King of Ranleigh: A School Story

  CHAPTER XVIII

  TRACKED DOWN

  Clive stood as still as a post, watching and listening. Overhead therewas a small crescent of the moon floating over the school and partiallyilluminating the quad. But the corridors were plunged in stygiandarkness. Had he actually heard anything? Had someone really passed him?

  "Well, I'm jiggered," he observed to himself, clinging doubtfully to oneof the cross-bars placed across the usually open windows of the corridorby a thoughtful directorate, and with a view to keeping small boys fromclambering through them. For it was the custom at Ranleigh to indulge inan ample measure of fresh air, and those corridor windows remained freeof glass until the depths of winter.

  "Feel certain someone went by," thought Clive. "Felt rather than heardhim. But--but where's he gone? Is he just opposite me. Ah!"

  No wonder he was puzzled, for as we have intimated, whoever had gonedown the corridor had made not the smallest sound. Recollect that it wasa little past midnight, that the school was plunged in slumber, andthat, to the best of Clive's belief, he and Masters were the only twoabout the premises. Remember that the circumstances provided an intensestillness, and that at such times sounds usually inaudible come to theear with certainty. He had heard something, he was sure.

  "As if a fellow had a dressing-gown on and the gown were trailing on theground," he told himself. "The merest whisper. It may have been a man'sdeep breathing. But there's not a sound now. Not a single sound."

  But there was something else. There came the flicker of a light away tohis right, a mere flicker, and then the same all-pervading darkness.Clive slid off in that direction at once, halted when he judged he hadreached the correct position, and strained his ears and eyes to detectthe author of that sudden glimmer. And what a job he had to be sure todrown the sound of his own breathing and his own thudding heart beats!That was the worst of such intense stillness, and of excitement, for hewas excited.

  "The chap took me by surprise," he muttered beneath his breath, as if byway of excuse. He struggled against the feeling of excitement, butfailed hopelessly. His heart still thudded against his ribs, beatingwith unusual rapidity. And then, worse than all, a sudden ticklingsensation at the back of his throat assailed him. He was going to cough.He was----

  No. He beat the feeling down, and of a sudden once more had all hisattention engaged elsewhere. For from a spot some ten feet to his right,from the centre of the inky darkness of the corridor, a jet of lightswept across to the far wall. He could see the actual point from whichit arose. There the beam glowed brightly, perhaps an inch and a half indepth. It spread itself gradually through the darkness, till it obtainedmuch greater dimensions and finally settled on the brick and stone innerwall of the corridor in a wide ellipse of light. Silently it stole alongthe brickwork till it fell upon a door.

  "The Head's entrance to his house. This is queer," Clive thought, whilehis excitement rose. Let us be brutally frank about this young fellow.He was no coward. He was noted for dash and courage at Ranleigh School.But, like every other fellow there, he was susceptible to outsideinfluences. And here was one decidedly uncanny and out of the ordinary,one which affected him most strangely. Clive felt positive pain in hisscalp. His hair bristled beneath the school cap which he had donned forthis adventure. He felt almost scared. Raising his hand he thrust thefingers beneath his cap, and instantly the beam of light vanished. Itwas there one instant. It was gone the next. There was merely denseblackness, and silence.

  "Phew!" Perspiration trickled over his brows. His palms were moist andclammy. He began to wish that Masters would turn up, only that would beawkward.

  "Give the whole show away," he told himself. "This is beastly ghostlyand uncanny, but I ain't going to be funked. There's something mightysuspicious here, and that beam comes from an electric hand light. Thenthere is someone operating it. Ghosts don't have such things. Don't need'em."

  The very thought tickled him vastly. It was queer at such a moment to bestruck by the utter absurdity of the suggestion that a ghost shouldrequire a lamp, and should be so up-to-date as to have adopted anelectric one. Still, the deathly silence gave a most undoubted ghostlyappearance to the whole transaction, and we must excuse Clive if he wasimpressed by it.

  "He ain't moved. Shall I show him up with my lamp?" he asked himself."No, I'll wait. Ten to one this is the beggar we're after. But he's donenothing yet. I'm out to catch an incendiary, and if this is he, why, Isit tight till he's got to the business."

  Ah! The beam flashed again, alighting on the tiled floor of thecorridor, and stealing along it to the foot of the Head's door. Itslowly climbed it till it reached the keyhole, concentrated itself uponthat orifice, and then gradually grew smaller and more brilliant, whilethe point from which it originated approached the door ever so slowly,the beam shortening in proportion. Click! There was the faintest ofsounds in the distance. The beam disappeared, strangled by the handwhich operated the lamp.

  "Masters making his round and coming along to meet me. He'll alarm thisbeggar," thought Clive. "Better get off and warn him. I'll get him towatch the far end of the corridor."

  He went off like a ghost himself across the quad, entered the corridorby the open doorway below the entrance to East Dormitory, and haltedoutside the Bursar's office. Yes, there was the gentle slither of analmost noiseless footfall. Clive whistled gently.

  "That you, Masters?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

  "Yes. What's up? You've seen something?"

  "Just now. The fellow's got an electric lamp, and he's along there inthe corridor. I'm not sure that he's our man, and I came back here towarn you not to make a sound. Look here, watch along there by the stepsleading to the washing rooms. I've just thought this beggar may be anoutsider who breaks in, or makes his way into the school by the backdoors. You'd catch him at the turn of the corridor, and in any caseyou'd be within hearing and I could call you. That right?"

  "I'm off. Yell if you want me," answered Masters. "Look out in case thefellow's armed. George! I never thought of that possibility of a mangetting into the school from outside and doing this firing business.Hope it'll turn out so. Ranleigh don't want such scum about the school."

  He went off without another word, while Clive slid into the quad againand stole along by the corridor windows. In a little while, having usedthe greatest caution, he had reached the spot he had stood in before,and straightway leaned against one of the barred windows and stared in.There was not a sound. No beam of light helped him to discover thewhereabouts of the ghostly stranger parading the corridor.

  "Gone! Slipped off on hearing that sound," Clive told himself. "Bad luckto it! He's beaten us again."

  He fingered his own electric lamp, with which Masters was also provided.

  "Shall I, or shall I not?" he wondered, his finger on the slidingtrigger. "Supposing he's over there, still waiting and listening?Supposing he's slid off and is at work elsewhere?"

  It was a dilemma. There are very many placed in the same position ofresponsibility and under the self-same circumstances who would havehesitated, and rightly so, who would have determined to do nothing thatsavoured of rashness, and who would have decided to curb theirimpatience, risking everything lest by premature action they shouldwreck the whole enterprise. Still Clive swung badly between the twodecisions. He brought his electric lamp out of his pocket, presented itacross the corridor, and then tucked it back in his pocket again, justas he had done a few moments before. It gave him a start, a minutelater, when he again had his lamp in position, though the trigger wasnot yet moved, suddenly to perceive a ray of light opposite.

  "Why, he's opened the Head's door," he told himself. "That light'sshining from the inside. The beggar's managed to get into the house.What's his business?"

  It was something dishonest and underhand, in any case, else why suchsilence? why this flitting in the depths of night, when the school andits residents were sunk in slumber?

  "Frightfully fishy," Clive told himself. "Either a burglar or theincendiary we
're after. I'm going across to that door to take a look in.No, I'm not."

  He bobbed down like lightning, his head below the window frame throughwhich he had been staring. For the light within the half-open doorincreased. It swung across to the opposite side of the corridor, andthen, through the surrounding darkness, Clive saw the bull's-eye orificethrough which the beam was projected. Nothing more was visible. The handwhich operated the lamp, the man behind might not have been inexistence. He was invisible. It looked, indeed, as if the torch weresupporting itself, and swaying from side to side by its own efforts. Andthen, of a sudden, the beam died out.

  "Beggar felt it necessary to come out of the house into the corridor soas to make sure no one was about," Clive whispered to himself. "Now, ishe still outside the door, listening and waiting, or has he gone inagain? I'm not going to wait much longer. This cad means business, andif he's up to the old game, why, the sooner I nab him the better.Supposing he's already made a fire!"

  That caused his heart to increase its exertions again, for hisexcitement had abated a little after his first discovery. But as hethought of this serious possibility, his pulses stirred with avengeance. Why, the whole fate of the school might be in his hands!Delay and hesitation at this moment might see old Ranleigh, the placewhich he and hundreds like him loved, some young, some growing tomanhood, some already arrived at that stage in life's progression, andgetting rather on the seamy side, might see it burned to ashes. Thethought sent a chill through his sweating frame. Clive moved quickly inthe direction of the open door at the west end of the quad and creptinto the corridor. Was that a flash of light he saw from beneath thedoor?

  "Jolly like it. Believe he's gone in again. I'm going to chancematters."

  He touched the trigger of his lamp and sent a flood of light on thehalf-open door. The corridor was empty. There was no figure beside thedoor. Clive darted over to it, and stood at its edge, peeping round intothe passage leading to the Head's own study. It was a dismal place atany time, badly lighted in the most brilliant day, and now sunk in thedepths of impenetrable darkness. It was a heart-breaking sort ofpassage, with uncompromising and unsatisfactory walls, which gave notthe smallest encouragement to a malefactor. And here it was thatmalefactors gathered. Not the class of malefactor that Clive was nowafter, but wretched Ranleighans, haled before the Head, sent there oftenenough with the politest of notes by one or other of the masters--notes,too, which the wretched victims had themselves to bear. They were almostlike death warrants. Clive had experienced the dreadful feeling ofbearing one. He had waited in that depressing passage while anothersinner preceded him. He had listened to the drone of voices behind theHead's door. And then had come the sound of tribulation. Staring intothis dark pit brought his early days at Ranleigh back to his mind. Whata thrashing he had had on that occasion when he and Masters had brokenbounds and contrived to stampede two of Squire Studholme's finesthorses!

  Then his thoughts were just as suddenly switched from old recollectionsto present events. He was on the point of flashing his own lamp into thepassage when the darkness was illuminated from the direction of theHead's door. That, too, was half open. The miscreant was inside. Now wasthe time to lay hands on him.

  "Catch him nicely in a trap. That'll do," thought Clive. "He's comingout, though. What's he up to?"

  The reflection from the walls of the passage threw into relief thefigure of a man, gowned in something loose.

  "Overcoat," said Clive. "Hat crammed on his head and rubbers on hisfeet. He's--he's pouring something along the sides of the passage.Paraffin. I can smell it! Jingo! Then this is the beggar! I've got himright in the middle of the act. This is what we've been waiting andwatching for."

  Yes, there could be no doubt now, for the penetrating odour of the oilwas already filling his nostrils. But how silently the rascal worked!But for the faint whisper the tail of his coat made now and again as hestepped along the side of the passage there was not another sound. Clivewatched the fluid pouring from the spout of the fellow's kettle as if hewere fascinated. It spread slowly and greasily, as paraffin doesinvariably, across the woodwork and matting of the floor. It ran freelyfrom the receptacle in which this rascal had brought it, and then slowlybecame less in quantity, till it merely dribbled from the spout. And allthe while an elliptical, bright ray of light fell on the particular spotupon which the fluid was falling, the mere outline of the bending figureof the man being visible to the watcher. Suddenly the light went out.There was a faint scraping noise, as if the kettle had hit against thewall. Then the light flashed for a second again, and once moredisappeared.

  "Gone back into the Head's room. Now I have him," said Clive, whettinghis lips. "It'll be a business, but I ain't going to be funked. This isa matter concerning the whole school, and I don't shirk it. All thesame, I wish Masters were closer."

  He rounded the door, flashed his own lamp for one instant so as to givehim a view of the passage, and then went noiselessly onward. Outside thestudy door he waited and listened. Yes, someone was moving inside. Heheard the faint rustle of papers. The fellow no doubt was piling themupon the pool of paraffin he had poured on to the floor. Or perhaps hewas scattering the fluid broadcast. It was the moment to nab him. Clivestepped into the doorway and----

  A blinding flash of light blazed right into his eyes. The bull's-eye ofthis ruffian's lamp was within ten inches of his face and suddenlyopened upon him. There came a startled cry, a sudden movement, and theclatter of a kettle falling to the floor. Then Clive was dashed backwardinto the passage with terrific violence, and stumbling on the matoutside the study door, fell heavily on his back, his own electric torchclattering away into a corner. He felt the sweep of the fellow's gown orovercoat across his face and gripped swiftly for his legs. His handclosed on something, trousers perhaps, though the material seemedextraordinarily thin. Then he was kicked savagely, though the softnessof his assailant's soles caused but little damage. But it threw his gripoff, and in a moment the fellow was fleeing.

  "Beaten me after all," thought Clive as he sprang to his feet andgroped for his torch. "Ah, here's the thing. Now, which way did hebolt?"

  He was out of the passage like a flash of lightning, and turned into thecorridor. At once his finger went to the trigger of his torch and sent abeam ahead of him. Yes, there was a flying figure in advance, going atfull speed down the corridor, and without making even the smallestsound. Clive gave chase instantly, first with the help of the lightgiven him by his torch, and then in total darkness, for his finger hadslipped from the trigger. But he had it on again in a moment. There thefellow was, plainly visible, his clothing blowing out behind him.

  "I'm gaining on him," thought Clive. "We're bound to have him nicely,for he's going straight for the corner. He'll be round in a jiffy, and Ishall be after him. Masters will see my lamp from the post he's takenand will be in splendid position to stop him. Bother the torch. Myfinger's slipped again."

  A second earlier the flying figure had arrived within three feet of theend of the corridor, where it turned abruptly to the left. Clive reachedthe spot perhaps ten seconds later. He flashed his light round thecorner and along the other corridor. There was nothing visible. Not asoul was in sight. Even Masters was not present, and was doubtlesswaiting round the corner at the far end. But where had this fugitivegone? Into the archway leading to the Bursar's room and to EastDormitory, or through the opening to the quad? Clive flashed his torchthrough the latter. No. There was no one in the quad. Then elsewhere? Hesent the beam against the banisters of East Dormitory. No. There was noone. This fugitive seemed to have been actually swallowed by thesurrounding walls. Clive was sorely puzzled and perplexed. He retracedhis steps to the corner of the corridor, and peeped into a boot-roomthere. That, too, was empty. The man had been too clever for him. He hadgone.

  "Dived into that boot-room, without a doubt. Waited for me to pass andthen went off back along the same route towards the Head's door. I'll goalong there after him. Wonder whether he fired that paraffin? Must findthat out.
Why, even now a fire may be blazing. My word! To think that achap could go in for such a caddish business."

  But who was the man? Did Clive know? Had he recognised that fleetingfigure?

  There was a deep furrow across our hero's face. Even as he raced backalong the corridor he was conscious of a feeling of unusual distress, ofsadness almost, of despair at the thought of what must inevitably followhis discovery. For the miscreant was without question a Ranleigh boy.Clive had not seen his face--had seen little else, in fact, but legsrapidly moving and a flowing gown, above which was a head hidden beneatha hat pressed closely down upon it. But even figures have their ownspecial features. Every individual almost has his own particularmovements, something, however small, which differentiates them fromothers. And Clive knew the special run of this fugitive well. In a courtof law, perhaps, his evidence was useless. Here, at Ranleigh, perhaps itwas little better. Were he asked at that moment to say who the miscreantwas he could merely shake his head.

  "Couldn't actually dare to declare the fellow's name," he told himselfas he raced up the corridor. "I feel sure. But others would doubt.They'd doubt naturally, and considering the circumstances, theexcitement, the intermittent light, why, I may easily be mistaken. Idaren't wreck a fellow's future on such flimsy evidence. Perhaps I'llnobble him yet. At any rate, I'll try my best. My word, what a slipperybeggar!"

  He was back at the Head's door now, to find it wide open, where no doubthe had flung it as he raced after this mysterious incendiary. Thepassage within was empty. He searched every corner with his torch. Thecorridor outside the Hall was equally vacant, and there was no one onthe stairs leading to West and certain of the masters' rooms, nor onthose giving access to North Dormitory.

  "Then the beggar's back in the Head's room," he thought. "I'll go rightin this time, close the door so that he can't try the same sort ofbusiness, and then nail him. George! The place smells of paraffin. Hemeant to have a proper flare while he was about it. Now, is he in theHead's study or not?"

  No, he wasn't. At least, the place seemed empty. But a combination ofmisfortunes was pursuing Clive on this adventurous evening. To commencewith, he had been taken by surprise by the crafty fellow he waswatching, and had been tripped up nicely. And now, perhaps because thefall had injured it, his torch failed all of a sudden. Clive groped fora match-box, upset some ornament on the mantelpiece, felt his fingerslight upon something remarkably like a match-box, and gripped thelatter. Then he rapidly withdrew one of the matches and struck itagainst the box. A candlestick was within easy reach, and in a second hehad the wick burning. It was giving off a good light, and he was holdingit above his head so as the better to see his surroundings, when thedoor was pushed swiftly open, a figure bounced into the room, and in atwinkling our hero found himself gripped by the collar.