The Pothunters, P. G. Wodehouse [best contemporary novels .TXT] 📗

'Only in spirit, thanks. The absolute dashed foolishness of this is being rapidly borne in upon me, Tony. What is the good of it? We shan't find him here.'

Tony put his foot down upon these opinions with exemplary promptitude.

'We must go on trying. Hang it all, if it comes to the worst, it's better than frousting indoors.'

'Tony, you're a philosopher. Lead on, Macduff.'

Tony was about to do so, when a form appeared in front of him, blocking the way. He flashed his lamp at the form, and the form, prefacing its remarks with a good, honest swearword—of a variety peculiar to that part of the country—requested him, without any affectation of ceremonious courtesy, to take his something-or-other lamp out of his (the form's) what's-its-named face, and state his business briefly.

'Surely I know that voice,' said Charteris. 'Archibald, my long-lost brother.'

The keeper failed to understand him, and said so tersely.

'Can you tell me,' went on Charteris, 'if you have seen such a thing as a boy in this Spinney lately? We happen to have lost one. An ordinary boy. No special markings. His name is Thomson, on the Grampian Hills—'

At this point the keeper felt that he had had enough. He made a dive for the speaker.

Charteris dodged behind Tony, and his assailant, not observing this, proceeded to lay violent hands upon the latter, who had been standing waiting during the conversation.

'Let go, you fool,' cried he. The keeper's hand had come smartly into contact with his left eye, and from there had taken up a position on his shoulder. In reply the keeper merely tightened his grip.

'I'll count three,' said Tony, 'and—'

The keeper's hand shifted to his collar.

'All right, then,' said Tony between his teeth. He hit up with his left at the keeper's wrist. The hand on his collar loosed its grip. Its owner rushed, and as he came, Tony hit him in the parts about the third waistcoat-button with his right. He staggered and fell. Tony hit very hard when the spirit moved him.

'Come on, man,' said Charteris quickly, 'before he gets his wind again. We mustn't be booked trespassing.'

Tony recognised the soundness of the advice. They were out of the Spinney in two minutes.

'Now,' said Charteris, 'let's do a steady double to the road. This is no place for us. Come on, you man of blood.'

When they reached the road they slowed down to a walk again. Charteris laughed.

'I feel just as if we'd done a murder, somehow. What an ass that fellow was to employ violence. He went down all right, didn't he?'

'Think there'll be a row?'

'No. Should think not. He didn't see us properly. Anyhow, he was interfering with an officer in the performance of his duty. So were we, I suppose. Well, let's hope for the best. Hullo!'

'What's up?'

'All right. It's only somebody coming down the road. Thought it might be the keeper at first. Why, it's Biffen.'

It was Biffen. He looked at them casually as he came up, but stopped short in surprise when he saw who they were.

'Mr Charteris!'

'The same,' said Charteris. 'Enjoying a moonlight stroll, Biffen?'

'But what are you doing out of the 'ouse at this time of night, Mr Charteris?'

'It's this way,' said Tony, 'all the House-prefects have been sent out to look for Thomson. He's not come back.'

'Not come back, sir!'

'No. Bit queer, isn't it? The last anybody saw of him was when he dropped out of the long race near Parker's Spinney.'

'I seen him later than that, Mr Graham. He come on to the grounds while I was mowing the cricket field.'

'Not really? When was that?'

'Four. 'Alf past four, nearly.'

'What became of him?'

''E went off with Mr MacArthur. Mr MacArthur took 'im off 'ome with 'im, I think, sir.'

'By Jove,' said Charteris with enthusiasm. 'Now we are on the track. Thanks awfully, Biffen, I'll remember you in my will. Come on, Tony.'

'Where are you going now?'

'Babe's place, of course. The Babe holds the clue to this business. We must get it out of him. 'Night, Biffen.'

'Good-night, sir.'

Arrived at the Babe's residence, they rang the bell, and, in the interval of waiting for the door to be opened, listened with envy to certain sounds of revelry which filtered through the windows of a room to the right of the porch.

'The Babe seems to be making a night of it,' said Charteris. 'Oh'—as the servant opened the door—'can we see Mr MacArthur, please?'

The servant looked doubtful on the point.

'There's company tonight, sir.'

'I knew he was making a night of it,' said Charteris to Tony. 'It's not Mr MacArthur we want to see. It's—dash it, what's the Babe's name?'

'Robert, I believe. Wouldn't swear to it.'

'Mr Robert. Is he in?' It seemed to Charteris that the form of this question smacked of Ollendorf. He half expected the servant to say 'No, but he has the mackintosh of his brother's cousin'. It produced the desired effect, however, for after inviting them to step in, the servant disappeared, and the Babe came on the scene, wearing a singularly prosperous expression, as if he had dined well.

'Hullo, you chaps,' he said.

'Sir to you,' said Charteris. 'Look here, Babe, we want to know what you have done with Jim. He was seen by competent witnesses to go off with you, and he's not come back. If you've murdered him, you might let us have the body.'

'Not come back! Rot. Are you certain?'

'My dear chap, every House-prefect on the list has been sent out to look for him. When did he leave here?'

The Babe reflected.

'Six, I should think. Little after, perhaps. Why—oh Lord!'

He broke off suddenly.

'What's up?' asked Tony.

'Why I sent him by a short cut through some woods close by here, and I've only just remembered there's a sort of quarry in the middle of them. I'll