King of Ranleigh: A School Story

by F. S. Brereton

  KING OF RANLEIGH

  A School Story

  by

  CAPTAIN F. S. BRERETON

  Author of "The Hero of Panama," "The Great Aeroplane," etc. etc.

  Illustrated by Ernest Prater

  LondonS. W. Partridge & Co. Ltd.Old Bailey

  "CLIVE WAS DASHED BACKWARD WITH TERRIFIC VIOLENCE."]

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE

  I. THE CONSPIRATORS 9

  II. A BOOBY TRAP 25

  III. OFF TO RANLEIGH 47

  IV. SOME INTRODUCTIONS 68

  V. AN ULTIMATUM 89

  VI. CLIVE AND HIS FRIENDS TRIUMPHANT 111

  VII. PLANS FOR AN OUTING 131

  VIII. BREAKING BOUNDS 153

  IX. HONESTY'S THE BEST POLICY 173

  X. THE RUINED TOWER 194

  XI. BERT MAKES A DISCOVERY 214

  XII. ROUNDING UP THE BURGLARS 236

  XIII. TRENDALL AND SOME OTHERS 259

  XIV. THE STRENUOUS LIFE 278

  XV. STURTON'S POLICY IS VINDICATED 295

  XVI. A GREAT DISTURBANCE 317

  XVII. WHO IS THE SCOUNDREL? 340

  XVIII. TRACKED DOWN 358

  XIX. A MONSTROUS ACCUSATION 374

  XX. THE OLD FIRM HANGS TOGETHER 386

  XXI. KING OF RANLEIGH 403

  LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

  "Clive was dashed back with terrific violence" _Frontispiece_

  "His rage was almost appalling" 44

  "'Look out, Susanne! I'm coming in to help'" 114

  "Rawlings and Trendall were tossed into a dense mass of bushes" 171

  "'Forward!' ordered the sergeant sternly. 'Rush 'em!'" 254

  "They were swept back by an appalling gush of flame and smoke" 328

  KING OF RANLEIGH

  CHAPTER I

  THE CONSPIRATORS

  Clive Darrell took from the pocket of a somewhat tattered coat, whichbore many a stain and many a sign of hard wear, a filbert of good size,and having admired it in silence cracked the same by placing it upon aminiature anvil and giving it an adroit blow with a hammer. There was aprecision about his movements and his action which spoke of practice.Clive was inordinately fond of nuts. His pockets bulged widely withthem. As he ate he extracted a handful and presented some to each of histwo comrades.

  "Here, have a go. I've heaps to draw from. Well?"

  "Well?" came from Hugh Seymour, a boy of his own age, just a little morethan thirteen.

  But Bert Seymour, brother to Hugh, made no answer. Taller than the othertwo, a year older than his brother, he was a weedy, lanky youth,running to height rather than to breadth. He had tossed his cap on tothe bench, so that he presented a tousled head of hair, above a facethin like his frame, but ruddy enough, with keen penetrating eyes whichwore a curiously dreamy aspect for such a youngster. He was cogitatingdeeply. That was evident. But being the prince of good fellows, one whomade a point of returning hospitality, he rummaged also in his pocket,producing a medley of articles to be found nowhere else save in the caseof a schoolboy. A piece of tangled string, half a broken hinge, a knife,a second knife, somewhat bigger and distinctly rusty, a length ofgalvanised wire which made one wonder if he were a jack-of-all-trades,three handkerchiefs, each more terrible in appearance than the last, anumber of air-gun slugs, a broken box for the same, now empty andseverely damaged, and lastly, that for which he searched, a respectablysized piece of toffee in a wrapping of paper which was broken at onecorner, and through which a half-dozen slugs had contrived to insertthemselves and were now nicely imbedded in the sweetmeat.

  "Have some," he said laconically, handing over the packet to Clive.

  "Fair does then. Thanks."

  There was a strange taciturnity about these three lads. A silence andabsence of words to which they were unaccustomed. But then, great eventsbring about equally great changes on occasion, and this day saw the trioface to face with a circumstance which baffled them, rendered themalmost inarticulate, when they were accustomed to chatter, not seldomeither in the lowest tones, and made of them a somewhat morosegathering.

  Clive split the toffee into three equal-sized pieces with the aid of ahuge pair of metal shears, distributed two of the pieces, and thrust thethird into his mouth.

  "Well?" he asked again, almost inarticulate since the sticky piece heldhis jaws so firmly. "We've got to move."

  "Or funk."

  "Or go on getting kicked."

  "Not if I know it!" ejaculated Clive, with a distinct effort, tearinghis two rows of shining teeth asunder. "Who's he? We've been here ages,and he has the cheek to order us about."

  "Suppose he imagines we're going to fag for him," exclaimed Hugh,pulling his piece of toffee into the light of day as speech wasotherwise almost out of the question. "He's a cad, this Rawlings. Votewe go for him."

  "How?"

  It was almost the first word which Bert had uttered. A keen glance shotfrom those dreamy eyes, searching the faces of his two comrades. Heborrowed Clive's hammer and mechanically cracked the handful of nutspresented to him, preparing a store for consumption after the sweetmeatwas finished. His dreamy eyes slowly travelled round his immediatesurroundings, noting without enthusiasm the many tools and applianceswhich to boys as a general rule are the greatest of attractions. ForBert was no mechanic. At the precise period of which we write he wasimmersed in the intricacies of a calculation having for its object thepurchase of sundry cricket stumps, bats and a ball with a sum rakedtogether after noble self-sacrifice and still all too small for thepurpose. He was, in fact, keen on cricket, and no dull hand at the game.Fair at the wicket, he could send down a ball at any time the varyinglength of which might be expected to baffle one who had not stood up tohis bowling before. While at "point" he had already gathered laurels inthe village matches, to which residence in the depths of the countryconfined him.

  Mechanics distinctly bored Bert. He had no use for hammers, other thanthat of cracking nuts, and even then he managed to hammer his fingersfairly often. And there he differed from his brother, just as the latterdiffered from him in appearance. For Hugh was a rosy-cheeked fellow,short and active and strong, quick and brisk in his actions, and witheyes which sparkled and could never be accused of presenting a dreamyappearance. Always ready for cricket or football or any other game thatmight be suggested, and shining particularly in the gymnasium, therewere two hobbies which absorbed his every waking thought, and contrivedto make him Clive Darrell's boon companion. For both loved the wildthings they saw about them. They were the terror of gamekeepers in alldirections, and there was not a copse nor a cover for miles around whichthey had not visited in their search for nests. And the winter seasonfound them both for hours together in this workshop, once the happyrendezvous of Clive's father. What wonder if they were enchanted withthe place? Imagine a large room, with steeply sloping roof, in whichwere a couple of lights. A range of shelves down one side, each carryingplanes or cramps or wood tools of some description. While against thefarther wall stood a cabinet, glazed at the top, and presenting a rangeof calipers, micrometers, drills, gauges, taps and dies and what-not;while nests of drawers beneath contained every tool necessary for bothwood and metal turning. That
was the triumph of this workshop. Afive-inch lathe stood against the far wall, the floor beneath stainedwith many a splotch of oil. A belt ran to it from a shaft overhead whichtravelled the length of the shop and was there fitted with a wheel oflarge diameter to which a second belt was attached. This lattertravelled to the fast and loose pulleys of a second shaft, and thence toa petrol engine, which puffed and rattled at the moment.

  Clive toyed with the lever which operated his pet lathe. As he and hiscomrades cogitated, he pushed the lever over, setting the shaft above inmotion and the spindle of the lathe revolving. A chunk of brass boltedto the face-plate of this latter spun round at speed, while the tool hehad fixed in position shaved a neat ribbon of metal from it. Then thelever swung back, the spindle of the lathe came to a rest, while theshaft above ceased to rotate, leaving the engine still running.

  "I know. We'll make a trap for the ass. Catch him as they catch elephantand rhinoceros in Africa," he suddenly blurted out as he turned from thelathe. As for his hearers, they received his suggestion with scantsympathy.

  "Trap! How? Where? Rot!" ejaculated Bert. "What's the good of trappingan idiot?--unless, of course, you mean setting a thing like arabbit-trap. That'd fix him. Imagine the great and noble Rawlings,fresh from a public school, lord of all he beholds, caught by the toeand left singing!"

  A wan smile wreathed his lips. Hugh giggled, and then looked serious. "Aprecious row we'd get into, too," he cried. "Try again, Clive. Don'ttalk rot; we're serious."

  "So am I; we'll fix a trap for this bounder, a trap that'll not hurthim, you understand, but one that'll make him look a fool and an ass,and'll teach him not to interfere with his betters."

  "Meaning us," grinned Bert.

  "Of course! Who else? You don't imagine that an ass like that's on thesame plane, do you?" demanded Clive loftily. "Now I'll tell you howwe'll do it. There's the path down the spinney."

  "Ah!" A frown crossed Bert's face. Hugh's ruddy cheeks grew redder. Forthat path happened to be the bone of contention which had brought aboutthis meeting. But for that, Clive and Hugh and Bert would not have beengathered in the workshop on this fine morning, cracking sundry nuts upona miniature anvil, and sucking sticky toffee. Bert, for instance, wouldhave been down at the one single store which Potters Camp, their localvillage, boasted, where he would have painfully haggled for the stumpsand other goods he coveted. Then Clive and Hugh would have beenotherwise occupied. They had a big mechanical scheme on foot, no less anundertaking than the manufacture of a motor-car, a real motor-car to runupon the high-road. Morning and afternoon and evening they had been atit through these holidays. And the scheme was so very simple, andpromised such certain success! To begin with, there was the petrolengine at that moment puffing and rumbling in the shop. The frameworkthey had made was the precise thing for it. They had only to erect aspecies of crane above the engine and they could lift it into the frameand bolt it down. That was childishly easy. The rest was a triumph, oralmost so, inasmuch as it was on the high-road to completion. For thefront axle was already fitted. True, it was not quite up to modern form,since stub axles at either end were missing. But then necessity is themother of invention, as Clive had told his chum often and often. Thataxle was bored at the very centre and swivelled about a pin bolted tothe framework. As for springs, who wanted any!

  "Tosh!" declared Clive.

  "Meant for ladies and kids and invalids," said Hugh, equally emphatic.

  "It'll shake about a bit, of course," admitted the former grudgingly. "Ireckon she'll do a good twenty miles an hour, and on the awfulapologies for roads round about here, why, naturally, she'll hop andbump no end. But who cares so long as she goes? Not me. Only thosewheels look a bit rocky, eh?"

  Hugh must have been an enthusiast, or else he would not have denied theobvious fact to which his fellow inventor had drawn his attention. Forthe wheels of this car-in-making were decidedly groggy, to use anexpression common to this mechanical couple. But then again, necessitywas here the mother of much inventive genius. Lack of funds could notcripple the enthusiasm and ambition of our two mechanics. Wheels theymust have if they wished their car to run upon the road, while cash wasdecidedly lacking. But both had a bicycle the back wheel of each ofwhich fitted with commendable niceness upon the spindle ends of thesteel bar which Clive had used for a front axle, while the back axle andits wheels were supplied from the stable of no less a person than theRev. James Seymour, the respected parent of Bert and Hugh, Rector of theparish, and owner of a tricycle.

  "Fits rippingly! Just the thing!" commented Hugh, when he produced thearticle for Clive's approval. "Only it'd be a bit unlucky if theGovernor wanted to trike just at this moment. Of course, he can't. Daresay he'd be ratty, but then, think of how he's helping. It's just thething."

  "Just!" Clive whetted his lips at the sight. The one great difficulty ofthis ambitious undertaking was conquered, and, of course, they were onlyborrowing the axle and wheels for a time. They'd have a run on the roadand then bolt them back into position. No one'd be the wiser, certainlynot Hugh's Governor. "But--just a trifle light for the job," he added."Still, you never can tell till you try. But it'd be mighty awkward ifthere was a bust up. There'd be a ruction then."

  Hugh had agreed to that point, and for a moment had repented his action.But then, think of being beaten just for the want of a little courage!After all, the wheels and axle of the tricycle might be the very thing.They certainly looked it. And the Rector had not ridden his machine fora month at least, and for all he knew might have discarded italtogether. In any case, the parts had been borrowed, and as the triostood about the lathe Hugh's admiring eyes were upon it.

  "Pity this cad's come along just now," he grumbled. "Everything's readyand fitted. A morning's work would drop the engine in and connect up thelevers and the chain. That steering gear ain't too magnificent. Butthen, if one manages the engine and the other steers her, it'll be asright as anything. Hang this Rawlings!"

  Others echoed the same malediction. For the Rawlings family were notpopular in the neighbourhood of Potters Camp. In the first place, theywere new-comers, and in the depths of the country that is sometimes asufficient offence. Then they were purse-proud and apparently rich, andapt to patronise their country cousins. Mr. Rawlings was of decidedlypompous appearance. Very stout and heavy, he had a way of lifting acondescending stick when greeted by neighbours. And Albert, his son, wasa shining copy. He looked down upon the village youths from a loftypinnacle. He nodded, when he remembered to, to Hugh and Bert and Clive,though to the latter he was not always so gracious. For Clive had oncebeen master where the pompous Rawlings now stepped. Once he and hispeople had lived in the big house at the top of the hill, with its acresof park land about it. But times had changed sadly. Perhaps his fatherhad been too immersed in his workshop, and had given little attention tothe more serious affairs of life. Whatever the reason, his riches hadleft him, and here was his widow, with her only son, living in a smallhouse at the far corner of the park, and once occupied by a bailiff.From the said house a path led through a long spinney to the high-road,and made a short-cut for its inhabitants. Otherwise they must needs go along way round to get to the village.

  "And the cad forbids us to use it!" ejaculated Clive, as he recollectedthe occurrence. "Of course, the father's behind the business. He mustbe. But the son does the talking. A precious nice business."

  "Here, you get off! This isn't yours. Just cut it!" Hugh deliberatelymimicked the youth of whom they were talking. "A fine sort of fellow,"he exclaimed. "So you'll set a trap for him, Clive?"

  "Now. Without waiting. I'd fifty times rather stay along here and finishthis job. Just think, this evening we'd be ready for running. We'd havea trial spin on our car, for there's certain to be things to adjust. Butwe'd have her running top hole before it got dark. Then we'd make a tripto London."

  Hugh's eyes opened wide at the statement.

  "It's seventy miles if it's an inch."

  "Who cares? We can do it. But----"

&n
bsp; "Eh?" asked Hugh, scenting another difficulty just at the moment when hefelt confident that all were overcome successfully.

  "How long would it take? Let's see. We do twenty miles an hour."

  "Hardly that all the way."

  "Why not?" demanded Clive, in whose fertile brain the whole scheme hadoriginated, and who panted to be testing his first attempt at roadlocomotion. "Why not?"

  "Well, there's punctures," said Hugh lamely, and without thought ofgrammar.

  "Yes; possible."

  "Then there's traffic. Besides, we've got to eat."

  Yes, they had to do that, without a shadow of doubt. Seventy miles, withsundry delays--which, however, were not likely, oh, certainlynot!--meant four hours on the road. A fellow couldn't hold out all thattime. Impossible!

  "We'd have a blow-out before starting," declared Clive, his eyes on themachine he and his chum had been so diligently building. "Then we'd beoff before nine. We'd get a real good feed at one. By then we'd be inLondon. That means we'd have to go to rather a swagger sort of place. Isay, that's a bit awkward. How's the cash-box going?"

  There wasn't a cash-box. Hugh was the treasurer, and he slowly andsomewhat sadly counted out three shillings and fourpence halfpenny. Nota big sum, perhaps, but nearing the end of the holidays, and afterconsiderable expenditure already on their ambitious project it wascertainly a triumph of management.

  "Bit short," said Hugh. "But it'll do. We must fill up well before westart, and take things in our pockets. I dare say we'll be able to finda place where you can get a feed for a shilling. Perhaps they'd take twofor less. Things like that are easy to arrange in London."

  "Easy. But I was thinking of the return journey. There's a lamp wanted."

  "And numbers, and a licence," said Hugh, aghast at the thought which hadnever previously occurred to either of them. "My eye, that's a deuce ofa job. The police would be on to us."

  Clive's was one of those jovial, optimistic natures which overrides alldifficulties. "Hang the police! We'll chance it. We'll stick up a numberof some sort. I'll ink one out on cardboard this evening. As for a lamp,there's the gardener's. I'll borrow it. It'll do, hanging on in front.It'll make us go slow, of course, but all the better. It'll be a joke tobe kept late on the road and have everyone in fits about us. But wecan't move to-morrow. It'll have to be the next day."

  Ruefully Hugh agreed to the plan, for he would have loved to proceedwith the finishing of the car now so nearly ready. He sighed as helooked at the framework at the end of the shop, with its somewhat flimsyfront axle and bicycle wheels, its borrowed back axle, its steeringgear, a complication of steel wires about a drum mounted on a rakedtubing, and surmounted by a cast-iron wheel at one time adorning theoverhead shaft which drove the lathe. What thought that gear had costthem! What a triumph its construction had been, and how well it seemedto act now that it was duly assembled and mounted on the wooden chassisof the car! Only the engine needed now to be lifted into position, achain run from it to the sprocket on the back axle till a few days agopart and parcel of his father's tricycle. There was the mere matter of alever or two to control the engine, that strip of cardboard, with anumber inked upon it, and they would be off. His imagination whirled himto the giddy heights of enjoyment as he thought of the trip before them.

  "But that cad's got to be dealt with," he agreed. "Right! What's theparticular movement?"

  "A trap," interjected Bert. "A man-catcher. Go easy with the saw-edge ofthe concern and the spring, or you'll break his legs. We don't wantthat, even if he is a bounder. You'd have thought, considering Clive wasthe owner of the spinney only a year ago, a fellow would have beenashamed to order him off what had been his own property. But there's nocounting on what cads'll do, or won't do. He threatened to throw us out.He's big, though only fifteen, they say. But if we tackled him togetherwe'd make mincemeat of him."

  "Better make a fool of him, though," said Clive. "You come along with menow to the spinney. We'll fix the thing so as to make as big an ass ofthis Rawlings as possible. We'll rig a trap that'll hold him tight, andyet not hurt him. It's near twelve now. By two hours after lunch we'llhave it finished. It'll be ready and working by to-morrow morning."

  They shut off the engine destined on the morrow to be lifted into theirmotor-car and provide the propelling force, and shutting the shop wenton their way to the spinney. And the same hour found them hard at workupon another contrivance, conceived by Clive's inventive brain, andprepared for the purpose of lowering the pride and dignity of one whohad given them mortal offence. Rawlings, the fifteen-year-old son of thepompous new-comer to the parish of Potters Camp, little dreamed of theconsequences of his loftiness and of his churlish treatment of CliveDarrell.