The Pothunters by P. G. Wodehouse (top novels to read TXT) 📕

indeed,” said the Head. “Without suggesting that you are guilty of this thing, I think I ought to tell you that if you have any confession to make, it will be greatly, very greatly, to your own advantage to make it at once.”

“And give myself away, free, gratis and for nothing,” thought Jim. “Not for me, thank you.”

“Might I hear Mr. Thompson’s evidence, sir?” he asked.

“Certainly, Thomson.” He effected a movement in Mr. Thompson’s direction, midway between a bow and a nod.

Mr. Thompson coughed. Jim coughed, too, in the same key. This put Mr. Thompson out, and he had to cough again.

“In the first place,” he began, “it has been conclusively proved that the burglary was the work of an unskilful hand.”

“That certainly seems to point to me as the author,” said Jim flippantly.

“Silence, Thomson,” said the Head, and counsel for the prosecution resumed.

“In the second place, it has been proved that you were at the time of the burglary in great need of money.”

This woke Jim up. It destroyed that feeling of coolness with which he had started the interview. Awful thoughts flashed across his mind. Had he been seen at the time of his burglarious entry? At any rate, how did Mr. Thompson come to know of his pecuniary troubles?

“Did you say it had been proved, sir?”

“Yes.”

“How, sir?”

He felt the question was a mistake as he was uttering it. Your really injured innocent would have called all the elements to witness that he was a millionaire. But it was too late to try that now. And, besides, he really did want to know how Mr. Thompson had got to hear of this skeleton in his cupboard.

The Headmaster interrupted hurriedly. “It is a very unfortunate affair altogether, and this is quite the most unfortunate part. A letter came to the College addressed to J. Thomson, and Mr. Thompson opened and read it inadvertently. Quite inadvertently.”

“Yes, sir,” said Jim, in a tone which implied, “I am no George Washington myself, but when you say he read it inadvertently, well⁠—”

“This letter was signed ‘Allen’⁠—”

“My brother, sir.”

“Exactly. And it asked for two pounds. Evidently in payment of a debt, and the tone of the letter certainly seemed to show that you were not then in possession of the money.”

“Could I have the letter, sir?” Then with respectful venom to Mr. Thompson: “If you have finished with it.” The letter was handed over, and pocketed, and Jim braced his moral pecker up for the next round of the contest.

“I take it, then, Thomson,” resumed the Head, “that you owe your brother this money?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Two pounds is a great deal of money for one boy to lend another.”

“It was not lent, sir. It was a bet.”

“A bet!” in a nasty tone from the Head.

“A bet!” in a sepulchral echo from Mr. Thompson.

There was a long pause.

“At any other time,” said the Head, “I should feel it my duty to take serious notice of this, but beside this other matter with which you are charged, it becomes trivial. I can only repeat that the circumstances are exceedingly suspicious, and I think it would be in your interests to tell us all you know without further delay.”

“You take it for granted I am guilty, sir,” began Jim hotly.

“I say that the circumstances seems to point to it. In the first place, you were in need of money. You admit that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“In the second place,” said the Head slowly, “in the second place, I am told that you were nowhere to be found in the House at half-past eight on the night of the burglary, when you ought certainly to have been in your study at your work.”

Bombshell number two, and a worse one than the first. For the moment Jim’s head swam. If he had been asked just then in so many words where he had been at that time, it is likely that he would have admitted everything. By some miracle the Head did not press his point.

“You may go now, Thomson,” he said. “I should like to see you after morning school on Monday. Good night.”

“Good night, sir,” said Jim, and went without another word. Coming so soon after the exertion and strain of the mile, this shock made him feel sick and dizzy.

When he had gone, the Head turned to Mr. Thompson with a worried look on his face. “I feel as certain as I do of anything,” he said thoughtfully, “that that boy is telling the truth. If he had been guilty, he would not have behaved like that. I feel sure of it.”

Mr. Thompson looked equally thoughtful. “The circumstances are certainly very suspicious,” he said, echoing the Head’s own words. “I wish I could think he was innocent, but I am bound to say I do not. I regard the evidence as conclusive.”

“Circumstantial evidence is proverbially uncertain, Mr. Thompson. That is principally the reason why I was so bent on making him confess if he had anything to confess. I can’t expel a boy and ruin his whole career on mere suspicion. The matter must be proved, doubly proved, and even then I should feel uneasy until he owned himself guilty. It is a most unpleasant affair, a terrible affair.”

“Most,” agreed Mr. Thompson.

And exactly the same thing was occurring at that moment to Jim, as he sat on his bed in his dormitory, and pondered hopelessly on this new complication that had presented itself so unexpectedly. He was getting very near to the end of his tether, was J. Thomson of Merevale’s. It seemed to him, indeed, that he had reached it already. Possibly if he had had a clearer conscience and a larger experience, he might have recognised that the evidence which Mr. Thompson had described as conclusive, was in reality not strong enough to hang a cat on. Unfortunately, he did not enjoy those advantages.

XIII Sir Alfred Scores

Soon after Jim had taken his departure, Mr. Thompson, after waiting a few minutes in case the Headmaster had anything more to say, drifted silently out of the room.