The Gold Bat

  XIV

  THE WHITE FIGURE

  "Suppose," said Shoeblossom to Barry, as they were walking over toschool on the morning following the day on which Milton's study hadpassed through the hands of the League, "suppose you thought somebodyhad done something, but you weren't quite certain who, but you knew itwas some one, what would you do?"

  "What on _earth_ do you mean?" inquired Barry.

  "I was trying to make an A.B. case of it," explained Shoeblossom.

  "What's an A.B. case?"

  "I don't know," admitted Shoeblossom, frankly. "But it comes in a bookof Stevenson's. I think it must mean a sort of case where you calleveryone A. and B. and don't tell their names."

  "Well, go ahead."

  "It's about Milton's study."

  "What! what about it?"

  "Well, you see, the night it was ragged I was sitting in my study witha dark lantern--"

  "What!"

  Shoeblossom proceeded to relate the moving narrative of hisnight-walking adventure. He dwelt movingly on his state of mindwhen standing behind the door, waiting for Mr Seymour to come inand find him. He related with appropriate force the hair-raisingepisode of the weird white figure. And then he came to the conclusionshe had since drawn (in calmer moments) from that apparition's movements.

  "You see," he said, "I saw it coming out of Milton's study, and thatmust have been about the time the study was ragged. And it went intoRigby's dorm. So it must have been a chap in that dorm, who did it."

  Shoeblossom was quite clever at rare intervals. Even Barry, whosebelief in his sanity was of the smallest, was compelled to admit thathere, at any rate, he was talking sense.

  "What would you do?" asked Shoeblossom.

  "Tell Milton, of course," said Barry.

  "But he'd give me beans for being out of the dorm, after lights-out."

  This was a distinct point to be considered. The attitude of Barrytowards Milton was different from that of Shoeblossom. Barry regardedhim--through having played with him in important matches--as a goodsort of fellow who had always behaved decently to him. Leather-Twigg,on the other hand, looked on him with undisguised apprehension, as onein authority who would give him lines the first time he came intocontact with him, and cane him if he ever did it again. He had adecided disinclination to see Milton on any pretext whatever.

  "Suppose I tell him?" suggested Barry.

  "You'll keep my name dark?" said Shoeblossom, alarmed.

  Barry said he would make an A.B. case of it.

  After school he went to Milton's study, and found him still broodingover its departed glories.

  "I say, Milton, can I speak to you for a second?"

  "Hullo, Barry. Come in."

  Barry came in.

  "I had forty-three photographs," began Milton, without preamble. "Alldestroyed. And I've no money to buy any more. I had seventeen of EdnaMay."

  Barry, feeling that he was expected to say something, said, "By Jove!Really?"

  "In various positions," continued Milton. "All ruined."

  "Not really?" said Barry.

  "There was one of Little Tich--"

  But Barry felt unequal to playing the part of chorus any longer. It wasall very thrilling, but, if Milton was going to run through the entirelist of his destroyed photographs, life would be too short forconversation on any other topic.

  "I say, Milton," he said, "it was about that that I came. I'm sorry--"

  Milton sat up.

  "It wasn't you who did this, was it?"

  "No, no," said Barry, hastily.

  "Oh, I thought from your saying you were sorry--"

  "I was going to say I thought I could put you on the track of the chapwho did do it--"

  For the second time since the interview began Milton sat up.

  "Go on," he said.

  "--But I'm sorry I can't give you the name of the fellow who told meabout it."

  "That doesn't matter," said Milton. "Tell me the name of the fellow whodid it. That'll satisfy me."

  "I'm afraid I can't do that, either."

  "Have you any idea what you _can_ do?" asked Milton, satirically.

  "I can tell you something which may put you on the right track."

  "That'll do for a start. Well?"

  "Well, the chap who told me--I'll call him A.; I'm going to make anA.B. case of it--was coming out of his study at about one o'clock inthe morning--"

  "What the deuce was he doing that for?"

  "Because he wanted to go back to bed," said Barry.

  "About time, too. Well?"

  "As he was going past your study, a white figure emerged--"

  "I should strongly advise you, young Barry," said Milton, gravely, "notto try and rot me in any way. You're a jolly good wing three-quarters,but you shouldn't presume on it. I'd slay the Old Man himself if herotted me about this business."

  Barry was quite pained at this sceptical attitude in one whom he wasgoing out of his way to assist.

  "I'm not rotting," he protested. "This is all quite true."

  "Well, go on. You were saying something about white figures emerging."

  "Not white figures. A white figure," corrected Barry. "It came out ofyour study--"

  "--And vanished through the wall?"

  "It went into Rigby's dorm.," said Barry, sulkily. It was maddening tohave an exclusive bit of news treated in this way.

  "Did it, by Jove!" said Milton, interested at last. "Are you sure thechap who told you wasn't pulling your leg? Who was it told you?"

  "I promised him not to say."

  "Out with it, young Barry."

  "I won't," said Barry.

  "You aren't going to tell me?"

  "No."

  Milton gave up the point with much cheerfulness. He liked Barry, and herealised that he had no right to try and make him break his promise.

  "That's all right," he said. "Thanks very much, Barry. This may beuseful."

  "I'd tell you his name if I hadn't promised, you know, Milton."

  "It doesn't matter," said Milton. "It's not important."

  "Oh, there was one thing I forgot. It was a biggish chap the fellowsaw."

  "How big! My size?"

  "Not quite so tall, I should think. He said he was about Seymour'ssize."

  "Thanks. That's worth knowing. Thanks very much, Barry."

  When his visitor had gone, Milton proceeded to unearth one of theprinted lists of the house which were used for purposes of roll-call.He meant to find out who were in Rigby's dormitory. He put a tickagainst the names. There were eighteen of them. The next thing was tofind out which of them was about the same height as Mr Seymour. It was asomewhat vague description, for the house-master stood about five feetnine or eight, and a good many of the dormitory were that height, or nearit. At last, after much brain-work, he reduced the number of "possibles"to seven. These seven were Rigby himself, Linton, Rand-Brown, Griffith,Hunt, Kershaw, and Chapple. Rigby might be scratched off the list atonce. He was one of Milton's greatest friends. Exeunt also Griffith,Hunt, and Kershaw. They were mild youths, quite incapable of any deedof devilry. There remained, therefore, Chapple, Linton, and Rand-Brown.Chapple was a boy who was invariably late for breakfast. The inferencewas that he was not likely to forego his sleep for the purpose ofwrecking studies. Chapple might disappear from the list. Now therewere only Linton and Rand-Brown to be considered. His suspicions fellon Rand-Brown. Linton was the last person, he thought, to do such alow thing. He was a cheerful, rollicking individual, who was popular witheveryone and seemed to like everyone. He was not an orderly member ofthe house, certainly, and on several occasions Milton had found itnecessary to drop on him heavily for creating disturbances. But he wasnot the sort that bears malice. He took it all in the way of business,and came up smiling after it was over. No, everything pointed toRand-Brown. He and Milton had never got on well together, and quiterecently they had quarrelled openly over the former's play in the Day'smatch. Rand-Brown must be the man. But Milton was sensible enough
tofeel that so far he had no real evidence whatever. He must wait.

  On the following afternoon Seymour's turned out to play Donaldson's.

  The game, like most house-matches, was played with the utmost keenness.Both teams had good three-quarters, and they attacked in turn.Seymour's had the best of it forward, where Milton was playing a greatgame, but Trevor in the centre was the best outside on the field, andpulled up rush after rush. By half-time neither side had scored.

  After half-time Seymour's, playing downhill, came away with a rush tothe Donaldsonites' half, and Rand-Brown, with one of the few decentruns he had made in good class football that term, ran in on the left.Milton took the kick, but failed, and Seymour's led by three points.For the next twenty minutes nothing more was scored. Then, when fiveminutes more of play remained, Trevor gave Clowes an easy opening, andClowes sprinted between the posts. The kick was an easy one, and whatsporting reporters term "the major points" were easily added.

  When there are five more minutes to play in an important house-match,and one side has scored a goal and the other a try, play is apt tobecome spirited. Both teams were doing all they knew. The ball came outto Barry on the right. Barry's abilities as a three-quarter restedchiefly on the fact that he could dodge well. This eel-like attributecompensated for a certain lack of pace. He was past the Donaldson'sthree-quarters in an instant, and running for the line, with only theback to pass, and with Clowes in hot pursuit. Another wriggle took himpast the back, but it also gave Clowes time to catch him up. Clowes wasa far faster runner, and he got to him just as he reached thetwenty-five line. They came down together with a crash, Clowes ontop, and as they fell the whistle blew.

  "No-side," said Mr. Aldridge, the master who was refereeing.

  Clowes got up.

  "All over," he said. "Jolly good game. Hullo, what's up?"

  For Barry seemed to be in trouble.

  "You might give us a hand up," said the latter. "I believe I've twistedmy beastly ankle or something."