Old Hall, New Hall

by Michael Innes

  ‘Of course, all professors are awful.’ Sadie offered this generalization with careless confidence. ‘Have you heard about Gingrass? It’s what I came up to tell you about. He’s had himself elected Patron of the Junior Archaeological Society. He says it needs waking up. And he’s just taken delivery of a young lorry-load of picks and shovels.’

  ‘Good lord!’

  ‘And he gave a short talk at the Society’s business meeting last night. All about his dear old friends, Arthur and Flinders.’

  ‘Arthur and Flinders?’

  ‘Arthur Evans and Flinders Petrie, I suppose.’

  Clout groaned. ‘How absolutely revolting!’

  ‘Oh, no – just the usual Gingrass line. As a young man, he was much tempted, it seems, to become an archaeologist. All the big-wigs in the business urged him to it.’

  ‘But he took a short, meditative holiday, and decided–’

  ‘Just that. But he’d already virtually made his name at the job. The Junior Archaeological – or some of it – was impressed. Gingrass was particularly hot on the gold helmet of Mes-kalam-dug.’ Sadie laughed. ‘That’s something you can read about in the appropriate Pelican book. I suppose Gingrass did. However, it’s plain he’s after the credit – even if he can’t go after the profit – of digging up Joscelyn’s hoard.’

  ‘And what about you and Lumb?’

  ‘Yes, we’re after it. But I doubt whether it’s for profit. Sir John, if you ask me, has a much better chance of getting his puddings and pies and a few dozen of claret and so forth out of his library than out of the Caucasus. We could dig up no end of gold and jewels, and it would be claimed absolutely by the Crown.’

  ‘Olivia points out it mayn’t be buried – just hidden.’

  Sadie shook her head. ‘Would it really make much difference? At least, if the stuff exists at all, burial is overwhelmingly probable. I can’t think why the girl doesn’t face up to that, and that there’s nothing in it in the way of cash. Unless her idea is to dig it up quietly on a dark night and decamp with it.’

  ‘I haven’t discussed it with her.’ Clout was cautious. ‘But I suspect Sir John is thinking of something of the sort himself. And I’m sure his son Jerry is.’

  Sadie jumped off the table. ‘In fact we’re all hoping, first for the vital clue, and second for a quiet, dark night?’

  Considering this for a moment, Clout decided on evasion. ‘Well – not Gingrass, at least. He want to make a big find amid circumstances of the largest publicity. Professor Gingrass standing beside his remarkable discovery: a picture by our staff photographer. That sort of thing.’

  ‘And if you and your Olivia get there first?’ Sadie was persistent. ‘It seems a shame there shouldn’t be a photograph in The Times of so handsome a couple. But you’ll simply–’ She suddenly broke off in this banter. ‘Listen, Colin. There’s somebody coming up your staircase.’

  ‘It’s him.’ Clout sounded resigned. ‘I know that tread now. I’ll recognize it – and cower in my shroud – if it ever passes over my grave.’

  Sadie was amused. ‘Your mind’s coming to work just like Joscelyn’s. I suppose that’s as it should be. But is it really Milder?’

  ‘Infallibly.’

  ‘Then let’s hide – as you were doing. If there’s room, that is, for two in your cupboard.’

  ‘Come on, then.’ Clout grabbed Sadie’s hand. ‘There’s lots of room. It’s not as much a cupboard as another attic, running close by the eaves.’

  In another moment they were in darkness. ‘It seems a waste,’ Sadie murmured in Clout’s ear.

  ‘What do you mean – a waste?’

  ‘It’s being only me, Colin dear.’

  ‘Shut up, you idiot – or he’ll hear.’

  There had been a knock, and then the sound of a door opening. Professor Milder was undoubtedly in Clout’s room.

  ‘That’s funny! He’s poking about.’ It was a couple of minutes later, and the words came from Sadie in a cautious whisper. Clout could feel her breath on the side of his face. And – what was quite unnecessary even amid the crowded junk around them – her whole body was pressed close against his side. He knew that there was nothing even faintly lecherous about Sadie, and that she wasn’t attempting any covert return to their first and almost infantile relationship. She was just being mildly malicious. She knew that she was making him slightly uncomfortable; and she knew that, at the same time, he would have felt he was being very offensive if he edged away. And now she proceeded to travesty this situation. ‘I’m terrified,’ she breathed – and suddenly hugged his arm. ‘Oh, how thankful I am for a protector!’

  ‘For goodness sake, be quiet. If he finds us, we’ll look absolute fools. Why doesn’t he go away? He’s no business, hanging round my empty room.’

  ‘Milder’s of an inquiring mind. Perhaps he’s making a mental inventory of your books. For conversational purposes, you know, when he gets home.’ Sadie, who had the merit (unlike a certain Duke of Nesfield, Clout thought) of never overdoing a joke, had withdrawn into the darkness of their long triangular tunnel. ‘What a mass of rubbish,’ she whispered.

  ‘It’s been lying here for centuries, I imagine. Now, whatever can that chap want, hanging around?’ Clout stiffened suddenly. ‘Ssh! There’s somebody else.’

  There was certainly a sound of voices from Clout’s room. Sadie felt her way cautiously back to the door. ‘It’s Gingrass,’ she whispered.

  Clout was annoyed. This was a ridiculous situation. Their dive into hiding had been thoroughly childish in itself: and if by some accident they now gave themselves away it would be most humiliating. Gingrass would be hugely and tiresomely amused. Or – equally conceivably – he would turn highly censorious and moral, and hurry off to the Vice-Chancellor for the purpose of unmasking this guilty relationship. Gingrass was always unpredictable. It was chiefly what made him such a nuisance about the place. And, in a way, Sadie Sackett was unpredictable too. She might take it into her head to startle the two professors with an enormous synthetic sneeze. Clout peered into the gloom. Here and there chinks of light appeared in the sloping roof – this part must have slates, not lead – and now he could just see Sadie stretching out an arm to him. She took him by the sleeve and drew him gently towards the door by which she was crouching. The murmur of voices was a little louder. He realized that she had heard something which was prompting her to eavesdrop upon Milder and Gingrass. He wasn’t going to be more fastidious than she was. He listened too. Gingrass, he supposed, had come up to pester him with some instructions about the Higher Literary Forms – and finding Milder in the room instead of his assistant, had stopped to gossip. And now Milder appeared to have said something that excited him.

  ‘No doubt of it?’ Gingrass was saying

  ‘…whatever…your young man…fresh document…’ Milder, because of the monotonous drooling which served him for articulate speech, was harder to follow than Gingrass.

  ‘Right on the spot?’ Gingrass’ voice was eager. ‘Of course, it’s what might be expected. There they were.’

  ‘Sure…sure…’ The gently soporific tones of Milder flowed relentlessly on. ‘…your young man…to a solicitor…seeking advice…but just before death…never even mailed.’

  ‘Mailed?’ Gingrass – who could be enormously stupid – was perplexed.

  ‘Posted. Never even posted, you would say. So I reckon no action would have been taken…certainly…not more than a day’s work.’

  ‘And you were going to discuss it with my young man?’

  Milder’s reply was long and indistinguishable. Probably he had done one of those neat switches of his – like relay-racers transferring a baton – and was giving Gingrass some statistics about the English climate, or the principal exports of the Gold Coast. And then, rather suddenly, there was silence. The two professors had departed.

  ‘Too much dust and cobweb here. Let’s get out.’ Sadie thrust open the door and they emerged into Clout’s room. Then she looked back. ‘
I don’t see’, she said, ‘how a university ever came by the sort of junk they’ve shoved in here.’

  Clout shook his head. ‘It goes back further, I suppose. Just never cleared out.’

  ‘Goes back to Jorys?’

  ‘I suppose it very well may. I’ve sometimes thought I’d have a rummage there.’ Clout was glancing round his room. Milder’s mysterious hovering in it had made him obscurely uneasy.

  ‘Would you mind if I had – one day?’

  ‘Go ahead, any time.’ Not much attending to Sadie, Clout walked over to his table. ‘Milder’s left me a note.’ He picked up an envelope. ‘That’s queer. And I wonder if he writes as he talks.’

  ‘Then open it, you ass, and see.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Clout tore open the envelope. The communication inside was quite substantial, but it stopped short of being actually a treatise or an essay. ‘How very odd,’ Clout said presently. ‘He’s asking me to lunch.’

  ‘Why should it be odd?’ Sadie was rather impatient. ‘You’re colleagues, each with this interest in Sir Joscelyn; and Milder’s the senior man. He ought to ask you to lunch. When’s it for?’

  ‘It’s for today – and in about an hour’s time.’

  ‘Refectory?’

  ‘No. In town – the Metropole. He must have plenty of money. But then all Yanks do.’

  Sadie nodded. ‘Well, it’s very decent of him – although it’s at rather shorter notice than seems quite polite. You’ll have to be off almost at once.’

  ‘I don’t see why I should be bothered with him. I’ve already suffered a great deal, as I’ve said.’ Clout scowled at the letter. ‘But wait a minute. There’s quite a lot more.’ He read on – and suddenly startled Sadie with a shout of excitement. ‘I’ve wronged him!’ he cried. ‘I’ve wronged that admirable man!’

  ‘Do you mean he’s offering you something?’ Sadie looked excited. She had a trick of tumbling to things.

  ‘Yes – he is! A couple of years at his own college. They have a Fellowship in Creative Writing. He says a young novelist is just what they want.’

  ‘And he’s found out that that’s what you are, Colin?’ Sadie seemed rather more amused than was wholly tactful. At the same time she had a puzzled frown. ‘I wonder why he doesn’t choose George.’

  Clout felt no need to resent this. He was reading the letter again. ‘It’s not an absolute offer. But he thinks I’ve an excellent chance. And he wants to discuss it at once, so that he can write off to America this afternoon. I say! I’d better be off. Do you mind?’

  ‘Certainly you’d better be off.’ Sadie was staring at him thoughtfully. ‘Lucky, lucky Clout! And perhaps poor old George can have the Shufflebotham, after all.’

  ‘I hope so – tremendously.’ Clout felt he could be magnanimous.

  ‘I suppose you’ll be across the Atlantic in no time. But you won’t forget to find Olivia Jory her treasure first? Just another one in the eye for George as you go.’

  ‘Shut up, Sadie. I won’t have it put across me that I’m doing a gloat over George Lumb. He’s not a bad chap, and I expect he’ll wish me luck. If I do really get the thing, that is. And now, let’s go.’

  ‘All right – let’s go. Or rather, you go. I’ll follow you down in a few minutes, if that’s all right.’ Sadie resumed her seat on the table.

  ‘Quite all right – of course.’ Clout supposed that, for some reason, Sadie hadn’t a fancy for being seen tagging round with him. It was because of Olivia, no doubt. ‘Shall you still be at the University after tea?’ he asked. ‘I’d like to come and tell you how it went.’

  Sadie nodded. ‘I’ll be in the Library,’ she said. Ever so faintly in her tone there was an acknowledgement that she had liked his saying that. ‘So long, Colin. And good luck.’

  Clout gave her rather a sheepish grin – he knew very well that he was sufficiently excited to seem mildly ridiculous – and departed. For some seconds Sadie sat quite still. Then she got up and walked to the window. She stood there, looking thoughtfully out, for quite a long time.

  3

  It was an hour or more after any normal lunch-time that Olivia Jory, in her turn, knocked on Clout’s door. As she got no reply, she waited for a few seconds and then knocked again. This time a voice called to her to enter. It was a girl’s voice. Olivia opened the door and walked in.

  Sadie Sackett was the only person in the room. She was sitting on the table in the middle, with an oddly obtrusive air of doing nothing at all. This struck Olivia so powerfully, indeed, that she at once suspected the room’s owner of having bolted into hiding. Probably she had interrupted a disgusting petting-party. She pointed at the only other door she could see. ‘I suppose Colin’s in there?’ she asked coldly.

  ‘In there? Colin?’ Miss Sackett was certainly startled. At the same time, she looked rather threatening. For a moment Olivia couldn’t decide quite why. Then she saw that it was because the girl was casually swinging what might be called a blunt instrument. It was, in fact, a crowbar. ‘Colin?’ Sadie repeated. ‘No, he’s not here. He’s gone to lunch with that American professor – Milder.’ And she added: ‘I’ve been doing a bit of cleaning up for him. The old women on the job are no good.’

  ‘Somebody might do a bit of cleaning up for you.’ Olivia had now noticed that Sadie was quite fantastically begrimed. ‘You look like somebody going to a fancy-dress ball as a cobweb.’

  Sadie laughed at this as if she heard nothing offensive in it. ‘I’ll bet I do. I’ve been having a go at that cupboard. It’s full of junk.’ She tossed the crowbar carelessly into a corner, where it fell with a bang that made Olivia jump. ‘Did you want Colin? I don’t know when he’ll be back. By the way, you look scared.’

  ‘Scared?’ Olivia was indignant.

  ‘Well, agitated.’

  ‘I’m not agitated. But something’s happened, and I do want Colin. Why should that Professor Milder invite him to lunch?’

  Sadie grinned. ‘That’, she said, ‘turns out to be a very great puzzle. What do you think of Milder?’

  ‘I don’t think of him all.’ Olivia spoke impatiently. ‘He’s somebody one would positively try not to think of, I’d say.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Olivia frowned. ‘I don’t think Professor Milder’s of any importance, anyway. But Professor Gingrass is.’ She hesitated. ‘Look here – we’re on different sides, I know. But I’d better tell you what I came to tell Colin. Gingrass has got ahead of us. He’s doing a tremendous dig.’

  ‘For the Caucasian treasure?’

  ‘Yes, of course. He’s got together a big party of your scruffy students–’

  Sadie Sackett got off the table. ‘ Your manners are awful,’ she said.

  Olivia flushed. ‘All right – I apologize. But it’s objectively true, you know. They wear their hair too long, and have spotty complexions, and ridiculous ties. I don’t say they’re not very decent chaps.’

  ‘But a great gulf yawns?’ Sadie laughed. ‘Still, I don’t suppose they’re planning to make off with valuable property on the quiet.’

  For a moment Olivia Jory seemed at a loss. ‘Look here,’ she said. ‘There’s no point, is there, in our starting a slanging match? Gingrass has mobilized some sort of archaeological society, and is digging away behind the old coach-house. Come to think of it, that’s quite an intelligent guess. That’s what would have happened when those horses ran away. The sots would have buried the stuff there and then.’

  Sadie shook her head. ‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘As a matter of fact, it hasn’t been, with Gingrass, just an intelligent guess. Somebody’s spun him a yarn. There’s something mysterious about it.’

  ‘Well, the yarn must have made him pretty confident. He’s blowing great guns. Turned out the guard. You positively feel the absence of a great brass band. It’s infuriating.’

  ‘Is it?’ Sadie, on the contrary, seemed to find amusement in Gingrass’ proceedings. ‘There’s a crowd?’

  ‘Everybody.’ Olivi
a made a gesture round the attic of the Shufflebotham Student. ‘Every Tom, Dick, and Harry belonging to this venerable place of learning is on the spot. From your Vice-Chancellor downwards.’

  ‘The V-C?’ Sadie was delighted. ‘Let’s go and look.’

  Olivia nodded. ‘Very well – we’ll go and look. But, considering that you and George Lumb have been all out to get this stuff for Sir John, I think you take it very lightly. Why were those miserable professors allowed to come to New Hall, anyway? They had no business there at all.’

  ‘Displaced persons, you feel?’ Sadie moved to the door. ‘Well, your great-great-grandfather’s Grecian girl-friend was that. Not to speak of Sir Joscelyn’s mummy. In fact, there’s a lot that’s got displaced in this affair. But come along.’

  Gingrass’ dig was already a spectacular event, and everybody was delighted with it. Or everybody except the young ladies and gentlemen of the Riding Club. These – they were the hard core of the University’s smart set – had been granted the use of the old coach-house, and of part of a range of stabling beyond. On turning up after luncheon, nicely dressed, for an afternoon’s equitation under the admiring eyes of their simpler fellows, they were naturally annoyed at finding the greater part of the stable-yard a chaos of pits and trenches. They mounted and rode away, but nobody attended to them. This had the effect of bringing most of them back, from time to time, to the fringes of the crowd. Their opinion of the Junior Archaeological Society was, in any case, low; and they watched these grubbing and grovelling proceedings with disdain. Nevertheless their presence suggested a mounted escort called out to lend consequence to Gingrass’ endeavours. And these could scarcely have conducted themselves amid a more dazzling publicity. The Vice-Chancellor was presiding as if over some formal academic occasion; grouped around him, the greater part of the Staff lent amiable and instructed countenance to these learned proceedings in their midst; and, in a wide ring beyond these, virtually the entire student body speculated, gossiped, and wondered – with now and then a little skylarking thrown in to help pass the time.