by John Hall
I too thought it was time I buckled down to work, and so I replaced my cigar case in my pocket, with a touch of regret, and made my way to the Third form classroom. Things were quiet to begin with, then about half the boys arrived together in the late morning, I gathered that they had travelled on the same train. Another group arrived after luncheon, and had to be provided with soup and sandwiches by the cooks. And finally some odd stragglers, who had missed their trains, or been driven to the school by doting parents, made their way into the classroom.
I had little to do but tick them off as they appeared. They were the usual mixed bag you get in any school, perhaps a little more confident than the ordinary run of boys, which was hardly surprising given that they came from affluent and influential families. I noticed that they regarded me with some curiosity, perhaps wondering why they had been saddled with such an old duffer – for such I must have appeared to their youthful eyes.
There were thirty-one boys in the class, which struck me as something of a coincidence, as my old school number had been thirty-one. Moreover, the boy whose name appeared on the last line of the register, beside the number ‘31’, was none other than a Watson Minor! This double coincidence impressed me greatly; it seemed almost as if it were an omen of good luck, so if I took special notice of this youngster who had the same name as me you will not be too surprised. I turned back a page of the register, to see that there had been thirty-two boys until quite recently, the last name in the old list being that ‘Whitechurch’ whose dismissal had alerted Holmes to events at the school in the first place.
I noticed that Watson sat next to a boy named Edmonds, and that the two of them seemed firm friends. But I could not help but notice also that neither boy seemed entirely at ease. Now, remembering my own school days, I might have thought that it was merely an understandable reluctance to resume their studies which cast a blight over their young lives, but it seemed to me to be deeper than that. I resolved that I should ask at the first opportunity what was troubling them, and hoped that they would have sufficient confidence in me to allow me to help.
I have said that my task that day consisted of little more than ticking off the names as individuals appeared, but I had another duty, and that was to collect the cash they had brought back with them as ‘pocket money’, and issue each boy with a receipt. This pocket money was to be handed to Carstairs for safekeeping, and doled out at so much per week over the school term. It was a considerable amount, the average sum being far in excess of the miserable stipend I recollected from my own time at school. I was slightly taken aback by this until I recollected that these boys were from wealthy families. When the roll was complete, I told the boys to find their rooms, for I had learned that there were no communal dormitories as such, but that three or four boys shared a room. And moreover these were quite comfortable bedrooms, which I must say struck me as another quite considerable improvement on my own old school.
As I say, I had collected a large amount of money, and this was mainly in Bank of England notes and gold, there was little silver and less copper in the final total. I gathered it up and sought out Carstairs, who greeted me cheerfully. He counted the money, checked my counterfoils, and gave me another receipt for the whole. ‘All businesslike, you see,’ he told me.
‘Yes, indeed.’ I hesitated. This seemed to me to be an ideal starting point for my enquiries, and I went on, ‘I confess that I was rather surprised at the magnitude of the sums involved. You must have a good deal to look after, seeing that there are seven forms, and all, presumably, handing over the same sort of amount?’
Carstairs laughed. ‘Oh, there’s more than seven times this amount,’ he told me. ‘The school has a regular sliding scale, so much per week allowed to the first-formers, and then they can have a bit more with each year’s service, as it were. “Allowed” is perhaps not the right word, the school “suggests” an upper limit.’
‘And the suggestion is worded so that it can’t be refused?’ I said.
‘Just so,’ said Carstairs, laughing. ‘Even so, the limit is set pretty high, so the Upper Sixth live like fighting cocks on their pocket money.’ He sighed, a touch enviously as it seemed to me.
‘Nothing like this when I was a lad,’ I said bluntly.
‘Nor me, worse luck! Not that I was ever in quite this league, of course. But I was saying that there is an upper limit, and I think that’s a good thing. It gives the boys an idea of what it must be like to have a set income, and a lot of them wouldn’t know that without this system. When you think about it, some of these lads will never go short of anything. And some of ’em will go on to become prime ministers, judges, so they might have, quite literally, the power of life and death over their fellow men. A humbling thought.’
‘It is indeed. And some of these Indian chaps, and what not –’ I broke off, leaving the thought only half expressed.
Carstairs, however, seemed to sense my meaning. ‘I’ve thought the very same thing more than once,’ he said with a nod. ‘In a way, we act as ambassadors for the old country. If some of these foreign potentates took it into their heads that England was less than friendly – well! Up to us to make them remember their school days as the happiest of their little lives, is it not?’
I could not help thinking that it was indeed. And with that thought a great foreboding seemed to crawl over me, like an unannounced eclipse in all the blaze and glare of full noon. What the devil was I doing here? I could not hope to fool a class of five year olds at a Board School, much less the eighteen-year-old sons of dukes, earls, bishops and maharajahs! Yes, what the devil was I doing here? And what the devil did Holmes mean by dragging me into his madcap schemes, particularly when I had told him I wanted nothing whatever to do with any sort of investigation, were it only as innocuous as finding a missing poodle? My one and only hope of escape, my sole chance of coming out of this hideous hash with anything approaching dignity, was to conclude the investigation as quickly as possible, and hare out of there at top speed.
I squared my shoulders, then, and nodded at the heap of cash on Carstairs’s desk. ‘Whatever one may think of the system, I certainly wouldn’t care for the responsibility of looking after that sort of pile of cash. Just glad it’s out of my hands now.’
‘Oh,’ said Carstairs carelessly, ‘I don’t have the worry of looking after it, thank the Lord. I’ll turn it over to the head, and he’ll put it in his safe until tomorrow, when I shall take it to the bank. Then I go back to the bank to draw out the appropriate amount each Thursday or Friday, the head locks that away again until I ask him for it, then I hand it to you chaps, who dole it out on Friday night or Saturday morning, as seems best to you. All very safe and secure.’
‘Unless someone hits you on the head on the way to or from the bank?’ I suggested.
Carstairs laughed. ‘I vary the day and time that I go, a bit, so that there’s no set pattern a crook could spot. And the school caretaker goes with me. I don’t know if you’ve met him, but he’s an ex-prizefighter, and pretty rough and tough. We haven’t had any trouble thus far.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ I hesitated, as if reluctant to bring the topic up. ‘Although didn’t someone tell me that a boy had taken some money from Dr Longton’s study last term?’
‘Who told you that?’ asked Carstairs quickly.
‘I don’t know if I recall who it was,’ said I, being deliberately vague. ‘You know how it is when you’re thinking of taking up a post at a new school, you ask questions, take notice of what is being said about the place. You yourself mentioned something of the sort earlier, for that matter.’’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Carstairs with something like relief. ‘I trust it was me – I – who told you, for I wouldn’t like to think that the tale is being bandied about generally outside the school. Well, whoever it may have been, they had it right, for there was an unfortunate incident towards the end of last term. But we don’t like to talk about it, you know.’
‘Indeed not. But if o
ne of the boys in one’s charge were to be that way inclined, it might be as well to know about it, don’t you think? Only fair, and all that.’
‘The boy in question was expelled, sir.’ There was an odd note in Carstairs’s voice. Did he not believe what he said, or was he merely desirous of changing the subject, I wondered.
I raised an eyebrow. ‘You do not sound wholeheartedly convinced, Mr Carstairs.’
He glanced at the door of his room, which was closed, and lowered his voice. ‘I know the boy’s family, sir, and it struck me as being very strange indeed. Positively fishy, in fact. You will, I am sure, hear talk, rumours, during your time here, so it might be as well to know the truth. The boy accused of the theft was young Lord Whitechurch, son of the Duke of Greyminster.’
‘Good Lord!’ I feigned surprise at this. ‘But the duke is one of the richest men in all England, is he not?’
‘In the world, more like,’ nodded Carstairs. ‘And the amount he was accused of taking was twenty-five pounds. Oh, for most folk that is a hefty sum, even you or I would not dismiss it lightly, but for the Duke of Greyminster, and for Lord Whitechurch, it is a trifle. If the boy had needed that amount, he could have telegraphed to his father. Or he could have used what we call our little “imprest” system, that is to say he could have borrowed against this next term’s pocket money. No, it is very curious that he should have wanted, or needed, to take that sum. And that is not the only curious aspect of the matter, nor the most curious aspect of it either.’
‘No?’
‘No, sir.’ Carstairs glanced again at the door that led to the corridor, then nodded at the other door on the far side of his study, which led, I took it, to Dr Longton’s room. ‘Dr Longton is not in his study at the moment,’ he said, confirming my guess, ‘and obviously I should not be gossiping like this if he were. And equally obviously, I rely upon you, sir, not to discuss the matter further.’
‘Oh, of course.’
‘But that door, although closed, is not locked,’ Carstairs went on, again indicating the door to the head’s study. ‘If I needed something from Dr Longton’s room, a ledger, a file, even a stamp, were I to run out of them, I should simply go in there and take what I needed. Of course, if the head were in his room, I should knock first, and wait until given leave to enter.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘A touch informal?’
‘Dr Longton is not starchy, sir.’
‘No, I meant rather that anyone could go in there. After all, you wouldn’t want a boy looking at his own file or what have you, would you? Or a master, come to that.’
Carstairs laughed. ‘The files and books are locked away safely, sir. Dr Longton has one set of keys, I have another, and nobody else can get at the private documents. That was the point I was about to make. Two points, really. One being that although anyone could, in theory, get into his study quite easily, Dr Longton is the most scrupulous of men when it comes to locking away valuables. The other, although perhaps it is, strictly speaking, an amplification or demonstration of the first point, is that I myself have been in and out of his study – what? – a dozen times a day for the last couple of years, and never have I seen money left out in plain view. Never. You see now why I find it well-nigh incredible that bank notes should have been left reposing on his desk. And then there is the whole question of a boy’s actually daring to go into the headmaster’s room at all. The usual course would be for the boy to report to me, and for me to inform the head that a boy wished to see him.’
‘And if you were not in here for some reason?’
‘The boy would simply wait until I arrived,’ said Carstairs.
‘So you are sometimes out of the room?’
‘I pop in and out all the time. But even I do not know just when I shall be popping out, so how could a boy possibly know? Oh, I grant you that a boy might come in here and find that I was out, but he would not dare to disturb the headmaster. He would sit quietly over there,’ and Carstairs pointed to a couple of wicker chairs that stood against the far wall, ‘until I returned.’
‘And suppose this hypothetical boy had seen you leave, seen the head outside somewhere, and thus knew that he had a few moments until one or both of you should return?’ I asked.
Carstairs shook his head. ‘It is possible, though improbable. But granted that the improbable had occurred, we then come across the other objection, namely that the money should not have been left out in the first place.’
‘Dr Longton may have just taken it from his safe, though? Or have been about to place it in the safe? He may have been called away unexpectedly?’
‘I can recall no sort of emergency upon the day in question,’ said Carstairs shortly. ‘And in any event, if some emergency did chance to prevent one locking the notes away a drawer or filing cabinet, would the logical course of action not be to put them in one’s pocket? I cannot understand why the head simply left them lying about like that. Most uncharacteristic.’
‘H’mm. I suppose they were just lying about, though? No chance of anyone taking them out of the safe?’
Carstairs shook his head. ‘Even I don’t have a key to the safe. There are two of them, the head has one on his watch chain, the other is held by the chairman of the school governors, himself a wealthy man in his own right, and a JP to boot. Nothing there, I’m afraid.’
‘No, I see that.’
‘And then they were Bank of England notes, five notes of five pounds each, and brand new. Everyone knows that such notes can be traced readily enough by their numbers. It makes no sense at all.’
‘I wonder why the money was there in the first place?’
‘I have said that money goes in and out each week,’ said Carstairs. ‘As a matter of strict, accurate fact, I myself had handed that week’s cash over to the head that same morning, so I assume the notes were part of that.’
‘Well, that explains that. As to the oddity of the matter, you have quite convinced me,’ I told him. ‘But its being odd hardly solves the puzzle. After all, one must ask a further question. If this lad did not steal the notes, then who did?’
Carstairs shrugged his shoulders. ‘I have asked myself that question, and more than once or twice, Mr Harris, you may be sure. Had the boy not been seen leaving the head’s room, or the notes not been found amongst his possessions, the logical suspect would have been yours truly, and that might have proved a touch awkward for me.’ He produced a silk hankerchief and wiped his brow before going on, ‘And if I had actually done it – well! Instant dismissal, and ruin, for one would never get another post in the profession.’
‘Indeed not. Who saw the boy, by the way? You?’
Carstairs shook his head. ‘The first I knew about it was at morning assembly, just like the rest of them. That was another odd thing; you’d think the head would’ve mentioned it to me and the other staff first.’
‘Well, it is something of a puzzle. And I understand that there was a second upset of a more serious sort towards the end of last term?’
‘Ah, yes.’ Carstairs looked embarrassed at this.
‘Again, it might be as well if I knew the facts,’ I pointed out, ‘rather than hearing all sorts of wretched stories and rumours –’ I broke off as the door opened, and a short but bulky man, with dark hair and extremely bushy eyebrows, entered the room.
Three
The newcomer glanced at me with some considerable distaste, and I realized that I had unconsciously assumed a relaxed attitude and was half sitting on the edge of Carstairs’s desk. I levered myself to my feet, and nodded a greeting to the man who had just entered the room.
Carstairs hurriedly stood up and said, ‘Mr Graves, this is Mr Harris, the new English master. Mr Harris, this is the deputy head, Mr Graves.’
‘Delighted, sir!’ said I, holding out my hand.
Graves looked as if he would have liked to ignore my overture, but then took hold of my hand for long enough to give it a perfunctory shake, mumbling something or the other which I could not
catch as he did so. He turned at once to Carstairs. ‘I have merely come to hand over the Upper Sixth’s pocket money,’ and he heaped a great pile of gold and notes upon the table.
‘Just been doing the same. Rather like the Sunday collection in church, is it not?’ I said, attempting to invest the situation with a suggestion of humour.
Graves evidently did not see the joke. He cast me a single withering glance, then told Carstairs, ‘I should be grateful for the usual receipt.’ When Carstairs had hastily counted the cash and issued a chit for it, Graves went on to me, ‘I am sure Mr Carstairs has much to do on the first day of term, so perhaps we should leave him undisturbed?’
I took the hint readily enough. I nodded to Carstairs, and followed Graves out of the room.
‘You must not blame Mr Carstairs for being temporarily distracted from his duties, you know,’ I told Graves as we strolled down the corridor. ‘I’m afraid I was asking him a good many questions about the school, and I am sure you will understand my thirst for knowledge.’
Graves stopped, turned, and looked at me. ‘You do not know our little ways, Mr Harris,’ said he, ‘but the fact is that many of us, the masters, that is to say, have been at this school for the whole of our working lives. In fact many of us were pupils here. I was myself. And whilst we do not like to think of ourselves as stuffy, or backward looking, we do rather tend to have our little hierarchy. The senior masters do not, as a rule, associate too much with the younger men, such as Mr Carstairs.’ He gazed at me with wonderfully penetrating eyes from under those bushy brows.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I quite understand. But then I myself am something of a new boy, so to speak. Not in years, of course – would that I were! But in terms of experience. Of the Abbey School, that is to say,’ I added hastily, lest he think I was meaning my teaching career generally. ‘So obviously I have a lot to learn, and I really need to know my way about the place as quickly as possible, if I am to fit in halfway through the year, as it were, without too much disruption.’
