The Pothunters - P. G. Wodehouse (free ebook novel .txt) 📗

in the performance of his duty. So were we, I suppose. Well, let’s hope for the best. Hullo!”

“What’s up?”

“All right. It’s only somebody coming down the road. Thought it might be the keeper at first. Why, it’s Biffen.”

It was Biffen. He looked at them casually as he came up, but stopped short in surprise when he saw who they were.

“Mr. Charteris!”

“The same,” said Charteris. “Enjoying a moonlight stroll, Biffen?”

“But what are you doing out of the ’ouse at this time of night, Mr. Charteris?”

“It’s this way,” said Tony, “all the House prefects have been sent out to look for Thomson. He’s not come back.”

“Not come back, sir!”

“No. Bit queer, isn’t it? The last anybody saw of him was when he dropped out of the long race near Parker’s Spinney.”

“I seen him later than that, Mr. Graham. He come on to the grounds while I was mowing the cricket field.”

“Not really? When was that?”

“Four. ’Alf past four, nearly.”

“What became of him?”

“ ’E went off with Mr. MacArthur. Mr. MacArthur took ’im off ’ome with ’im, I think, sir.”

“By Jove,” said Charteris with enthusiasm. “Now we are on the track. Thanks awfully, Biffen, I’ll remember you in my will. Come on, Tony.”

“Where are you going now?”

“Babe’s place, of course. The Babe holds the clue to this business. We must get it out of him. ’Night, Biffen.”

“Good night, sir.”

Arrived at the Babe’s residence, they rang the bell, and, in the interval of waiting for the door to be opened, listened with envy to certain sounds of revelry which filtered through the windows of a room to the right of the porch.

“The Babe seems to be making a night of it,” said Charteris. “Oh”⁠—as the servant opened the door⁠—“can we see Mr. MacArthur, please?”

The servant looked doubtful on the point.

“There’s company tonight, sir.”

“I knew he was making a night of it,” said Charteris to Tony. “It’s not Mr. MacArthur we want to see. It’s⁠—dash it, what’s the Babe’s name?”

“Robert, I believe. Wouldn’t swear to it.”

“Mr. Robert. Is he in?” It seemed to Charteris that the form of this question smacked of Ollendorf. He half expected the servant to say “No, but he has the mackintosh of his brother’s cousin.” It produced the desired effect, however, for after inviting them to step in, the servant disappeared, and the Babe came on the scene, wearing a singularly prosperous expression, as if he had dined well.

“Hullo, you chaps,” he said.

“Sir to you,” said Charteris. “Look here, Babe, we want to know what you have done with Jim. He was seen by competent witnesses to go off with you, and he’s not come back. If you’ve murdered him, you might let us have the body.”

“Not come back! Rot. Are you certain?”

“My dear chap, every House prefect on the list has been sent out to look for him. When did he leave here?”

The Babe reflected.

“Six, I should think. Little after, perhaps. Why⁠—oh Lord!”

He broke off suddenly.

“What’s up?” asked Tony.

“Why I sent him by a shortcut through some woods close by here, and I’ve only just remembered there’s a sort of quarry in the middle of them. I’ll bet he’s in there.”

“Great Scott, man, what sort of a quarry? I like the calm way the Babe talks of sending unsuspecting friends into quarries. Deep?”

“Not very, thank goodness. Still, if he fell down he might not be able to get up again, especially if he’d hurt himself at all. Half a second. Let me get on some boots, and I’ll come out and look. Shan’t be long.”

When he came back, the three of them set out for the quarry.

“There you are,” cried the Babe, with an entirely improper pride in his voice, considering the circumstances. “What did I tell you?” Out of the darkness in front of them came a shout. They recognised the voice at once as Jim’s.

Tony uttered a yell of encouragement, and was darting forward to the spot from which the cry had come, when the Babe stopped him. “Don’t do that, man,” he said. “You’ll be over yourself, if you don’t look out. It’s quite close here.”

He flashed one of the lamps in front of him. The light fell on a black opening in the ground, and Jim’s voice sounded once more from the bowels of the earth, this time quite close to where they stood.

“Jim,” shouted Charteris, “where are you?”

“Hullo,” said the voice, “who’s that? You might lug me out of here.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Twisted my ankle.”

“How far down are you?”

“Not far. Ten feet, about. Can’t you get me out?”

“Half a second,” said the Babe, “I’ll go and get help. You chaps had better stay here and talk to him.” He ran off.

“How many of you are there up there?” asked Jim.

“Only Tony and myself,” said Charteris.

“Thought I heard somebody else.”

“Oh, that was the Babe. He’s gone off to get help.”

“Oh. When he comes back, wring his neck, and heave him down here,” said Jim. “I want a word with him on the subject of shortcuts. I say, is there much excitement about this?”

“Rather. All the House prefects are out after you. We’ve been looking in Parker’s Spinney, and Tony was reluctantly compelled to knock out a keeper who tried to stop us. You should have been there. It was a rag.”

“Wish I had been. Hullo, is that the Babe come back?”

It was. The Babe, with his father and a party of friends arrayed in evening dress. They carried a ladder amongst them.

The pungent remarks Jim had intended to address to the Babe had no opportunity of active service. It was not the Babe who carried him up the ladder, but two of the dinner party. Nor did the Babe have a hand in the carrying of the stretcher. That was done by as many of the evening-dress brigade as could get near enough. They seemed to enjoy it. One of them remarked that it reminded him of South Africa. To which another replied that it was far more like a party of policemen gathering in an “early drunk” in the Marylebone Road. The procession moved