The Pothunters, P. G. Wodehouse [digital book reader .TXT] 📗

well, and I think he is the last boy to do such a thing. He is neither a fool nor a coward, to put it shortly, and he would need to have a great deal of both in him to run away.”

The Head looked slightly relieved at this.

“You⁠—ah⁠—think so?” he said.

“I certainly do. In the first place, where, unless he went home, would he run to? And as he would be going home in a couple of days in the ordinary course of things, he would hardly be foolish enough to risk expulsion in such a way.”

Mr. Merevale always rather enjoyed his straight talks with the Headmaster. Unlike most of his colleagues he stood in no awe of him whatever. He always found him ready to listen to sound argument, and, what was better, willing to be convinced. It was so in this case.

“Then I think we may dismiss that idea,” said the Head with visible relief. The idea of such a scandal occurring at St. Austin’s had filled him with unfeigned horror. “And now I think it would be as well to go across to your House and hear what Welch has to say about the matter. Unless Thomson returns soon⁠—and it is already past nine o’clock⁠—we shall have to send out search parties.”

Five minutes later Welch, enjoying a sound beauty sleep, began to be possessed of a vague idea that somebody was trying to murder him. His subsequent struggles for life partially woke him, and enabled him to see dimly that two figures were standing by his bed.

“Yes?” he murmured sleepily, turning over on to his side again, and preparing to doze off. The shaking continued. This was too much. “Look here,” said he fiercely, sitting up. Then he recognised his visitors. As his eye fell on Merevale, he wondered whether anything had occurred to bring down his wrath upon him. Perhaps he had gone to bed without leave, and was being routed out to read at prayers or do some work? No, he remembered distinctly getting permission to turn in. What then could be the matter?

At this point he recognised the Headmaster, and the last mists of sleep left him.

“Yes, sir?” he said, wide-awake now.

Merevale put the case briefly and clearly to him. “Sorry to disturb you, Welch. I know you are tired.”

“Not at all, sir,” said Welch, politely.

“But there is something we must ask you. You probably do not know that Thomson has not returned?”

“Not returned!”

“No. Nobody knows where he is. You were probably the last to see him. What happened when you and he started for the long run this afternoon? You lost sight of the rest, did you not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well?”

“And Thomson dropped out.”

“Ah.” This from the Headmaster.

“Yes, sir. He said he couldn’t go any farther. He told me to go on. And, of course, I did, as it was a race. I advised him to go back to the House and change. He looked regularly done up. I think he ran too hard in the mile yesterday.”

The Head spoke.

“I thought that some such thing must have happened. Where was it that he dropped out, Welch?”

“It was just as we came to a long ploughed field, sir, by the side of a big wood.”

“Parker’s Spinney, I expect,” put in Merevale.

“Yes, sir. About a mile from the College.”

“And you saw nothing more of him after that?” inquired the Headmaster.

“No, sir. He was lying on his back when I left him. I should think some of the others must have seen him after I did. He didn’t look as if he was likely to get up for some time.”

“Well,” said the Head, as he and Merevale went out of the room, leaving Welch to his slumbers, “we have gained little by seeing Welch. I had hoped for something more. I must send the prefects out to look for Thomson at once.”

“It will be a difficult business,” said Merevale, refraining⁠—to his credit be it said⁠—from a mention of needles and haystacks. “We have nothing to go upon. He may be anywhere for all we know. I suppose it is hardly likely that he is still where Welch left him?”

The Head seemed to think this improbable. “That would scarcely be the case unless he were very much exhausted. It is more than five hours since Welch saw him. I can hardly believe that the worst exhaustion would last so long. However, if you would kindly tell your House prefects of this⁠—”

“And send them out to search?”

“Yes. We must do all we can. Tell them to begin searching where Thomson was last seen. I will go round to the other Houses. Dear me, this is exceedingly annoying. Exceedingly so.”

Merevale admitted that it was, and, having seen his visitor out of the House, went to the studies to speak to his prefects. He found Charteris and Tony together in the former’s sanctum.

“Has anything been heard about Thomson, sir?” said Tony, as he entered.

“That is just what I want to see you about. Graham, will you go and bring the rest of the prefects here?”

“Now,” he said, as Tony returned with Swift and Daintree, the two remaining House prefects, “you all know, of course, that Thomson is not in the House. The Headmaster wants you to go and look for him. Welch seems to have been the last to see him, and he left him lying in a ploughed field near Parker’s Spinney. You all know Parker’s Spinney, I suppose?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you had better begin searching from there. Go in twos if you like, or singly. Don’t all go together. I want you all to be back by eleven. All got watches?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. You’d better take lanterns of some sort. I think I can raise a bicycle lamp each, and there is a good moon. Look everywhere, and shout as much as you like. I think he must have sprained an ankle or something. He is probably lying somewhere unable to move, and too far away from the road to make his voice heard