The Pothunters

by P. G. Wodehouse

  [15]

  MR ROBERTS EXPLAINS

  Inspector Roberts was standing with his back to the door, examining aphotograph of the College, when the Head entered. He spun roundbriskly. 'Good evening, Mr Roberts. Pray be seated. You wish to seeme?'

  The detective took a seat.

  'This business of the cups, sir.'

  'Ah!' said the Head, 'have you made any progress?'

  'Considerable. Yes, very considerable progress. I've found out whostole them.'

  'You have?' cried the Head. 'Excellent. I suppose it _was_Thomson, then? I was afraid so.'

  'Thomson, sir? That was certainly not the name he gave me. Stokes hecalled himself.'

  'Stokes? Stokes? This is curious. Perhaps if you were to describe hisappearance? Was he a tall boy, of a rather slight build--'

  The detective interrupted.

  'Excuse me, sir, but I rather fancy we have different persons in ourmind. Stokes is not a boy. Not at all. Well over thirty. Red moustache.Height, five foot seven, I should say. Not more. Works as a farmhandwhen required, and does odd jobs at times. That's the man.'

  The Head's face expressed relief, as he heard this description. 'ThenThomson did not do it after all,' he said.

  'Thomson?' queried Mr Roberts.

  'Thomson,' explained the Head, 'is the name of one of the boys at theSchool. I am sorry to say that I strongly suspected him of thisrobbery.'

  'A boy at the School. Curious. Unusual, I should have thought, for aboy to be mixed up in an affair like this. Though I have known cases.'

  'I was very unwilling, I can assure you, to suspect him of such athing, but really the evidence all seemed to point to it. I am afraid,Mr Roberts, that I have been poaching on your preserves without muchsuccess.'

  'Curious thing evidence,' murmured Mr Roberts, fixing with his eye abust of Socrates on the writing-desk, as if he wished it to payparticular attention to his words. 'Very curious. Very seldom able totrust it. Case the other day. Man charged with robbery from the person._With violence_. They gave the case to me. Worked up beautifulcase against the man. Not a hitch anywhere. Whole thing practicallyproved. Man brings forward _alibi._ Proves it. Turned out that attime of robbery he had been serving seven days without the option forknocking down two porters and a guard on the District Railway. Yet theevidence seemed conclusive. Yes, curious thing evidence.' He noddedsolemnly at Socrates, and resumed an interested study of the carpet.

  The Head, who had made several spirited attempts at speaking duringthis recital, at last succeeded in getting in a word.

  'You have the cups?'

  'No. No, cups still missing. Only flaw in the affair. Perhaps I hadbetter begin from the beginning?'

  'Exactly. Pray let me hear the whole story. I am more glad than I cansay that Thomson is innocent. There is no doubt of that, I hope?'

  'Not the least, sir. Not the very least. Stokes is the man.'

  'I am very glad to hear it.'

  The inspector paused for a moment, coughed, and drifted into hisnarrative.

  '... Saw at once it was not the work of a practised burglar. Firstplace, how could regular professional know that the cups were in thePavilion at all? Quite so. Second place, work very clumsily done. Noneatness. Not the professional touch at all. Tell it in a minute. Nomistaking it. Very good. Must, therefore, have been amateur--this nightonly--and connected with School. Next question, who? Helped a littlethere by luck. Capital thing luck, when it's not bad luck. Was passingby the village inn--you know the village inn, I dare say, sir?'

  The Head, slightly scandalized, explained that he was seldom in thevillage. The detective bowed and resumed his tale.

  'As I passed the door, I ran into a man coming out. In a very elevated,not to say intoxicated, state. As a matter of fact, barely able tostand. Reeled against wall, and dropped handful of money. I lenthelping hand, and picked up his money for him. Not my place to arrestdrunken men. Constable's! No constable there, of course. Noticed, as Ipicked the money up, that there was a good deal of it. For ordinaryrustic, a _very_ good deal. Sovereign and plenty of silver.' Hepaused, mused for a while, and went on again.

  'Yes. Sovereign, and quite ten shillings' worth of silver. Now thenature of my profession makes me a suspicious man. It struck me ascurious, not to say remarkable, that such a man should have thirtyshillings or more about him so late in the week. And then there wasanother thing. I thought I'd seen this particular man somewhere on theSchool grounds. Couldn't recall his face exactly, but just had a sortof general recollection of having seen him before. I happened to have acamera with me. As a matter of fact I had been taking a few photographsof the place. Pretty place, sir.'

  'Very,' agreed the Head.

  'You photograph yourself, perhaps?'

  'No. I--ah--do not.'

  'Ah. Pity. Excellent hobby. However--I took a snap-shot of this man toshow to somebody who might know him better than I did. This is thephotograph. Drunk as a lord, is he not?'

  He exhibited a small piece of paper. The Head examined it gravely, andadmitted that the subject of the picture did not appear to beostentatiously sober. The sunlight beat full on his face, which worethe intensely solemn expression of the man who, knowing his owncondition, hopes, by means of exemplary conduct, to conceal it from theworld. The Head handed the photograph back without further comment.

  'I gave the man back his money,' went on Mr Roberts, 'and saw himsafely started again, and then I set to work to shadow him. Not adifficult job. He walked very slowly, and for all he seemed to care,the whole of Scotland Yard might have been shadowing him. Went up thestreet, and after a time turned in at one of the cottages. I marked theplace, and went home to develop the photograph. Took it to show the manwho looks after the cricket-field.'

  'Biffen?'

  'Just so, Biffen. Very intelligent man. Given me a good deal of help inone way and another all along. Well, I showed it to him and he said hethought he knew the face. Was almost certain it was one of the men atwork on the grounds at the time of the robbery. Showed it to friend ofhis, the other ground-man. He thought same. That made it as certain asI had any need for. Went off at once to the man's cottage, found himsober, and got the whole thing out of him. But not the cups. He hadbeen meaning to sell them, but had not known where to go. Wantedcombination of good price and complete safety. Very hard to find, sohad kept cups hidden till further notice.'

  Here the Head interrupted.

  'And the cups? Where are they?'

  'We-e-ll,' said the detective, slowly. 'It is this way. We have onlygot his word to go on as regards the cups. This man, Stokes, it seemsis a notorious poacher. The night after the robbery he took the cupsout with him on an expedition in some woods that lie in the directionof Badgwick. I think Badgwick is the name.'

  'Badgwick! Not Sir Alfred Venner's woods?'

  'Sir Alfred Venner it was, sir. That was the name he mentioned. Stokesappears to have been in the habit of visiting that gentleman's propertypretty frequently. He had a regular hiding place, a sort of store wherehe used to keep all the game he killed. He described the place to me.It is a big tree on the bank of the stream nearest the high road. Thetree is hollow. One has to climb to find the opening to it. Inside arethe cups, and, I should say, a good deal of mixed poultry. That is whathe told me, sir. I should advise you, if I may say so, to write a noteto Sir Alfred Venner, explaining the case, and ask him to search thetree, and send the cups on here.'

  This idea did not appeal to the Head at all. Why, he thought bitterly,was this wretched M.P. always mixed up with his affairs? Left tohimself, he could have existed in perfect comfort without eitherseeing, writing to, or hearing from the great man again for the rest ofhis life. 'I will think it over,' he said, 'though it seems the onlything to be done. As for Stokes, I suppose I must prosecute--'

  The detective raised a hand in protest.

  'Pardon my interruption, sir, but I really should advise you not toprosecute.'

  'Indeed! Why?'

  'It is this way. If
you prosecute, you get the man his term ofimprisonment. A year, probably. Well and good. But then what happens?After his sentence has run out, he comes out of prison an ex-convict.Tries to get work. No good. Nobody will look at him. Asks for a job.People lock up their spoons and shout for the police. What happensthen? Not being able to get work, tries another burglary. Being aclumsy hand at the game, gets caught again and sent back to prison, andso is ruined and becomes a danger to society. Now, if he is let offthis time, he will go straight for the rest of his life. Run a mile toavoid a silver cup. He's badly scared, and I took the opportunity ofscaring him more. Told him nothing would happen this time, if the cupscame back safely, but that he'd be watched ever afterwards to see hedid not get into mischief. Of course he won't really be watched, youunderstand, but he thinks he will. Which is better, for it savestrouble. Besides, we know where the cups are--I feel sure he wasspeaking the truth about them, he was too frightened to invent astory--and here is most of the money. So it all ends well, if I may putit so. My advice, sir, and I think you will find it good advice--isnot to prosecute.'

  'Very well,' said the Head, 'I will not.'

  'Very good, sir. Good morning, sir.' And he left the room.

  The Head rang the bell.

  'Parker,' said he, 'go across to Mr Merevale's, and ask him to sendThomson to me.'

  It was with mixed feelings that he awaited Jim's arrival. Thedetective's story had shown how unjust had been his former suspicions,and he felt distinctly uncomfortable at the prospect of the apologywhich he felt bound to make to him. On the other hand, this feeling wasmore than equalled by his relief at finding that his faith in thevirtue of the _genus_ School-prefect, though at fault in thematter of Plunkett, was not altogether misplaced. It made up for a gooddeal. Then his thoughts drifted to Sir Alfred Venner. Struggle with hisfeelings as he might, the Head could _not_ endure that localpotentate. The recent interview between them had had no parallel intheir previous acquaintance, but the Head had always felt vaguelyirritated by his manner and speech, and he had always feared thatmatters would come to a head sooner or later. The prospect of openingcommunication with him once more was not alluring. In the meantimethere was his more immediate duty to be performed, the apology toThomson. But that reminded him. The apology must only be of a certainkind. It must not be grovelling. And this for a very excellent reason.After the apology must come an official lecture on the subject ofbetting. He had rather lost sight of that offence in the excitement ofthe greater crime of which Thomson had been accused, and very nearlyconvicted. Now the full heinousness of it came back to him. Betting!Scandalous!

  'Come in,' he cried, as a knock at the door roused him from histhoughts. He turned. But instead of Thomson, there appeared Parker.Parker carried a note. It was from Mr Merevale.

  The Head opened it.

  'What!' he cried, as he read it. 'Impossible.' Parker made no comment.He stood in the doorway, trying to look as like a piece of furniture aspossible--which is the duty of a good butler.

  'Impossible!' said the Head again.

  What Mr Merevale had said in his note was this, that Thomson was not inthe House, and had not been in the House since lunchtime. He ought tohave returned at six o'clock. It was now half-past eight, and stillthere were no signs of him. Mr Merevale expressed a written opinionthat this was a remarkable thing, and the Head agreed with himunreservedly.