King of Ranleigh: A School Story

by F. S. Brereton

  CHAPTER XXI

  KING OF RANLEIGH

  Such a scene had never before been witnessed at Ranleigh. Boyspositively became frantic. They cheered and cheered as if they wouldkeep on for ever. As for Bert Seymour, he waved his arms overhead anddanced in his excitement, surely an unusual state of affairs with one sonoted for sedateness.

  And through the noise and the lanes of Ranleighans processed Susanne andhis followers. There was a curious air of suppressed excitement anddetermination about them all. They turned neither to left nor to right,and acknowledged none of the frantic greetings thrown at them. Clivehimself marched to the dais hands in pockets, not even deigning toglance at Mr. Axim. The latter's face was indeed a study.

  "What's this?" he had asked himself at the commencement of the commotionwhich had ushered in this strange procession. "Feofe? Ah! One ofDarrell's special chums, and, of course, the others close in tow.Members of the Old Firm. Can't help admiring the way they stick to afriend, but it's wasted labour."

  The distraction was, in any case, at the very commencement welcome tohim. We must be absolutely fair in our dealings with this master, anddeclare that indignation at the doubt cast on his own shrewdness and atBert's open criticism of his method of summing up the evidence againstClive Darrell was beginning to give way to something approaching doubtof himself. Had he been absolutely impartial? Had he flown toconclusions, and taken too little heed of Clive's persistent denials anddogged refusal to discuss matters with him?

  "Ought to have taken the fellow's nature into account," Mr. Axim wastelling himself, for he wasn't at heart an unkindly master, nor evenunfair. He was hasty, no doubt, and apt to allow prejudice to controlhis thoughts and actions. But when all was said and done, Mr. Axim was aRanleighan, and at Ranleigh they go in for a fine stamp of master. Andto the credit of this particular one, let it be stated that he wasalready discounting the wisdom of his late efforts.

  "Supposing I'm wrong, and Clive's innocent? Supposing I've been hasty?"he asked himself. "Pshaw! We never got on well together. Didn'tunderstand one another, I suppose. But that shouldn't make me unfair inmy dealings with him. I--I----"

  "You've acted like a hasty fool!" Old B. told him bluntly, for Mr. Aximin his agitation was speaking in a loud whisper. "You've been hard onthe boy. He's innocent. I'll--hang it, man! I'll back him yet to be Kingof Ranleigh."

  "But--but----"

  "There isn't one. Did ever you see a guilty boy return to face hisschool after committing a crime of this nature? Never! Does that policesergeant look as if he had a possible prisoner behind him? Humbug, Axim!Susanne's face is sufficient to inform you that he has a tale of his ownto tell us."

  And Susanne had. The tall, broad-shouldered Frenchman looked positivelybrimming over with happiness, though there was an air of seriousnessabout him which showed that he also had some trouble. The same might besaid of Trendall. But Masters was ever notorious for the openness of hisfeelings and opinions. He was absolutely truculent at this instant whenthe procession had arrived at the dais. He transfixed Mr. Axim with aglance which made that unfortunate and ill-advised gentleman wish thathe had never had any dealings with this matter. Then all eyes wereturned on the Head.

  "With your permission, sir," said Susanne, halting at the edge of thedais and addressing the master with becoming respect, "with yourpermission we will mount the dais. We have information to give you. Butfirst it would be as well to tell us what has been passing here in ourabsence."

  The Head waved him up with a quick gesture. The lines were still drawndeep across his forehead, but there was, nevertheless, somethingapproaching a look of relief. "You've arrived in the nick of time," hesaid. "Let me explain what has happened. I have made an announcement asto Clive Darrell. Seymour Primus, applauded by the School withoutexception, has traversed the evidence against him and has demanded delayin this unfortunate matter. To that I have agreed. Then, but a fewseconds before your arrival, I begged that if any boy were present herewho knew himself guilty he should for his conscience' sake and for CliveDarrell's honour at once come forward. Not a boy has stirred. That isthe position."

  Susanne mounted the dais slowly and deliberately. Those who knew himwould have sworn that he was reluctant to speak, and yet he hadinformation to give which would clear Clive's character entirely. Heglanced down those expectant lines thoughtfully.

  "Er--you fellows," he said, "I've--that is, we went in search of Clive.We were dead certain he was innocent."

  Someone started a cheer just to encourage Susanne, for he was but a poorspeaker.

  "He was supposed to have bolted from the school with the idea of hidinghimself. He hadn't. He went direct to the police station."

  There was silence. Boys looked at one another. Some of the seniorswagged their heads.

  "Bravo, Clive!" cried Mr. Branson, unable longer to contain himself, andthen subsided, for the Head had fixed an indignant gaze on him. Thepolice sergeant at once stepped forward. "Fact, gentlemen," he said. "Ateight fifty-two he turns up. Of course I had heard of the night'shappening. 'Arrest me, sergeant,' he says. 'I've been expelled forsetting fire to Ranleigh.' Gentlemen, I didn't believe him."

  Ranleigh howled its appreciation of the magnanimous conduct of thisofficer, Mr. Axim positively squirmed, while the Head looked more thanuncomfortable. However, the sergeant had not yet finished.

  "I arrested Mr. Darrell," he said. "On talking the matter over with himI suggested investigation. Mr. Darrell stoutly denied the crime forwhich he had handed himself over to my keeping."

  "Ah! Investigation," gasped Mr. Axim. "How? On what lines? Surely welooked into everything?"

  The sergeant withered him with a look of scorn. He produced from beneathhis cloak a paper parcel and slowly unwrapped the paper.

  "That was worth looking into," he said. "It's the first clue that wouldoccur to a baby. That's a kettle, sir, an ordinary kettle. See it?"

  He held it up so that all could see, while he glanced sideways at theunhappy master. Nor was the worthy sergeant disrespectful. There wasmerely mild indignation in his manner. But then he happened to have alad of his own of Clive's age, and could thoroughly sympathise with thatyoung fellow. His experience also of the law told him that Mr. Axim'sdeductions had been hasty and entirely misleading, for he had rushed toconclusions without searching for obvious clues and following thosethoroughly. At arm's length overhead he now held a common kettle.

  "That's a kettle, sir," he said again, "and that's paraffin."

  Slowly he tipped it till a clear fluid trickled from the spout, andfalling on the wooden boards of the dais began to spread into a dark,oily patch.

  "And paraffin's what this incendiary was pouring along the passage,"continued the sergeant. "That kettle was in the Headmaster's study. Wereyou in the habit, sir, of keeping an article like this in that part?"

  It must be frankly admitted that the Head looked thoroughly startled.

  "A kettle! Certainly not! Such articles are kept in the properdepartment. But I follow your reasoning, sergeant, we ought to haveinvestigated this matter."

  "And so you would, sir, if you hadn't been led off the path in the wrongdirection. The detection of crime ain't only a matter of reasoning. It'sa question of facts often enough, and this here kettle's a fact. Now, itdon't belong to your people. I've asked the maids and the boy. Theydon't own to it. Then I searched elsewhere. It was about that time thatI ran against Mr. Feofe and his friends. They'd been down to the stationmaking enquiries."

  The Head looked intensely surprised. Such an act was a direct breach ofschool rules and discipline. It amounted almost to a breaking out of theschool, and was a crime he would, as a rule, punish severely. But, as amatter of fact, he had not even missed these boys from the collection ofRanleighans. He had no suspicion that they were not present, and thefact can be understood considering the nature of the business which hadbrought him to meet the assembled school. Nor was this the moment inwhich to discuss their breach of Ranleigh rules. He motioned to thesergeant to
continue.

  "They'd learned he was along at my cottage, fixed up in the station, andinsisted I should fetch him so as to follow the clue I've put beforeyou. Well, gentlemen, there wasn't a doubt as to the owner. We know him.He knows that we know him. He's here present. He's the guilty party."

  No one stirred. If the Head expected that now one of the boys wouldstand forward he was much mistaken. Not one attempted to move. More thanthat, though he searched the lines of faces, there was not a boy presentwho looked conscious or guilty. Was the sergeant mistaken? Was it he whohad gone astray from the path, and got upon a wrong line of reasoningand evidence? Mr. Axim started. He wanted to prove Clive innocent justas much as anyone else. He was honest enough not to care even if his owndeduction proved childish. But, if clues were to be followed, they mustbe followed with intelligence.

  "One moment, sergeant," he said. "This kettle."

  "Yes, sir."

  "You know the owner?"

  "Without a shadow of doubt, sir."

  "But do you know that it was the owner who made use of it last evening?Can you prove that fact? Can you show that Clive Darrell did not himselfborrow it for this unfortunate business?"

  Every eye turned upon the officer. He cleared his throat with a huskycough and returned the frank and anxious stare of Ranleigh with one ofconfidence.

  "I can," he answered, with decision. "The dressing-gown belonging to theowner of that kettle has the tails of the skirt wet with paraffin."

  "But--but----" began Mr. Axim.

  "But you can say the same for the dressing-gown belonging to Mr.Darrell. It's saturated. You see, he was bowled over in the passagewhere the stuff had been laid; at least, sir, that's his story."

  "Yes, his. He told me that at once."

  "But you didn't believe him. I did," said the sergeant sharply, whereatthere was a stir amongst the boys. They were on the point of burstingout. That sergeant had become wonderfully popular.

  "One of the best!" Masters was observing to himself, while he scowled atMr. Axim. Not that he meant much by that. Masters had changed his oldideas by now. The teaching staff at Ranleigh weren't such bad fellows,and decidedly not tyrants. But then the days of Masters' impots werelong since finished. "One of the best!" he repeated, looking at thesergeant. "I've got a whole quid in my pocket. The Governor actuallystumped up to that extent. Blessed if I don't tip the sergeant asovereign."

  "So we've got no further at the moment. Now, sir," went on the officer,addressing the Headmaster, "I'd been making enquiries round the village,and as a result I've learned that there was someone up here buyingparaffin. You see, after that first fire, school stores were safelylocked away, so that anyone who wanted the stuff had to look elsewherefor it. That paraffin was carried away by a gent who's the same as theone owning the kettle."

  There was a deep hum in the Hall. And then a hush which was almostawe-inspiring.

  "But that wasn't quite all I wanted. I looked for more. I looked whereanyone else might have looked who'd followed the clue of that kettle. Isearched the locker and boxes of that individual. I found there a diary,in which each fire is recorded, while the words make it clear that thewriter was the man we're after. Now, sir, is there anyone here whodoubts longer that Mr. Darrell can be innocent?"

  Not one. Their faces showed it. But not a boy spoke, nor even a master.The moment was far too serious for that, for a tragedy lay still beforethem. Clive was cleared, even to the satisfaction of Mr. Axim. But therewas still a guilty party. He was one of the Ranleigh boys, he was there,actually amongst them, and added to the enormity of his crime was thefact that he had failed to come forward. All eyes were on the sergeant.He was looking thoughtfully down the Hall, and seemed to glance at noone in particular. Then the boys turned their attention to theHeadmaster, to Susanne, even to Masters and Trendall. Someone stirred.It was Clive. He stepped swiftly across to the sergeant, and then to theside of the Headmaster, whispering to both of them. The School waselectrified a moment later when it received a sharp order.

  "That will do," said the Headmaster. "Boys will at once go to theirclass-rooms. This matter is happily ended, and we rejoice that CliveDarrell is still amongst us, an honoured member of Ranleigh."

  There was amazement on all faces. Obedient to the order the School atonce filed out of the Hall, while questions shot from one boy toanother. Susanne went off arm in arm with Masters. Trendall followed ourhero, while the latter actually stepped up to Rawlings and took hisarm.

  "Come on, old chap," he said kindly. "Let's be going. The Head hasdismissed the School."

  The fellow was dazed. Anyone who had taken the trouble to watch himalmost from the commencement of this business would have noticed thatRawlings stood as one in a dream. He seemed unable to follow thediscussion taking place on the dais. His eyes were staring, his mouthhalf open, while his gaze was fixed on Clive Darrell, and now he wasbabbling and grinning in extraordinary fashion. They led him gently fromthe Hall to the sick-room, where the doctor was soon in attendance, andthat afternoon the School had another sensation. Rawlings had lost hissenses. He had become insane, and was no longer responsible for hisactions. More than that, it was he who had set fire so often to theschool premises, and with the cunning of one who is insane had managedso long to elude his comrades. And now his curious behaviour of latecame to be understood. Fellows wondered why they had not noticed hisstrange ways, his taciturnity and silence. They were, in fact, the earlysymptoms of the misfortune which had attacked him. Clive, however, wasdestined to learn more of this extraordinary matter. It appeared,indeed, that for some while Rawlings had been troubled with homematters. Somehow he had discovered that his father was none too honest,and, in fact, had committed a forgery. That act had enabled him tobecome possessed of the estate which had once been Clive Darrell'sfather's. And the antipathy which Rawlings had from the first taken toour hero had persuaded him to put aside this most important discovery.But he was not all bad. The fear of a downfall, of loss of dignity, andof poverty had encouraged him to make the utmost of the benefits whichhis father's fraud had provided at the expense of Clive's people. Andthen his better nature and his conscience swayed him in an oppositedirection. What was he to do? Expose his own father? Bring ruin on himand disgrace, with a long sentence of imprisonment? The responsibilityof such a position can be well imagined. The youth was harassed. Thematter preyed on his mind, and this breakdown was the result.

  "It was rough on Rawlings," said Clive, when he talked the matter overwith his old friends. "I'm sorry for him, awfully. And it's really luckythat the father died. Of course, we've come back to our own again. I'mglad for my mother's sake. But I'm sorry for Rawlings."

  "And about that fire. You knew it was he?" asked Bert.

  "Yes. I felt certain."

  "And you wouldn't speak. Why?"

  "Because I caught only a glimpse, and because I hated to be the one toruin him."

  That was the sort of spirit at Ranleigh. Perhaps not always employedwisely and in a right manner. But it did the School honour. At any rate,the boys were sufficiently satisfied with the honour and wisdom of CliveDarrell that they straightway elected him as King of Ranleigh.

  PRINTED BY WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD. PLYMOUTH