by John Hall
Rather than risk further embarrassing questions about Holmes in the Senior Common Room, I returned to my own study. I had scarcely lit my pipe when there was a tap at my door. Wondering who this might be, and resolved to be on my guard, I opened the door, and was surprised to see Watson Minor and Edmonds standing there, both clutching their stomachs, and both looking very pale and wan.
‘Come in,’ I said, and when they were inside and I had closed the door, I added, ‘I won’t ask if you’ll smoke, boys. I trust this has taught you a lesson?’ I waved them to chairs.
‘It’s taught me one, sir,’ said Edmonds frankly. ‘I’ll never touch the deuced stuff again.’ He flushed. ‘Sorry, sir, I mean I’ll never touch the stuff again.’
‘Ah, you say that now,’ I told him, ‘but you may think differently when you’re older, my boy.’ I became aware that I was waving my pipe for emphasis, and jammed it into my jacket pocket. ‘Well, no permanent harm seems to have been done, indeed some good may have come of this if indeed it has put you off trying the weed again. So –’ and I started to get to my feet.
Watson Minor said, ‘Please, sir, we came to say “thank you” for not reporting us to the head.’
And Edmonds nodded vigorously in agreement.
I sat down again. ‘As to that,’ I began, ‘I –’ and then I realized that they were unaware that my own position might have been a trifle awkward. There was no point confusing them with details, I thought, so they might just as well continue to think that I had done them a kindness. It might well make it easier to ask them questions later on, after all. I cleared my throat noisily, and went on, ‘Think nothing of it, boys.’
‘It could have been a bit tricky,’ said Edmonds, ‘with Miss Windlass, and the head, and so on.’
‘Well, if you ask me, the best thing is to forget the whole business. Just so long as you’re both feeling better now. Yes?’ They nodded. It occurred to me that this was probably as good a time as any to start asking some questions, while they were both feeling grateful towards the teacher who had not given them away. Quite deceitful of course, but then Holmes himself has often done similar things! ‘Tell me,’ I went on, ‘you must have known young Whitechurch quite well?’
They exchanged glances, but did not reply.
‘You see, I have heard some very curious tales,’ I continued, ‘which did not seem to me to ring quite true. I should be very grateful if you could enlighten me as to the real explanation.’
‘Well,’ said Watson Minor hesitantly, ‘I never thought that old Whitechurch was a thief, sir.’
‘He wasn’t!’ said Edmonds stoutly. ‘The whole thing was what Papa calls a ramp. Whitechurch was made to look guilty.’
‘Oh? And by whom?’ I asked.
Edmonds shrugged his shoulders. ‘Don’t know, sir.’
‘My brother, Watson Major, I mean, thought it was curious too,’ said Watson Minor.
‘And he said –’ Edmonds broke off, glancing at his friend as if he had said too much.
‘Look here,’ I told them, ‘if there is something odd about this Whitechurch business, it might be as well to thrash it out, just like those chaps in the Strand that we were talking about in class. Wouldn’t it be a fine thing to solve the mystery?’
Edmonds grinned at this, but said, ‘Trouble is, sir, I don’t know any more about it. All I know is that it wasn’t him. Whitechurch, I mean.’
‘But there are other odd things happening here, sir,’ ventured Watson Minor.
‘Are there, indeed? What sort of odd things?’
Watson Minor seemed reluctant to continue.
I told him, ‘You might just as well tell me whatever it was you were going to tell me. I give you my word that it will go no further, unless of course it is something very serious.’
‘Well, sir, Bertie, my brother, I mean, was saying that there are some curious things happening, but he wouldn’t tell us just what he meant.’ Watson Minor stopped.
‘Is that all?’ I was frankly disappointed. ‘Tell me, have you ever heard any sort of stories about the old abbey ruins at all? Anything of that sort?’
‘Oh, some of the younger boys tell tales, of course,’ said Edmonds.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I thought it looked the sort of place that might have an odd reputation, might be thought to be haunted, or that kind of thing.’
‘We don’t believe in ghosts, sir,’ said Edmonds with a certain amount of contempt.
‘No, no, of course not. Silly stories. But some of the younger boys do think there’s something along those lines, you say? Ghosts, or something?’
Watson Minor answered this. ‘Not ghosts, sir, no. But they tell odd stories about the ruins, the old monks and so on.’
‘You don’t believe them?’
‘No, sir!’ He hesitated, then added, ‘But I think there’s some sort of secret society at the school, sir.’
Edmonds dug him in the ribs at this.
I said, ‘What sort of secret society?’
‘Don’t know, sir.’
Edmonds added, ‘It’s a secret, you see, sir.’
‘I see. And neither of you are in on the secret? Not members of this mysterious society?’
‘No, sir.’
‘But there’s some connection between the secret society and the ruins?’
‘Don’t know, sir.’ It was evident from Edmonds’s tone that I should hear no more from them at the moment.
‘Well,’ I said, starting to get up, ‘if that’s all, it doesn’t seem so very odd to me.’
Watson Minor stared unhappily at me, making no attempt to rise from his chair.
‘Something more, though?’ I asked.
Watson Minor shuffled uneasily. He said, ‘Sir, we – we saw Mr Greville the night he died.’ It came out all at once, and I sat down hard.
‘When was this? What time of day?’
Watson Minor gave a shrug, but Edmonds said, ‘Around midnight, sir.’
‘Good Lord! I understood that nobody had seen the poor fellow that night? And how came you to see him? It was long after lights out, was it not?’
‘Yes, sir,’ agreed Edmonds miserably.
‘Having said this much, you had better tell me the rest, I think. I promise to let it go no further, but you must appreciate that I cannot repeat that promise in view of what you have just said. This is a serious matter, and you would be well advised to hold nothing back.’
‘No, sir.’ Edmonds still looked unhappy, but he went on, ‘The thing is, sir, we were talking with Watson Major that morning, the morning of the day that Mr Greville died, I mean, and he – Watson Major – said there was something odd going on –’
‘Devilish odd, he said, sir,’ added Watson Minor helpfully.
Edmonds shot him a glance that silenced him. ‘Anyway, we said that Mr Greville had said pretty much the same thing, and Watson Major seemed very interested to hear that, and told us not to talk about it with anyone else. Then, later on, Watson Minor here overheard Mr Greville muttering to himself, as he did sometimes, saying something like, “Tonight’s the night”, was it?’ He appealed to Watson Minor, who nodded agreement.
‘I did hear him, sir,’ Watson Minor added, to me. ‘ “Tonight’s the night”, just in those very words. And so we decided, Edmonds and me – I – to go out and see what was happening.’
‘And we did,’ Edmonds finished.
‘You did go out? And you did see Mr Greville? Where was that?’
‘In the quad, sir,’ said Edmonds.
‘Around midnight?’
‘Yes, sir, about then.’
‘Was he alone? How did he look?’
Edmonds glanced at Watson Minor, who nodded. ‘He seemed to be waiting for someone, sir,’ said Edmonds.
‘And he was just standing there, waiting, was he?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Did he look – ill, or anything?’ I asked, mindful of the fact that the dead man had supposedly smelled of whisky.
‘No
, sir,’ said Edmonds. ‘He just looked at his watch every so often.’
‘Tell me,’ I asked cautiously, ‘have you ever seen a man who’s had a drop too much to drink?’
‘Oh, yes, sir!’
‘You have?’
‘My brother, sir,’ said Watson Minor with a grin.
‘And Papa, one Christmas,’ added Edmonds. ‘And the village blacksmith back home.’
‘And the carter’s man.’
‘And the porter.’
‘I see. That will do to be going on with, thank you. What I want to know is just this – did Mr Greville seem at all the worse for drink that night?’
‘No, sir,’ they answered in unison.
Edmonds added, ‘That was one of the things we didn’t believe, sir, when the story got out. He hadn’t been drinking, sir.’
‘Well, then, how is it that you said nothing?’ I wanted to know.
They exchanged glances. ‘It was a bit awkward, sir,’ mumbled Watson Minor, ‘What with Whitechurch just being sent down, and then us being out after lights out.’
‘And it wasn’t as if we could tell anyone anything important,’ said Edmonds. ‘All we saw was Mr Greville standing there, waiting, and then he went to the side door near his rooms, and met someone, and they went inside. If there had been anything else, we would have said, and faced the music, sir.’
‘What? He met someone, you say?’
‘Yes, sir, but we didn’t see who it was,’ said Edmonds.
‘If we had done,’ repeated Watson Minor, ‘we would have said something, even if it meant getting into trouble. We would, sir!’
‘Yes, I’m sure you would. You did the right thing, I’m sure. Tell me, could you see if it was an old man that Mr Greville met, or a young one?’
‘A young one, sir.’ The answer came immediately from Edmonds.
‘Watson?’
‘Yes, sir, it was a young man. I thought perhaps Mr Wieland, or Mr Carstairs. But I couldn’t see just who it was.’
‘Or Mr Reed?’ I suggested.
‘It couldn’t be Mr Reed, sir,’ Watson Minor pointed out, ‘because he lives in the village, and goes home each evening.’
‘Ah yes, of course. You didn’t notice if his hair was dark or fair, say?’
‘It was too dark, sir,’ said Watson Minor. ‘The moon was shining, but that side of the building was in the shadows.’
‘But you’re certain he was a young man?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Thin? Stout? Tall or short?’
‘Just – sort of ordinary, sir,’ said Watson Minor, ¬frowning.
‘H’mm.’
‘And, sir,’ added Edmonds, with some reluctance, ‘I think I heard the noise that Mr Greville made when he – you know, sir.’
‘Good Lord, really?’
‘I’m not sure, sir. But when we got back to our room, I couldn’t get to sleep, and I heard a kind of noise.’
‘What kind of noise?’
‘A thud, sir.’
‘You didn’t see the time, I suppose?’
‘Yes, sir. I struck a match and looked at my watch. It was ten past one.’
‘About an hour after you had seen Mr Greville?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I see. Well, boys, I think that is all. You did well to come to me with this information, as I said, but I would not mention it to anyone else, if I were you. We’ll keep it between the three of us for the time being, shall we?’
They both seemed relieved at this, and took their leave. I sat down without bothering to light my pipe again, thinking over what they had said. If the two boys had seen Greville alive at midnight, and not under the influence, that rather tended to show that there had been mischief. Both boys seemed reliable enough witnesses, and I was inclined to accept their testimony that Greville was sober.
And then what of the mysterious man whom Greville had met? If he were young, and again I saw no reason to doubt the boys on that score, then it narrowed it down pretty much to Wieland, Carstairs or Reed, for the other members of staff could only charitably be described as ‘middle-aged’. I could not dismiss Reed, for all that he slept at home in the village, for he could easily have returned. On the other hand, his presence would have been remarked upon.
That led me to Tromarty. How did he fit in? His figure was distinctive, the boys would know if the man whom Greville had met had been Tromarty. And if Tromarty were meeting Greville, how did that affect the significance of Tromarty’s visit to the spinney? I could understand Tromarty’s meeting Reed, who left the school premises at evening, in the spinney when the day was over – no, I couldn’t! If Tromarty wanted to speak to Reed, he could have done it quite well during the day.
But then, why could Greville also not meet whoever it was during the day, instead of creeping about the quadrangle at midnight? And that just before Christmas, the darkest and murkiest time of the year? I decided to leave Tromarty and the spinney for the moment, and concentrate on Greville. If Greville had merely wanted to speak to a colleague, why did he not do so at a civilized hour, and in congenial surroundings? Answer, because there was more to it than a mere conversation; Greville suspected mischief that very night, and had determined to investigate. The second man? A confederate, a partner in the investigation? Or a villain, who had lured Greville from his bed with some tale, in order to make away with him? On the face of it, the latter seemed more likely, for if it were a friend whom Greville had met, why should that friend not come forward, speak as to having seen Greville that night? But again, if the villainy were still continuing, such a putative friend might still be actively pursuing the enquiry.
One thing was certain, and that was that my next task was to interview Wieland, Reed and Carstairs, ask if they had seen Greville on the night he died. Not that I expected any of them to tell me so! Friend or enemy, if they had not spoken to the head or to Holmes, they would scarcely blurt it out to plain Mr Harris. No, but I could observe them for signs of guilt, or surprise, for some response to my unexpected questions.
I stood up. Herr Wieland had the rooms directly opposite mine, and I saw by my watch that the evening was still young. I went out into the corridor, and tapped on Wieland’s door.
Six
‘Herein, bitte!’
I opened the door, and looked round it.
‘Oh, please, Herr Harris, come in! Sorry to greet you in German, but I use it with the boys as much as possible. It is the only way to teach a language.’
‘Oh, of course, of course.’
‘Please, sit down.’ Wieland waved me to a chair. ‘Whisky? A cigar? I did not see you in the Senior Common Room this evening,’ he added.
‘No. Truth to tell, I was a touch embarrassed by the attention I received at dinner. I’m not very remarkable, you know, it’s just that some of my friends have a certain reputation.’
‘I understand perfectly.’ Wieland hesitated. ‘I myself sometimes avoid the others, I am a bit of an outsider, a foreigner. And my views are well known.’
‘But in general you get on with them?’
‘Get on? Oh, yes, I get on with everyone.’
‘Were you a particular friend of Greville, the poor chap whom I replaced?’ I asked casually.
Wieland frowned. ‘I could not say we were special friends. We “got on”, as you put it. We both had an interest in golf, though neither of us had any great skill, I fear, and that brought us together at times. But apart from that, no.’
‘So you did not meet him on the night he died?’
‘No!’ Wieland’s surprise was evident. ‘Who told you that I did?’
‘Oh, nobody. I just wondered, that was all. Someone said that they thought he might have met someone, you know.’
Wieland’s frown deepened. ‘Who said this?’
‘I couldn’t tell you. Just something I heard in passing really, that was all. Probably nothing.’
‘I am sure that if anyone had met Greville that night, they would have said someth
ing, to Dr Longton, or at the inquest. Would they not?’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ I agreed. ‘Thank you for the drink, and the cigar. Pop into my rooms some time, and I’ll return the compliment.’ And with that, I took my leave.
I went back to my own rooms. I felt sure that Herr Wieland had told me the truth, that he had not seen Greville on the night the latter died. A pity, in some ways, I thought, for Wieland would have been an ideal candidate. Not that I am anti-German, or anti-anything for the matter of that, but if there were something underhand going on, then if a man who was not English, and whose country had some animosity towards England, were involved, at least I could have seen some logic in it!
Reed, I knew, had left hours ago for his home in the village. However, Carstairs should still be up and about, it lacked five or ten minutes to ‘lights out’ for the boys as yet. I made my way to Carstairs’s rooms, then, and tapped upon his door. ‘Come in!’
I went in, and Carstairs, a pipe in his mouth, a newspaper in his hand, and a look of slight surprise upon his face, rose from his chair. ‘Anything wrong?’
‘Good Lord, no,’ I told him. ‘Just passing the time of day, as it were.’
‘Well, then, take a pew.’ Carstairs threw the newspaper into a corner. ‘Whisky? Cigar?’
‘I’ve just finished a cigar, thanks, but a whisky would be very pleasant.’
Carstairs busied himself with decanter and gasogene. ‘How are you settling in?’
‘Oh, not half as bad as I feared.’
He laughed. ‘Of course, you’re telling the boys that you knew Mr Sherlock Holmes cannot have done your stock any harm.’
I almost spilled my whisky. ‘I thought I had made it clear that I am only slightly acquainted with Dr Watson?’ I said carefully.
‘I’m sure you’re just being modest. Do you not know Holmes at all?’ He looked at me over the match he was applying to his pipe.
‘Well – I mean, I’ve met him.’ I squared my shoulders, metaphorically if not literally. ‘Look here, Carstairs, it has come to my attention that you may have met young Greville the night he died.’