Mike

by P. G. Wodehouse

  CHAPTER XLVII

  MR. DOWNING ON THE SCENT

  There was just one moment, the moment in which, on going down to thejunior day-room of his house to quell an unseemly disturbance, he wasboisterously greeted by a vermilion bull terrier, when Mr. Downing wasseized with a hideous fear lest he had lost his senses. Glaring downat the crimson animal that was pawing at his knees, he clutched at hisreason for one second as a drowning man clutches at a lifebelt.

  Then the happy laughter of the young onlookers reassured him.

  "Who--" he shouted, "WHO has done this?"

  "WHO--" HE SHOUTED, "WHO HAS DONE THIS?"]

  "Please, sir, we don't know," shrilled the chorus.

  "Please, sir, he came in like that."

  "Please, sir, we were sitting here when he suddenly ran in, all red."

  A voice from the crowd: "Look at old Sammy!"

  The situation was impossible. There was nothing to be done. He couldnot find out by verbal inquiry who had painted the dog. Thepossibility of Sammy being painted red during the night had neveroccurred to Mr. Downing, and now that the thing had happened he had noscheme of action. As Psmith would have said, he had confused theunusual with the impossible, and the result was that he was taken bysurprise.

  While he was pondering on this the situation was rendered still moredifficult by Sammy, who, taking advantage of the door being open,escaped and rushed into the road, thus publishing his condition to alland sundry. You can hush up a painted dog while it confines itself toyour own premises, but once it has mixed with the great public thisbecomes out of the question. Sammy's state advanced from a privatetrouble into a row. Mr. Downing's next move was in the same directionthat Sammy had taken, only, instead of running about the road, he wentstraight to the headmaster.

  The Head, who had had to leave his house in the small hours in hispyjamas and a dressing-gown, was not in the best of tempers. He had acold in the head, and also a rooted conviction that Mr. Downing, inspite of his strict orders, had rung the bell himself on the previousnight in order to test the efficiency of the school in savingthemselves in the event of fire. He received the housemaster frostily,but thawed as the latter related the events which had led up to theringing of the bell.

  "Dear me!" he said, deeply interested. "One of the boys at the school,you think?"

  "I am certain of it," said Mr. Downing.

  "Was he wearing a school cap?"

  "He was bare-headed. A boy who breaks out of his house at night wouldhardly run the risk of wearing a distinguishing cap."

  "No, no, I suppose not. A big boy, you say?"

  "Very big."

  "You did not see his face?"

  "It was dark and he never looked back--he was in front of me all thetime."

  "Dear me!"

  "There is another matter----"

  "Yes?"

  "This boy, whoever he was, had done something before he rang thebell--he had painted my dog Sampson red."

  The headmaster's eyes protruded from their sockets. "He--he--_what_,Mr. Downing?"

  "He painted my dog red--bright red." Mr. Downing was too angry to seeanything humorous in the incident. Since the previous night he hadbeen wounded in his tenderest feelings. His Fire Brigade system hadbeen most shamefully abused by being turned into a mere instrument inthe hands of a malefactor for escaping justice, and his dog had beenheld up to ridicule to all the world. He did not want to smile, hewanted revenge.

  The headmaster, on the other hand, did want to smile. It was not hisdog, he could look on the affair with an unbiased eye, and to himthere was something ludicrous in a white dog suddenly appearing as ared dog.

  "It is a scandalous thing!" said Mr. Downing.

  "Quite so! Quite so!" said the headmaster hastily. "I shall punish theboy who did it most severely. I will speak to the school in the Hallafter chapel."

  Which he did, but without result. A cordial invitation to the criminalto come forward and be executed was received in wooden silence by theschool, with the exception of Johnson III., of Outwood's, who,suddenly reminded of Sammy's appearance by the headmaster's words,broke into a wild screech of laughter, and was instantly awarded twohundred lines.

  The school filed out of the Hall to their various lunches, and Mr.Downing was left with the conviction that, if he wanted the criminaldiscovered, he would have to discover him for himself.

  The great thing in affairs of this kind is to get a good start, andFate, feeling perhaps that it had been a little hard upon Mr. Downing,gave him a most magnificent start. Instead of having to hunt for aneedle in a haystack, he found himself in a moment in the position ofbeing set to find it in a mere truss of straw.

  It was Mr. Outwood who helped him. Sergeant Collard had waylaid thearchaeological expert on his way to chapel, and informed him that atclose on twelve the night before he had observed a youth, unidentified,attempting to get into his house _via_ the water-pipe. Mr. Outwood,whose thoughts were occupied with apses and plinths, not to mentioncromlechs, at the time, thanked the sergeant with absent-mindedpoliteness and passed on. Later he remembered the fact _a propos_of some reflections on the subject of burglars in mediaeval England,and passed it on to Mr. Downing as they walked back to lunch.

  "Then the boy was in your house!" exclaimed Mr. Downing.

  "Not actually in, as far as I understand. I gather from the sergeantthat he interrupted him before----"

  "I mean he must have been one of the boys in your house."

  "But what was he doing out at that hour?"

  "He had broken out."

  "Impossible, I think. Oh yes, quite impossible! I went round thedormitories as usual at eleven o'clock last night, and all the boyswere asleep--all of them."

  Mr. Downing was not listening. He was in a state of suppressedexcitement and exultation which made it hard for him to attend to hiscolleague's slow utterances. He had a clue! Now that the search hadnarrowed itself down to Outwood's house, the rest was comparativelyeasy. Perhaps Sergeant Collard had actually recognised the boy. Orreflection he dismissed this as unlikely, for the sergeant wouldscarcely have kept a thing like that to himself; but he might verywell have seen more of him than he, Downing, had seen. It was onlywith an effort that he could keep himself from rushing to the sergeantthen and there, and leaving the house lunch to look after itself. Heresolved to go the moment that meal was at an end.

  Sunday lunch at a public-school house is probably one of the longestfunctions in existence. It drags its slow length along like a languidsnake, but it finishes in time. In due course Mr. Downing, aftersitting still and eyeing with acute dislike everybody who asked for asecond helping, found himself at liberty.

  Regardless of the claims of digestion, he rushed forth on the trail.

  * * * * *

  Sergeant Collard lived with his wife and a family of unknowndimensions in the lodge at the school front gate. Dinner was just overwhen Mr. Downing arrived, as a blind man could have told.

  The sergeant received his visitor with dignity, ejecting the family,who were torpid after roast beef and resented having to move, in orderto ensure privacy.

  Having requested his host to smoke, which the latter was about to dounasked, Mr. Downing stated his case.

  "Mr. Outwood," he said, "tells me that last night, sergeant, you saw aboy endeavouring to enter his house."

  The sergeant blew a cloud of smoke. "Oo-oo-oo, yer," he said; "I did,sir--spotted 'im, I did. Feeflee good at spottin', I am, sir. Dook ofConnaught, he used to say, ''Ere comes Sergeant Collard,' he used tosay, ''e's feeflee good at spottin'.'"

  "What did you do?"

  "Do? Oo-oo-oo! I shouts 'Oo-oo-oo yer, yer young monkey, what yerdoin' there?'"

  "Yes?"

  "But 'e was off in a flash, and I doubles after 'im prompt."

  "But you didn't catch him?"

  "No, sir," admitted the sergeant reluctantly.

  "Did you catch sight of his face, sergeant?"

  "No, sir, 'e was doublin' a
way in the opposite direction."

  "Did you notice anything at all about his appearance?"

  "'E was a long young chap, sir, with a pair of legs on him--feefleefast 'e run, sir. Oo-oo-oo, feeflee!"

  "You noticed nothing else?"

  "'E wasn't wearing no cap of any sort, sir."

  "Ah!"

  "Bare-'eaded, sir," added the sergeant, rubbing the point in.

  "It was undoubtedly the same boy, undoubtedly! I wish you could havecaught a glimpse of his face, sergeant."

  "So do I, sir."

  "You would not be able to recognise him again if you saw him, youthink?"

  "Oo-oo-oo! Wouldn't go so far as to say that, sir, 'cos yer see, I'mfeeflee good at spottin', but it was a dark night."

  Mr. Downing rose to go.

  "Well," he said, "the search is now considerably narrowed down,considerably! It is certain that the boy was one of the boys in Mr.Outwood's house."

  "Young monkeys!" interjected the sergeant helpfully.

  "Good-afternoon, sergeant."

  "Good-afternoon to you, sir."

  "Pray do not move, sergeant."

  The sergeant had not shown the slightest inclination of doing anythingof the kind.

  "I will find my way out. Very hot to-day, is it not?"

  "Feeflee warm, sir; weather's goin' to break--workin' up for thunder."

  "I hope not. The school plays the M.C.C. on Wednesday, and it would bea pity if rain were to spoil our first fixture with them. Goodafternoon."

  And Mr. Downing went out into the baking sunlight, while SergeantCollard, having requested Mrs. Collard to take the children out for awalk at once, and furthermore to give young Ernie a clip side of the'ead, if he persisted in making so much noise, put a handkerchief overhis face, rested his feet on the table, and slept the sleep of thejust.