are said to be difficult. Gerald Conway was their form-master, of course. My brother takes them for Divinity, which every boy is compelled to study, whether he is on the Modern or the Classical side. Even the Army class takes it, although, in their case, the Old Testament only, of course.'

'Gideon and his river-drinkers?' Mrs Bradley suggested, ignoring all other references, which seemed to her completely beside the point.

'A valuable chapter,' Miss Loveday agreed. 'There is nothing to beat the selected minority. King Edward the Third knew that. Crécy depended upon it. There is also the Third Programme of the British Broadcasting Corporation. An admirable thing in its way, although I sometimes think it falls between two stools.'

'In this school, a selected minority would include Mr Scrupe and Mr Micklethwaite, I presume?' said Mrs Bradley, ignoring a challenge.

'They are clever boys, I believe. Of Scrupe I know little except by hearsay, but Micklethwaite is one of our own boys, and it is too bad that he was done out of the Divinity prize by Mr Conway's meanness and treachery,' said Miss Loveday, speaking with warmth.

Mrs Bradley smiled benignly. She had mentioned the two boys' names at random.

'I heard rumours of this,' she said, mendaciously. 'But, surely, if a boy is entitled to a prize – ?'

'You might think so,' said Miss Loveday energetically, 'but, if you do, it means that you cannot appreciate the amount of petty jealousy that there is to be found in a school common room. Mr Conway, for reasons of his own, accused Micklethwaite of cheating in the last Divinity examination at which, most unfortunately (although one does not think, of course, of criticizing the Headmaster), Mr Conway had been appointed invigilator. The boy, touched in his honour, refused to take the prize, and –'

'Do I understand, then, that Mr Conway did not substantiate his accusation by removing the boy from the examination room?' Mrs Bradley pertinently enquired.

'He said nothing – except afterwards to the boy. Micklethwaite is a strange lad. There was no need for him to have made a public thing of it, but he was, it seems, very angry. He attended a co-educational establishment before he came here, and had absorbed odd notions as to his rights. He was much persecuted at first, but I soon put a stop to that. We are, after all, Christians in this House, although I would not go bail for some of the others. Well, at any rate, when Micklethwaite refused to accept the prize there was a great fuss, and the Headmaster threatened to cane him for Contempt of Authority.'

'Only threatened?'

'Mr Wyck is weak,' said Miss Loveday in low tones, glancing at the window as she pronounced these treasonable words. 'There was a rumour that the boy had threatened to commit suicide as a protest against the injustice of the punishment, if it was administered, and Mr Wyck thought, I suppose, that he might do it. Commit suicide, I mean. The lad is brilliantly clever and rather overstrung. A pity. I like lads to be manly and only technically gifted. Aesthetics have no place in modern life. That is why ferro-concrete has come into its own.'

'I should not think his life here can have been easy,' Mrs Bradley remarked, 'even after you stopped his being bullied. I refer to Mr Micklethwaite.'

'He is a strange lad,' Miss Loveday repeated, 'and a lad of character. He is fearless of pain, and has become an expert in Judo. The boys have learned to leave well alone, I believe, and might have done so without my assistance.'

'I must cultivate this boy,' said Mrs Bradley.

'And what progress do you make with Merrys?' asked Miss Loveday, changing the subject. 'His behaviour improved yesterday. I noticed it. He had two helpings of the first course, and threw potato. We do not throw bread now, for motives of patriotism, and should not, for the same reason, waste potato, either. For one thing, there is not too much of these staple fillers for growing lads, and, for another, hunger is a wonderful disciplinarian.'

'So is fear,' said Mrs Bradley. 'You were quite right to deduce that Merrys was afraid.'

'Of what?'

'That is what I am here to find out.' She did not add that she had already found it out, because, although she had heard of the midnight exploits of Merrys and Skene, she had not decided how to make proper use of them. She had decided to go to the Headmaster with her tale before she went to the police, but she wanted further time to study Mr Wyck, and to work out his probable reactions to the tale she would have to tell. Meanwhile, she was not inclined to rely upon Miss Loveday's discretion.

'You have not told me yet of your experiences with the Fifth Scientific,' said Miss Loveday suddenly. 'Did you encounter Whittaker? His father is a platelayer on the London and Great Midland Railway, and Whittaker is one of the Guinea-pig boys. He is a great success. Did he threaten Springer? He loves to learn, and Springer, I think, confounds him.'

'Surely,' said Mrs Bradley, not troubling to explain that she had not yet encountered the Fifth Scientific, 'this School is unique in having boys who desire to learn? My sons never did. Their reports were uniformly scurrilous.'

'Oh, you have sons in the plural? I understood you had only one, the famous K.C.,' said Miss Loveday.

'Ferdinand? He is my son by my first husband, who was of French and Spanish descent. I have other sons, but I much prefer my nephews. Ferdinand and I are unlike, and get on well. He reminds me, in many ways, of his father, and that is welcome, since otherwise I might have forgotten what his father was like. It is some time since we were married,' said Mrs Bradley alarmingly.

Miss Loveday, deflated by this incursion into family history, abandoned the subject, as it was intended she should, and poured out more coffee.

'I suppose it was Merrys who borrowed my brother's bicycle?' she remarked. 'I should not like it reported. I know his mother. Where did he go, by the way?'

'To the Dog-racing track.'

'Good heavens! So young a boy!'

'He did not go in. The entrance fee was beyond his expectations.'

'I am glad of that. I see still less need to report the occurrence to the Headmaster. I shall inform my brother, and he will deal with Merrys. I suppose the child was afraid that he might be accused of the murder if it were found out that he is in the habit of breaking out at night. I hope you have reassured him. Nay, I know you must have done. Potato-throwing is always an excellent sign. I check bullying in the House by it. A lad who throws potato is in spirits, and Merrys threw a good deal.'

'He lost his fountain pen,' said Mrs Bradley conversationally.

'Oh, was it his?' said Miss Loveday, producing a pen from the recesses of her costume. 'I found it on the gravel. He must have dropped it on his way out. You had better take it.'

'Did you not look at the name on it? Merrys had his name on his pen.'

'I saw no name. Would you care to look for it?' Mrs Bradley took the pen. There was no name on it. 'And now,' said Miss Loveday – hastily, it seemed to Mrs Bradley – 'to the business of the visit of the governors. They are said to be against Mr Wyck, who, of course, as a modern Headmaster, has no conception of discipline. I say this in no carping or Communistic spirit, but the facts speak for themselves.'

'In what way?' Mrs Bradley enquired.

'Boys breaking out at night; my brother and I being compelled to heat the Roman Bath by moonlight; John Semple being friendly with Bennett Kay, and so on and so forth,' Miss Loveday economically responded. 'And, of course, all this Common Room champagne. It was sherry when first I came here.'

'The boys who broke out at night were your own boys,' Mrs Bradley was impelled to point out. 'The Roman Bath, which, I must admit, I would very much like to see, is your own and your brother's concern. The champagne, I understand, was in celebration of an engagement, and exactly what bearing the friendship between Mr Semple and Mr Kay can have upon the Headmaster's control of the School, I do not understand.'

'John Semple, although a moron, is not without ancestry of a reputable kind,' pronounced Miss Loveday. 'Bennett Kay is of very mixed blood. In the Common Room, as we knew it of old, a friendship between the two would have been impossible. But tell me more of your experiences. Have you met our dark gentleman yet?'

'Our –?' said Mrs Bradley startled.

'Prince Takhobali,' Miss Loveday explained. 'Did you think I meant somebody else? And Issacher. A gifted lad, although not, in the strict term, European. A lad with a sixth sense. A lad with eyes in the back of his head.'

Mrs Bradley promised to make Issacher's acquaintance, but before she contrived to do this, further rumours, which turned out to be perfectly true, flashed round the School and were received with considerable acclaim. There was to be a half-holiday for a full Staff meeting at which the Governors would preside; and a C.I.D. Inspector was being sent for from Scotland Yard to help the local police.