" I don't know. Why ? "
" I was only thinking that it would be a lark to go and put a booby-trap on his door."
The headmaster's eyes glistened.
" Yes, wouldn't it! " he said.
They mused for awhile. Then the headmaster uttered a deep chuckle.
" What are you giggling about ? " asked the bishop.
" I was only thinking what a priceless ass you looked this afternoon, talking all that rot about old Fatty."
In spite of his cheerfulness, a frown passed over the bishop's fine forehead.
" It went very much against the grain to speak in terms of eulogy—yes, fulsome eulogy —of one whom we both know to have been a bhghter of the worst description. Where does Fatty get off, having statues put up to him? "
" Oh well, he's an Empire builder, I suppose," said the headmaster, who was a fair-minded man.
" Just the sort of thing he would be," grumbled the bishop. " Shoving himself forward ! If ever there was a chap I barred, it was Fatty."
THE BISHOP'S MOVE 117
Me, too," agreed the headmaster. Beastly laugh he'd got. Like glue pouring out of a jug."
" Greedy httle beast, if you remember. A fellow in his house told me he once ate three shoes of brown boot-poHsh spread on bread after he had finished the potted meat."
" Between you and me, I always suspected him of swiping buns at the school shop. I don't wish to make rash charges unsupported by true evidence, but it always seemed to me extremely odd that, whatever time of the term it was, and however hard up everybody else might be, you never saw Fatty without his bun."
'' Catsmeat," said the bishop, " I'll teU you something about Fatty that isn't generally known. In a scrum in the final House Match in the year 1888 he deliberately hoofed me on the shin."
" You don't mean that ? "
" I do."
" Great Scott! "
" An ordinary hack on the shin," said the bishop coldly, " no fellow minds. It is part of the give and take of normal social hfe. But when a bounder deliberately hauls off
and lets drive at you with the sole intention of laying you out, it—well, it's a bit thick."
"And those chumps of Governors have put up a statue to him ! "
The bishop leaned forward and lowered his voice.
" Catsmeat."
" WTiat ? "
" Do you know what ? "
" No, what ? "
" What we ought to do is to wait till twelve o'clock or so, till there's no one about, and then beetle out and paint that statue blue."
" Why not pink ? "
" Pink, if you prefer it."
" Pink's a nice colour."
" It is. Very nice."
" Besides, I know where I can lay my hands on some pink paint."
" You do ? "
" Gobs of it."
" Peace be on thy walls, Catsmeat, and prosperity within thy palaces," said the bishop. " Proverbs cxxi. 6."
It seemed to the bishop, as he closed the
front door noiselessly behind him two hours later, that providence, always on the side of the just, was extending itself in its efforts to make this little enterprise of his a success. All the conditions were admirable for statue-painting. The rain which had been falHng during the evening had stopped: and a moon, which might have proved an embarrassment, was conveniently hidden behind a bank of clouds.
As regarded human interference, they had nothing to alarm them. No place in the world is so deserted as the ground of a school after midnight. Fatty's statue might have been in the middle of the Sahara. They climbed the pedestal, and, taking turns fairly with the brush, soon accompUshed the task which their sense of duty had indicated to them. It was only when, treading warily lest their steps should be heard on the gravel drive, they again reached the front door that anything occurred to mar the harmony of the proceedings.
" What are you waiting for ? " whispered the bishop, as his companion Hngered on the top step.
" Half a second," said the headmaster
in a muffled voice. '' It may be in another pocket."
" What ? "
" My key."
" Have you lost your key ? "
'' I believe I have."
" Catsmeat," said the bishop, with grave censure, " this is the last time I come out painting statues with you."
" I must have dropped it somewhere."
" What shall we do ? "
" There's just a chance the scullery window may be open."
But the scullery window was not open. Careful, vigilant, and faithful to his trust, the butler, on retiring to rest, had fastened it and closed the shutters. They were locked out.
But it has been well said that it is the lessons which we learn in our boyhood days at school that prepare us for the problems of life in the larger world outside. Stealing back from the mists of the past, there came to the bishop a sudden memory.
" Catsmeat ! "
" Hullo ? " If you haven't been mucking the place
(<
up with alterations and improvements, there should be a water-pipe round at the back, leading to one of the upstairs windows."
Memory had not played him false. There, nestling in the ivy, was the pipe up and down which he had been wont to climb when, a pie-faced lad in the summer of '86, he had broken out of this house in order to take nocturnal swims in the river.
" Up you go," he said briefly.
The headmaster required no further urging. And presently the two were making good time up the side of the house.
It was just as they reached the window and just after the bishop had informed his old friend that, if he kicked him on the head again, he'd hear of it, that the wdndow was suddenly flung open.
" Who's that ? " said a clear young voice.
The headmaster was frankly taken aback. Dim though the light was, he could see that the man leaning out of the window was poising in readiness a very nasty-looking golf-club : and his first impulse was to reveal his identity and so clear himself of the suspicion of being the marauder for whom he gathered the other had mistaken him. Then there
presented themselves to him certain objections to reveaHng his identity, and he hung there in silence, unable to think of a suitable next move.
The bishop was a man of readier resource.
" Tell him we're a couple of cats belonging to the cook," he whispered.
It was painful for one of the headmaster's scrupulous rectitude and honesty to stoop to such a falsehood, but it seemed the only course to pursue.
" It's all right," he said, forcing a note of easy geniality into his voice. " We're a couple of cats."
" Cat-burglars ? "
" No. Just ordinary cats."
" Belonging to the cook," prompted the bishop from below.
" Belonging to the cook," added the headmaster.
" I see," said the man at the window. " Well, in that case, right ho ! "
He stood aside to allow them to enter. The bishop, an artist at heart, mewed gratefully as he passed, to add verisimilitude to the deception : and then made for his bed-
room, accompanied by the headmaster. The episode was apparently closed.
Nevertheless, the headmaster was disturbed by a certain uneasiness.
" Do you suppose he thought we really were cats ? " he asked anxiously.
"I am not sure," said the bishop. " But I think we deceived him by the nonchalance of our demeanour."
" Yes, I think we did. Who was he ? "
" My secretary. The young fellow I was speaking of, who lent us that capital tonic."
" Oh, then that's all right. He wouldn't give you away."
" No. And there is nothing else that can possibly lead to our being suspected. We left no clue whatsoever."
" All the same," said the headmaster thoughtfully, " I'm beginning to wonder whether it was in the best sense of the word judicious to have painted that statue."
" Somebody had to," said the bishop stoutly.
&
nbsp; " Yes, that's true," said the headmaster, brightening.
The bishop slept late on the following
morning, and partook of his frugal breakfast in bed. The day, which so often brings remorse, brought none to him. Something attempted, something done had earned a night's repose : and he had no regrets— except that, now that it was all over, he was not sure that blue paint would not have been more effective. However, his old friend had pleaded so strongly for the pink that it would have been difficult for himself, as a guest, to override the wishes of his host. Still, blue would undoubtedly have been very striking.
There was a knock on the door, and Augustine entered.
" Morning, Bish."
" Good-morning, Mulhner," said the bishop affably. " I have lain somewhat late to-day."
" I say, Bish," asked Augustine, a Httle anxiously. " Did you take a very big dose of the Buck-U-Uppo last night ? "
" Big ? No. As I recollect, quite small. Barely two ordinary wine-glasses full."
" Great Scott! "
" Why do you ask, my dear fellow ? "
" Oh, nothing. No particular reason. I
just thought your manner seemed a Uttle strange on the water-pipe, that's all."
The bishop was conscious of a touch of chagrin.
" Then you saw through our—er—innocent deception ? "
" Yes."
" I had been taking a little stroll with the headmaster," explained the bishop, "and he had mislaid his key. How beautiful is Nature at night, MulUner! The dark, fathomless skies, the httle winds that seem to whisper secrets in one's ear, the scent of growing things."
" Yes," said Augustine. He paused. ** Rather a row on this morning. Somebody appears to have painted Lord Hemel of Hempstead's statue last night."
" Indeed ? "
" Yes."
" Ah, well," said the bishop tolerantly, " boys will be boys."
" It's a most mysterious business."
" No doubt, no doubt. But, after all, MulHner, is not all Life a mystery ? "
" And what makes it still more mysterious is that they found your shovel-hat on the statue's head."
The bishop started up.
" What ! "
" Absolutely."
" MuUiner," said the bishop, " leave me. I have one or two matters on which I wish to meditate."
He dressed hastily, his numbed fingers fumbling with his gaiters. It all came back to him now. Yes, he could remember putting the hat on the statue's head. It had seemed a good thing to do at the time, and he had done it. How little we guess at the moment how far-reaching our most trivial actions may be !
The headmaster was over at the school, instructing the Sixth Form in Greek Composition : and he was obHged to wait, chafing, until twelve-thirty, when the bell rang for the half-way halt in the day's work. He stood at the study window, watching with ill-controlled impatience, and presently the headmaster appeared, walking heavily like one on whose mind there is a weight.
" Well ? " cried the bishop, as he entered the study.
The headmaster doffed his cap and gown, and sank limply into a chair.
" I cannot conceive," he groaned, *' what madness had me in its grip last night."
The bishop was shaken, but he could not countenance such an attitude as this.
" I do not understand you, Headmaster," he said stiffly. "It was our simple duty, as a protest against the undue exaltation of one whom we both know to have been a most unpleasant schoolmate, to paint that statue."
" And I suppose it was your duty to leave your hat on its head ? "
" Now there," said the bishop, " I may possibly have gone a little too far." He coughed. " Has that perhaps somewhat ill-considered action led to the harbouring of suspicions by those in authority ? "
" They don't know what to think."
" What is the view of the Board of Governors ?
" They insist on my finding the culprit. Should I fail to do so, they hint at the gravest consequences."
" You mean they will deprive you of your headmastership ? "
" That is what they imply. I shall be asked to hand in my resignation. And, if
that happens, bim goes my chance of ever being a bishop."
" Well, it's not all jam being a bishop. You wouldn't enjoy it, Catsmeat."
" All very well for you to talk, Boko. You got me into this, you silly ass."
" I hke that ! You were just as keen on it as I was."
" You suggested it."
*' Well, you jumped at the suggestion."
The two men had faced each other heatedly, and for a moment it seemed as if there was to be a serious falhng-out. Then the bishop recovered himself.
" Catsmeat," he said, with that wonderful smile of his, taking the other's hand, " this is unworthy of us. We must not quarrel. We must put our heads together and see if there is not some avenue of escape from the unfortunate position in which, however creditable our motives, we appear to have placed ourselves. How would it be ? "
'* I thought of that," said the headmaster. " It wouldn't do a bit of good. Of course, we might "
** No, that's no use, either," said the bishop.
They sat for awhile in meditative silence. And, as they sat, the door opened.
" General Bloodenough," announced the butler.
'* Oh, that I had wings like a dove. Psalm xlv. 6," muttered the bishop.
His desire to be wafted from that spot with all available speed could hardly be considered unreasonable. General Sir Hector Bloodenough, V.C, K.C.LE., M.V.O., on retiring from the army, had been for many years, until his final return to England, in charge of the Secret Service in Western Africa, where his unerring acumen had won for him from the natives the soubriquet of Wah-nah-B'gosh-B'jingo,—which, freely translated, means Big Chief Who Can See Through The Hole In A Doughnut.
A man impossible to deceive. The last man the bishop would have wished to be conducting the present investigations.
The general stalked into the room. He had keen blue eyes, topped by bushy white eyebrows : and the bishop found his gaze far too piercing to be agreeable.
" Bad business, this,'' he said. '' Bad business. Bad business."
** It is, indeed," faltered the bishop. " Shocking bad business. Shocking. Shocking. Do you know what we found on the head of that statue, eh ? that statue, that statue ? Your hat, bishop. Your hat. Your hat."
The bishop made an attempt to rally. His mind was in a whirl, for the general's habit of repeating everything three times had the effect on him of making his last night's escapade seem three times as bad. He now saw himself on the verge of standing convicted of having painted three statues with three pots of pink paint, and of having placed on the head of each one of a trio of shovel-hats. But he was a strong man, and he did his best.
" You say my hat ? " he retorted with spirit. " How do you know it was my hat ? There may have been hundreds of bishops dodging about the school grounds last night."
" Got your name in it. Your name. Your name."
The bishop clutched at the arm of the chair in which he sat. The general's eyes were piercing him through and through, and every moment he felt more like a sheep that
has had the misfortune to encounter a potted meat manufacturer. He was on the point of protesting that the writing in the hat was probably a forgery, when there was a tap at the door.
" Come in," cried the headmaster, who had been cowering in his seat.
There entered a small boy in an Eton suit, whose face seemed to the bishop vaguely familiar. It was a face that closely resembled a ripe tomato with a nose stuck on it, but that was not what had struck the bishop. It was something other than tomatoes that this lad reminded him.
" Sir, please, sir," said the boy.
" Yes, yes, yes," said General Bloodenough testily. '* Run away, my boy, run away, run away. Can't you see we're busy ? "
" But, sir, please, sir, it's about the statue."
" What about the statue ? What about it ? What about
it ? "
" Sir, please, sir, it was me."
"What! What! What! What! What! "
The bishop, the general, and the headmaster had spoken simultaneously: and
the " Whats" had been distributed as follows:
The Bishop i
The General 3
The Headmaster i
making five in all. Having uttered these ejaculations, they sat staring at the boy, who turned a brighter vermihon.
" What are you saying ? " cried the headmaster. '' You painted that statue ? "
" Sir, yes, sir."
" You ? " said the bishop. Sir, yes, sir."
You ? You ? You ? " said the general. Sir, yes, sir."
There was a quivering pause. The bishop looked at the headmaster. The headmaster looked at the bishop. The general looked at the boy. The boy looked at the floor.
The general was the first to speak.
*' Monstrous ! " he exclaimed. " Monstrous, Monstrous. Never heard of such a thing. This boy must be expelled, Headmaster. Expelled. Ex "
" No ! " said the headmaster in a ringing voice.
" Then flogged within an inch of his hfe. Within an inch. An inch."
" No " A strange, new dignity seemed to have descended upon the Rev. Trevor Entwhistle. He was breathing a httle quickly through his nose, and his eyes had assumed a somewhat prawn-hke aspect. " In matters of school discipline, general, I must with all deference claim to be paramount. I will deal with this case as I think best. In my opinion this is not an occasion for severity. You agree with me, bishop ? "
The bishop came to himself with a start. He had been thinking of an article which he had just completed for a leading review on the subject of Miracles, and was regretting that the tone he had taken, though in keeping with the trend of Modern Thought, had been tinged with something approaching scepticism.
" Oh, entirely," he said.
*' Then all I can say," fumed the general, " is that I wash my hands of the whole business, the whole business, the whole business. And if this is the way our boys are being brought up nowadays, no wonder the country is going to the dogs, the dogs, going to the dogs."
The door slammed behind him. The headmaster turned to the boy, a kindly, winning smile upon his face.
'* No doubt," he said, " you now regret this rash act ? "
" Sir, yes, sir."
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