‘How’re we going to find that out?’ asked Ginger.
‘Once,’ said Henry thoughtfully, ‘I heard about a man who wanted to find out the name of a man who lived in a house and he went to the door and asked if Mr Brown lived there an’ they said “No”, and told him who did live there.’
‘It’s jus’ half past two,’ said William severely, ‘an’ we’re goin’ to be jolly late for school if we don’t run jolly quick.’
So the Outlaws ran jolly quick.
It happened that they all came out of school at different times.
Henry’s chemistry division was let out very early because something had gone wrong with the gas supply for the bunsen burners, and they popped in a most fascinating manner instead of lighting properly. The class would have preferred to stay and pop them, but old ‘Stinks’ sent them home.
‘Of course he would,’ said Henry bitterly, ‘when there’s anything int’resting to do, but on an ord’nary dull day when they light all right we’ve got to stay on till the end. That’s like ’em.’
By ‘’em’ he meant the mysterious and exasperating race of grown-ups who always seemed bent on ridding life of its glamour and romance. Fancy being able to pop a bunsen burner like that time after time indefinitely and not wanting to do it – more than that, wanting to stop other people doing it.
But Henry’s dejection soon vanished, and he walked along briskly. Instead of going straight along the road he went in at Mr Jones’s front gate, and with quickly beating heart went up to the front door and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again. There was still no answer. He raised the knocker and beat a fierce rat-tat-tat upon the door.
‘If nothing happens now I’ll go away,’ he said, almost hoping that nothing would happen.
But something did happen. The door opened very slightly and an old woman’s face appeared round it. Henry was thrilled. She was wizened and lined and bent and sinister – just the sort of old woman one would guess would guard Dmitritch’s house.
‘Does Mr Brown live here?’ he said boldly.
The old woman looked at him suspiciously.
‘Eh?’ she said.
‘Does Mr Brown live here?’ said Henry.
‘Eh?’ she said again.
Some of Henry’s assurance departed.
‘Does Mr Brown live here?’ he said again rather nervously.
The old woman went away without a word. But she left the door open. Soon she returned with an ear-trumpet. She put this into her ear and, fixing a red, angry eye upon Henry, again said ‘Eh?’
Henry was taken aback but undaunted. He knew how to deal with an ear-trumpet. His great-aunt had one.
‘Does Mr Brown live here?’ he yelled into it.
‘No ’e doesn’t,’ she said, and slammed the door in his face.
Henry stared at the slammed door. He had just been going to ask who did live there when it was slammed in his face. He put up his hand and knocked again loudly.
Then suddenly overcome by panic at his daring he turned and fled down the drive. He hadn’t succeeded, but, anyway, he’d tried. He’d have quite a lot to tell the others. He’d gone to the sinister door and seen the sinister old woman and caught a glimpse of the sinister dark interior with a sinister-looking hall table just visible in the sinister gloom. He’d be able to make quite a good tale of it.
Ginger went home at the ordinary time – the close of afternoon school. He came home alone because both William and Douglas had been kept in by the French master and Henry had come home earlier. He made no effort to go straight home. With set, stem face he went to Mr Jones’s house. The idea had come to him while putting on his coat and hat.
He walked boldly up to the front door and knocked. He had knocked loudly and imperiously, and the old woman answered his knock after only a very short interval. She opened the door a few inches and glared out. Now the old lady was very shortsighted, and the Outlaws were, as the saying is, much of a size. She could see no difference in them. Here was, in her eyes, the same boy who had been there a few minutes ago.
‘What do you want now?’ she snapped.
‘Does Mr Brown live here?’ said Ginger very pleasantly.
‘Eh?’ said the old crone.
‘Does Mr Brown live here?’ said Ginger, with an ingratiating smile.
‘Eh?’ said the old crone again. Ginger’s voice was failing with nervousness.
‘Does—’ he began hoarsely.
The old crone went away and returned with the ear-trumpet.
‘Does Mr Brown live here?’ Ginger whispered into it faintly.
The old woman bared her teeth with a snarl of fury.
‘How many times d’you want me to tell you, you saucy little ’ound?’ she said. ‘’E don’t live here an’ I’ve told you so once, you—’
But Ginger, terrified by the sound of her high-pitched, angry voice, and the sight of her toothless bared gums, turned to flee in headlong panic back to the safety of the main road. He did not stop till he reached the turning into the road where his home was. Then he stopped, looked back fearfully, and uttered the one word ‘Crumbs!’
Douglas was kept in half an hour by the French master and William an hour. William was kept in half an hour longer than Douglas because his ignorance of French verbs was half-an-hour deeper than Douglas’s ignorance of French verbs. Douglas made occasional spasmodic efforts to learn French verbs and William didn’t.
Between William and the French masters was waged a perpetual feud. William often explained to both the senior and junior French masters that he didn’t see what good French was to him, as he’d decided never to go to France, an’ if any French people wanted to talk to him in England they could learn English. He didn’t see why he should learn the languages of people he wasn’t ever going to talk to. When he spoke thus to the junior French master, the junior French master reasoned with him. When he spoke thus to the senior French master, the senior French master smacked his head. Of the two methods of dealing with him, William understood and preferred the latter. It took less time and you knew where you were. He possessed a father and an elder brother, and was quite used to having his head smacked. It was an argument that appealed to him.
Anyway, this explains why Douglas set off alone half an hour after afternoon school had ended, leaving William still staring moodily at a French grammar, and absently making darts out of blotting-paper.
It was no sudden whim on Douglas’s part to go to Mr Jones’s house. Henry’s words had suggested the idea to him as soon as they were uttered, and he had decided then to call at Mr Jones’s house on his way home. He walked quite jauntily up the door and knocked. No one came. He knocked six times. Finally, someone breathing very hard opened the door and a wizened old face appeared round it. The breathing changed to a snort as her eyes fell on Douglas. That boy again! Blast him! That boy again!
‘Does Mr Brown live here?’ said Douglas.
She couldn’t hear what he said. She hesitated a minute, then went to get her ear-trumpet. It might be an important message, or anything.
‘Does Mr Brown live here?’ shrieked Douglas into the ear-trumpet.
He was surprised at what happened. The wizened old creature seemed to spring at him with a snarl of rage. Douglas, in whom the instinct of self-preservation was strong, was in headllong flight down to the gate before the old hag could recover her breath from her snarl. Then she screamed after him in quavering fury.
‘You come askin’ me that again, you saucy little ’ound, an’ I’ll half kill you.’
Douglas did not stop running till he reached his own front door. Then he wiped his brow, said ‘Crikey!’ to himself, and turned his mind to the invention of plausible-sounding excuses to account for his lateness for tea.
William was at last released from his detention, less because he had mastered the intricacies of his French verbs than because the French master wanted his tea. William had not meant to call at Mr Jones’s house. The idea never occurred to him till he had
left Mr Jones’s house far behind and had almost reached his own home.
As he went along the road with his characteristic slouch, he was thinking about the mysterious stranger with the crooked nose and cross-eyes, and quite suddenly Henry’s words occurred to him. He wheeled round and began wearily to traverse the distance between his house and Mr Jones’s.
The thought of the tea he was deliberately sacrificing made him feel rather bitterly towards the French master. He consoled himself by the hope that, like his own family, the French master’s family did not allow tea to be kept ‘hanging round’ (the phrase is William’s mother’s) after five o’clock. He walked in at Mr Jones’s gateway with a firm step and knocked loudly at the front door. No one answered it.
William was feeling hot and irritable. He lifted the knocker and rapped it with all his might seven or eight times. He was in no mood to be trifled with. At last a very old woman came to the door. William glared at her.
‘Does Mr Brown live here?’ he said coldly and distinctly.
William had a very confused impression of what happened next. As far as he remembered afterwards, the old woman set upon him without the slightest warning and knocked him down the front steps.
From there he picked himself up and, throwing valour to the winds, fled down to the gate. Shrill cries from the aged lady behind informed him that she’d learn him to come plaguin’ folks all afternoon with his saucy tricks, the saucy little hound, him! William was thrilled to learn thus unmistakably that Mr Jones’s hitherto innocent abode was now a nest of criminals who set upon honest people at sight and tried to break their necks.
His mother was out when he reached home and there was no sign of tea. He went into the drawing-room, where Ethel, his grown-up sister, was writing a letter.
‘Where’s tea?’ he demanded morosely.
‘Tea’s over,’ said Ethel, without looking up from her letter. ‘You shouldn’t be so late.’
‘How could I help it?’ said William indignantly. ‘One of the masters wanted me to stay behind after school to do something for him, an’ I din’ think it polite to say I wouldn’t.’
‘Well, I can’t help it,’ said Ethel absently; ‘you’ll have to wait till supper now.’
‘’Strordinary,’ said William distinctly, ‘how some folks can see other folks starvin’ an’ – an’ – knocked about—’
A hasty movement brought his bruised side in contact with a table. His feelings demanded some outlet.
‘Blank!’ he said, after a moment’s deep thought. ‘Blank, blank, blank!’
‘I found out somethin’ about that house,’ said William, mysteriously and complacently, as soon as he met the others the next morning.
The others, who had been also looking mysterious and complacent and proud, seemed taken aback.
‘So did I,’ said Ginger and Douglas and Henry, speaking simultaneously. Then they all stared at each other in amazed silence. Henry broke the amazed silence.
‘I called there on my way home,’ he said, ‘to ask if Mr Brown lived there an’—’
‘So did I on my way home,’ broke in Douglas.
‘An’ me, too,’ said Ginger.
William looked at them bitterly.
‘Yes, an’ I called last,’ he said, ‘an’ got half-killed with all you going messin’ about first. If you’d left it to me—’
But his bitterness was soon lost in interest. They discussed their impressions excitedly. They agreed that she was probably Dmitritch’s mother and if possible more wicked than Dmitritch. They agreed that the couple were probably imprisoning a White princess and planning to bomb the whole village in the interests of Communism.
Just as they had agreed upon this, the villain himself was seen to be coming down the road.
Aware that he was probably in the habit of killing his victims on sight, they hid behind the hedge, but, overcome by curiosity, threw caution to the winds and looked over the top of the hedge as he passed. The object of their scrutiny was somewhat disconcerted as he passed down an apparently deserted lane to see four boys’ heads suddenly pop up over the top of the hedge and gaze at him with mingled earnestness and hostility, turning slowly to watch him the more closely as he pursued his way. As soon as he had passed they came out of their imperfect hiding.
‘Let’s follow him again,’ said William.
Douglas, who was ever cautious, suggested that it might not be safe, but his caution was overborne by the others. After a slight delay, caused by a scuffle between Douglas and William, who had used the opprobrious word ‘coward’, the Outlaws set off with elaborate secrecy to stalk their prey. They crept along in single file by the side of the road in the shadow of the hedge, crouching down as they walked.
Their progress would have arrested attention anywhere and at any distance, but the Outlaws fondly imagined that proceeding in this way they made themselves practically invisible to the naked eye.
Dmitritch, fortunately, did not turn round. He walked fairly briskly and had soon left the village behind and was out in the open country, followed ever by four crouching figures in single file. When he disappeared into a wood, the four figures held a hasty consultation.
‘What we goin’ to do?’ asked Ginger in a penetrating whisper.
‘You said you’d kill him with a knife, din’ you?’ said William unkindly. ‘Well, s’pose you go an’ do it – go on an’ kill him with a knife. You said you could.’
‘I haven’t got a knife with me,’ said Ginger coldly, ‘else I would.’
‘Well, then you said you’d take him to the middle of a bridge an’ push him in. Well, there’s a bridge when he gets out of the wood. S’pose you do it now. We’ll watch. You go an’ take him to the middle of the bridge an’ then push him in like what you said you would.’
‘An’ what about you?’ said Ginger. ‘Din’ you say you’d poison him – put poison in his tea? Well go on. S’pose you go an’ do it.’
‘How can I put poison in his tea now?’ said William irritably. ‘Now when he’s out walkin’? Why don’ you talk sense!’
‘You can’t, anyway,’ said Ginger sternly. ‘You don’t know what is poison or where you get it or where his tea is or anythin’. You couldn’t poison his tea if you tried.’
‘I could poison his tea’s much as you could push him off a bridge,’ said William heatedly.
‘How d’you know?’ said Ginger. ‘I’ve not tried pushin’ him off a bridge yet.’
‘An’ I’ve not tried poisonin’ him,’ retorted William.
Henry interposed before the argument could develop further on these lines.
‘Well, we’re lettin’ him go now,’ he said; ‘we oughter hurry up to catch him before he gets away, an’ we oughter find out what he’s come out to do.’
‘I bet he’s come out to – to make bombs or somethin’,’ said Douglas vaguely, ‘but I don’ think it’s safe.’
‘Oh, shut up about it being safe,’ said William irritably. ‘I think he’s come out to meet other people in the plot. You know, com – communals an’ people like that.’
‘Well, let’s go on,’ said Henry, ‘or we’ll be losin’ him.’
But, fortunately, Dmitritch had taken a rest on a fallen tree trunk and had only just resumed his walk when they entered the wood. They followed him through the wood in a silence broken only by Henry’s whispered ‘I believe I can see a bomb in his pocket,’ and William’s sibilant ‘Sh!’
William was beginning to suspect that he was not that morning justifying his position as leader of the Outlaws. He hastily evolved a plan.
‘I tell you what we’ve gotter do,’ he said. ‘We’ve gotter creep up behind him an’ spring on him an’ overpower him sudden, an’ – an’ – an’ get all his secrets out of him.’
‘How?’ said the practical Douglas.
‘By threats,’ said William, ‘by threats an’ – an’ – threats. When we get quite near I’ll say, “Spring,” an’ all of you spring on him.’
Th
ey crept up abreast still crouching. The man in front heard a slight sound and turned suddenly. He saw the backs of four boys running violently away in the opposite direction.
The sudden sight of the cross-eyes and crooked nose had been too much for the Outlaws. The man, slightly surprised, continued his walk. At the end of the wood the Outlaws ceased their headlong flight and clustered together, panting. They felt distinctly sheepish. Each one was hoping someone else would explain their actions first. William, as leader, undertook the noble task of clearing their consciences.
‘Well,’ he gasped, ‘we were jolly lucky to escape alive. I guess he was jus’ goin’ to kill us.’
‘I saw his hand goin’ to his pocket where he keeps his bombs,’ said Henry breathlessly.
‘Well,’ said William, ‘we’ve just gotter think of some other way. We’ll have a meetin’ tonight an’ think out plans.’
Ginger went home with William to fetch a bow and arrow which he and William jointly owned.
They crept as silently as they could up the hall. Each of the Outlaws accepted as a matter of course this dislike of the families of the other members. They would have regarded with deep suspicion any evidences of a warmer feeling. It would have embarrassed them terribly.
THE MYSTERIOUS MAN HEARD A SLIGHT SOUND AND TURNED SUDDENLY.
To Ginger it was as natural for the grown-up members of William’s, Douglas’s or Henry’s family to dislike him as it was for the flowers to bloom in the spring. Therefore, on his way up to William’s bedroom, where the bow and arrows were kept, he tried instinctively to attract as little attention from William’s family as possible. At the foot of the stairs they paused. The morning-room door was open. Mrs Brown evidently had a visitor.
FOUR BOYS WERE RUNNING VIOLENTLY AWAY. THE SIGHT HAD BEEN TOO MUCH FOR THE OUTLAWS.
‘Have you heard anything of the man who’s rented ‘The Limes’ from Mr Jones?’ the visitor was saying.
‘No,’ said Mrs Brown with interest. ‘Who is he?’
‘It’s a Mr Finchley – very ugly, but very distinguished, I believe. An author or something like that.’
William The Conqueror Page 11