by Henry Cecil
‘Deserving people never ask.’
‘I didn’t say deserving. I said amusing. We’ve given £2,500 for deserving people. I’m sure that parson will see it’s used properly. Actually, I’ve a sneaking respect for the man.’
‘I don’t think we ought to stress the wealth in any advertisement. Otherwise we’d want a staff like a pool promoter’s to deal with the answers. Besides, mere requests for money can’t be amusing. We want a job to do.’
‘Agreed,’ said Basil. ‘Let’s try to work out an advertisement.’
In consequence of many attempts, the following advertisement appeared in the daily Press a week later:
Bring your problems of difficulty to us. We have the means and ability to tackle most of them and if sufficiently interested we will do so at our own expense. No applications for money considered.
‘Whose idea was this?’ said Basil when they had the first batch of answers. ‘We shall need a secretary to sort these out.’
‘Elizabeth and I will choose one for you,’ said Petula.
‘How thoughtful of you, darling,’ said Nicholas. ‘Always ready to help. Talking of which, I don’t see why you and Elizabeth shouldn’t do them.’
They were right to expect crooks and cranks and, in addition, in spite of the warning in the advertisement, they had many requests for money.
‘I was wondering, old boy,’ said Nicholas, ‘what it feels like to give away £2,000.’
‘I’ve told you,’ said Basil with some feeling.
‘Ah, but it was different in your case. He tweaked your nose in the process.’
‘I hope your flower girl didn’t take the same or any similar liberty,’ said Petula.
‘No. I’m quite serious,’ said Nicholas. ‘I should like to see what it feels like. I shouldn’t mind you trying it out, if you wanted to,’ he added, turning to Petula.
‘Why should I give away £2,000?’ said Petula.
‘It might make you happy,’ said Elizabeth. ‘At least that’s what Nicholas thinks.’
‘It might make someone else happy,’ said Petula, ‘but I don’t see why it should make me happy.’
‘Then why did you agree to our trying?’
‘Oh, I agree to everything. That doesn’t include flower girls,’ she added quickly.
‘I think I might enjoy giving away £2,000,’ said Elizabeth, slowly, ‘to some really godlike young man. I wonder what he’d do.’
‘Take it.’
‘Is that all?’
‘That is all,’ said Basil firmly.
‘Oh,’ said Elizabeth, ‘I shouldn’t get much fun out of that.’
‘This all shows,’ said Basil, ‘that just giving away money — like that — isn’t any good.’
‘Except to a flower girl,’ said Petula.
‘That proves the rule,’ said Nicholas.
‘The rule is that there are no flower girls,’ said Petula.
‘What we want,’ went on Basil, ‘is a real job — something to tax our ingenuity.’
‘Well,’ said Nicholas, ‘there ought to be something in that heap.
There was. Among others there was a letter from Mr Buckram of Poppleton, acting for a number of residents in Tapworth Magna.
‘My clients,’ he wrote, ‘do not wish to make the slightest insinuation against Mr Merridew, to whom they have already paid £10,000 damages, but in view of all the circumstances and in particular the information given them by Mr Pudsey, they feel that it is only through such an organization as yours that the matter can be fully investigated. They are not prepared to throw good money after bad, but if you could see your way to undertaking an inquiry into the relationship between Mr Merridew and Mr Drewe and the mysterious burglary — all of which our clients accept as being entirely genuine and straightforward — they will be deeply obliged.’
‘That,’ said Basil, ‘could be worth at least another £10,000 except for the fact that they know too much and we don’t want it. Shall we send them back their £10,000?’
‘Why?’ said Petula.
‘Why not?’ said Nicholas.
‘You’re always against me,’ said Petula.
‘Only when you’re rude to my flower-sellers,’ said Nicholas.
‘We don’t need the money, and just in case of accidents it might be the sensible thing to do. There’d never be a prosecution if they had their money back.’
‘Mightn’t it make people suspicious of the kitchen table?’
‘They can be suspicious as long as they like. We’re now a happy united family. So we were before Nicholas pinched Elizabeth.’
‘I would never allow that kind of liberty,’ said Elizabeth.
‘Figuratively,’ said Basil.
‘Not there either,’ said Elizabeth; ‘least of all.’
‘Never mind,’ said Basil. ‘They can’t do a thing about that, but Tapworth is rather different. I suggest we let them have it back. Agreed?’
‘All except the flower girl,’ said Petula.
‘She wasn’t at Tapworth.’
‘Agreed,’ said Petula.
Some days later Mr Buckram, who received no reply to his answer to the advertisement, was surprised to receive the following letter.
Dear Sir, I have a grave objection to a wagging tongue, and while I lived at Tapworth Magna I considered that too many of them wagged. I hope that the loss of £10,000 in total was a sufficient lesson to the owners of those tongues and, as I never intended to do anything except teach them that lesson, I have — I will not say pleasure but some satisfaction, in sending you the sum of £10,000, together with interest at 5 per cent since payment to me. I hope that amid the cries of astonishment some of your clients will find time to say a good word for
Yours faithfully,
Basil Merridew
Mr Buckram read the letter through again to see that he had not made a mistake and then immediately informed General Purbrick. In consequence, a meeting of the persons concerned was convened by the General at his house.
‘Well,’ said the General when they were all assembled, ‘what do we do? Do we take it?’
‘Do we take it?’ Judge Strachan almost yelled. ‘Of course we do. Surely you haven’t temporized with him. He may change his mind and stop the cheque.’
‘Have no fear on that account,’ put in Mr Buckram. ‘I have already had it specially cleared. I thought there could be no harm in that. We can always send it back if you so decide.’
‘Send it back?’ said the Judge. ‘Why on earth should we?’
‘My dear Judge,’ said the General, ‘don’t you remember our last interview with him? He made you perform like a monkey on a stick. I’m not sure that you didn’t come off worst of all of us.’
‘Well, then,’ said the Judge, ‘if I’m in favour of taking it, you all ought to be. If a burglar ties you up and spits at you and steals your purse, you wouldn’t refuse to take it back just because he spat at you.’
‘It’s a point of view,’ said the General. ‘I personally don’t want to touch the fellow’s money. Look how he behaved at the cricket match.’
‘It isn’t his money,’ said the Judge. ‘He extracted it from us by threats.’
‘No more than any other plaintiff does. What do you say, Mr Buckram?’
Mr Buckram was in a difficulty. On the legal aspect he agreed with the General, but he hardly felt it politic to disagree with the Judge, before whom he was to appear the next day.
‘I think,’ he said after a pause, ‘that I understand both points of view. I will do whatever I’m instructed.’
‘But you must have a mind, man,’ said the General. ‘What do you think? We’ll instruct you later on. At the moment we’re asking for your advice. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?’
‘Well, Sir Bragge,’ said Mr Buckram rather unhappily, ‘if it were my money . . .’ He paused.
The General and the Judge looked hard at him. He did quite a lot of work for the General, and sometimes he did it before t
he Judge.
‘Yes, if it were your money,’ said the General and the Judge together.
Mr Buckram gulped and plunged. ‘I should take it,’ he said.
‘You lawyers,’ said the General. ‘What about your pride man?’
‘It’s easy for you to talk,’ said the Judge. ‘Rich men can afford to have pride. What do you say, Doctor?’
‘If you ask me,’ said the Doctor, ‘the man’s mad. He’s a pathological case. In the normal way, I shouldn’t take money from a lunatic, but as he’s taken it off me first, I don’t see why I shouldn’t. Yes, I support you, George.’
‘Well, Vicar,’ said the General, ‘you’ve been very quiet.’
‘You forget. I don’t really come into this. Nicholas insisted on paying my share. I wouldn’t take it. So we compromised by giving it to the Church Restoration Fund.’
‘But he’s included it in the cheque.’
‘Yes, of course, he would. He wouldn’t know about Nicholas. Well, that had better go to the Restoration Fund too. I personally wouldn’t touch a penny from the man.’
The Vicar recollected with some feeling his last two interviews with Basil. ‘But I don’t see why he shouldn’t help the Church. No, on the whole I agree with the Judge.’
Eventually it was agreed by a large majority to accept the money.
‘Very well, then,’ said Mr Buckram. ‘What shall I say in reply?’
‘I acknowledge with thanks your cheque, which will be distributed among the parties entitled thereto,’ said the judge.
‘Oh, no,’ said the General. ‘I’m entirely against taking the money, but you’ve outvoted me. So that’s that. But if we are taking it we must take it graciously. Give the fellow his due, he needn’t have sent it. We needn’t take it, but if we do we should do it properly.’
As a result of some further discussion Basil eventually received the following letter:
Dear Sir, My Clients were, as you imagined, astonished to hear of your letter and enclosure. They are bound to say that they did not understand your behaviour at Tapworth Magna any more than they understand your present attitude. At the same time they recognize that you are plainly making a most generous gesture towards them, and while still puzzled at it they have instructed me to accept your cheque in the same spirit as that in which it is offered
— whatever that may have been.
‘Good,’ said Basil. ‘We can close that episode now. Now what about the expelled schoolboy? I must say it rather intrigues me.’
He was referring to another of the replies to their advertisement. It ran as follows:
In answer to your advertisement, we should like to consult you about a most painful matter which seems incapable of remedy. Our only son has been expelled from his preparatory school for cheating in an examination. We are quite sure that he is innocent, but apparently have no redress. His whole career will be ruined and our hearts broken. We note that you do not require financial assistance, but we should make it plain that we should be very pleased to pay anything in order to get this grave injustice put right.
‘Let’s see them,’ said Basil.
‘No harm,’ said Nicholas.
So an appointment was arranged.
Mr and Mrs Wesley-Hart were the proud but unhappy parents of one son, Kenneth, who was just thirteen at the time of their appointment with Basil and Nicholas. Until his retirement from a successful drapery business, started in a small way by his father, Mr Wesley-Hart had been known as Hart, but Mrs Hart thought that the addition of Wesley might take people’s minds off the drapery business. They sent their boy to a large and expensive preparatory school called ‘The Summit’. They intended him to go to a well known public school and thence to Oxford or Cambridge. After that the Bar and politics. It all sounded so good and Mrs Wesley-Hart was never tired of telling her friends about young Kenneth’s prospects. No business career for him. She had been delighted when her husband sold out lock, stock, and barrel. They were not wealthy, but they had ample means to carry out their plans for their boy and to ensure themselves a comfortable home. And now it was all finished. No public school would take a boy expelled for cheating, no university, no Inn of Court. It might be that the House of Commons did contain here and there a member whose past would not bear the closest scrutiny, but how awkward at an election.
‘Weren’t you expelled for cheating?’
‘That was twenty years ago.’
‘Have you improved since then?’
The hecklers would be able to have a high old time with him, they thought, as their imagination ran riot. But worse than that was the immediate future. He was just about to go to his public school. And now this. Where could he go? It was too dreadful. They had interviewed the Headmaster three times, they had employed a solicitor and they had been to counsel. Each time the answer was the same: ‘I’m sorry, but it is quite hopeless.’ Then they saw the strange advertisement. It could do no harm to try.
‘Come in, Mr and Mrs Wesley-Hart,’ said Basil.
‘And this, I suppose, is your son?’
‘Yes; this is Kenneth. How d’you do? It’s kind of you to see us.’
‘Your letter interested us. Please tell us all about it. I realize how strongly you feel, but try to explain about it as objectively as possible.’
‘What does that mean?’ said Mrs Wesley-Hart.
‘Never mind,’ said Basil. ‘Just tell us the story.’
What had happened was this. Kenneth and another boy, Leader, had been sitting next to each other during the end-of-term examination. The practice at the school for that examination was for each paper to be marked by two masters independently. The average mark was awarded. After the examination the papers had been collected and Kenneth’s paper had gone to Mr Scales and Leader’s to Mr Twine. When they exchanged papers they chatted for a few minutes about them.
‘Quite a good paper from Wesley-Hart,’ said Mr Scales. ‘A few silly mistakes, though.’
‘It’s a pity they so often spoil it like that. I’ve the same tale to tell. A good paper by Leader, but again some silly mistakes.’ So spoke Mr Twine.
Much was the surprise of Mr Scales and Mr Twine — and it afforded some relief to the burden of correcting papers — to find that the mistakes of Kenneth and the boy Leader, some of which had the merit of considerable originality, were almost identical. At precisely the same moment — by coincidence, they were correcting the respective papers at the identical time — Mr Scales and Mr Twine let out a whistle.
‘My goodness me,’ said Mr Scales.
‘Gracious goodness,’ said Mr Twine.
Coincidence was out of the question. Putting down the other papers, Mr Twine sought out Mr Scales, and Mr Scales sought out Mr Twine. They almost collided in the corridor.
‘Extraordinary,’ said Mr Scales.
‘Amazing,’ said Mr Twine.
It was unnecessary to mention to what they were referring. ‘They must have been sitting next to each other. Let’s find the invigilator?
They found him, and on referring to his records it appeared indeed that Kenneth had sat immediately on the right of Leader. Both masters at once sought out the Headmaster, Mr Bulmer Riddington.
‘May we speak to you for a moment, Chief,’ they asked.
‘I am always available to my staff and pleased to be of such assistance as I can. I myself often find that it helps to discuss one’s problems with someone older and of more experience. But, alas, that is now denied to me and I have to commune with myself.’
This was quite true, and some of the more daring boys used to climb underneath his study window so as to hear the good man communing with himself.
Mr Scales and Mr Twine explained the object of their visit. ‘I shall investigate this myself at once,’ said the Headmaster. ‘I can’t believe that any boy in my school would stoop so low. What a disgrace! But it cannot be.’
However, on looking at the papers, he saw plainly that it had been.
‘Send both boy
s to me at once,’ he said.
They came, the one with some trepidation, the other wondering what it was all about — but which was which? That was not written on either of their faces.
‘Boys,’ said the Headmaster, ‘never since I became Headmaster of this school has such a thing happened. I assume you know what I am talking about.’
‘No, sir,’ they each said.
‘One of you is a cheat.’
They remained silent.
‘A cowardly, wicked thing to do. Such a boy may well end up in prison — if not worse.’
‘Come now, which of you was it? Own up.’
‘To what?’ said Kenneth.
‘To what?’ said Leader, a fraction of a second behind.
‘This is worse than I could possibly have expected. To cheat is bad enough — but to lie as well, and to your own Headmaster. This is beyond bearing. Come now, which of you was it?’
Both boys said nothing.
‘Will neither of you speak? One’s as bad as the other. Now out with it? Was it you, Wesley-Hart?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then it was you, Leader.’
‘No, sir. I didn’t cheat.’
‘Nor me neither,’ said Kenneth lapsing into his early grammar under the strain.
‘You mean “Nor I either,” said Mr Riddington, and paused for a moment. That didn’t sound right. But it must be. However, this was no time for grammar. Cheating. And at The Summit.
‘I will ask you again. You two boys sat next to each other at the end-of-term examination. Your papers bear such resemblance that one must have copied from the other. Come now. Which was it?’
‘Not me, sir,’ said Leader.
‘Not I, sir,’ said Kenneth in a slightly superior voice.
‘I will send for you again in half an hour and then I will ask you again. You both know well enough who it was. One of you is a very wicked boy, and the other is not helping me as much as he could. The one cheated. The other didn’t. The one who didn’t must know the other did. Speak up, boy, and tell me.’
