Yes, he was enjoying himself.
"The keys to the filing cabinets? Who has them?"
"The Head, of course. Dr. Gibbs."
"And the duplicate set? There must be a duplicate set?"
"I don't know. I certainly don't know where they are, if they exist."
"Mr. Jones, the matter cannot wait until Thursday. How may I get in touch with the Headmaster?"
A gold tooth flashed as Jones smiled. “I don't think you can, Inspector. He was on his way to Crete to visit Evans's dig. He has four senior boys with him, and two more are on their way to join him—or they were. Dr. Gibbs and his companions got as far as Greece. With the present turmoil, I suspect their journey home may take longer than expected."
Leatherdale favored him for a moment with a blandly thoughtful expression. Then he said, “Technically the board of governors would have overall authority over the premises?"
Jones flinched. “I suppose they must, but the board have always—"
"In a sense, sir, you and I work for the same man. General Bodgley is not only chairman of your board, but also my chief constable. I should perhaps have brought a note from him, but I assumed you would cooperate without it."
"Cooperate? I assure you—"
"Actually that is his car and chauffeur outside. Perhaps if we can reach him by telephone..."
The watchdog was in full retreat already. “Inspector, er, Leatherdale, I assure you that I am trying my best! I do not know where the keys to the cabinets are kept. I do not know exactly where the Head is. I can show you his telegram, but it was dispatched from some railway station in Austria and will not help you. The bursar is touring in Switzerland. If General Bodgley does not have a duplicate set of keys, and I would not expect him to, then I cannot imagine who else does.” Jones clawed at his beard with his left hand.
"Dr. Gibbs does not employ a secretary?"
"Paddling at Blackpool, I believe. This is August Bank Holiday weekend, Inspector! England is closed. However, if any Fallow boy is in trouble, then of course I am more than ready to assist your inquiries in any way I can."
Better. Leatherdale nodded. “I just need information about a couple of them, that's all."
"Their names?"
"Edward George Exeter?"
Jones stiffened. “Exeter? Oh, Lord! You don't mean they got caught up in the Balkan imbroglio, too?"
"Nothing to do with the Balkans that I know of, sir."
"But Exeter and Smedley were on their way to join Dr. Gibbs. The two I mentioned."
"They were forced to cancel. They returned home from Paris."
"Well that's a relief! A great relief! I was quite concerned about them and I—” Jones's smile vanished as fast as it had come. “You mean there's been an accident?"
"No, sir."
This time the shock was obvious. “Exeter is in trouble?"
"What can you tell me about him, sir?"
The teacher drew a deep breath. “Exeter was house prefect in his final year! An excellent boy in every way. He was here in Tudor! I was his housemaster, Inspector, so I know him well. Exeter would be almost the last boy I would expect to fall afoul of the law! That is the case, isn't it? You're telling me that he is being investigated by the British police?"
"I am afraid that is the case."
Looking stunned, Jones pulled a linen handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead. His distress and astonishment seemed quite genuine. “I mean, he has definitely not just met with an accident or something?"
"Too early to say, sir. No charges have been laid as yet, but at the moment the situation does look grave."
"God bless my soul!” Jones sprawled back in his chair. “Exeter? I nominated him for my house prefect, Inspector, and he performed every bit as well as I expected. I cannot give you a higher character reference than that—cannot give any boy a higher recommendation. You did not say that ... I mean, I have notes of my own on boys in Tudor. I shall gladly make them available.” Again he moved as if to rise, although now it was an obvious effort.
"Later, sir, I shall appreciate seeing them. Meanwhile, tell me what you know of him. His character, his background. His family, particularly."
Jones sank back again, fumbling with his handkerchief. He paused for a moment to gather thoughts, then spoke without looking up. “Leadership, Inspector. Leadership is our product. They come here as children. They leave as young men. Rather innocent young men by the world's standards, I suppose, but well molded to take their place in the service of the Empire. Many a lad has walked out of here and in three or four years been running a chunk of country somewhere half the size of England—dictator, judge, soldier, engineer, tax collector, policeman, all rolled into one. Not for power, not for money, but purely out of a sense of duty!"
Leatherdale waited.
Jones's glasses glittered. “Latin and Greek and all that—none of it really matters. It isn't what you know that matters in this world, it's what you are! Esse non sapere—school motto. We teach them honor, honesty, and fair play. They take it from there. Not all of them, of course, not by a long shot. But the best ones are as good as you'll find anywhere. I'd have classed Exeter with the best.” He looked across defiantly at the policeman.
Mrs. Bodgley had said very much the same.
"Some specifics, if you please."
Jones stuffed the handkerchief back in his trouser pocket. “Edward Exeter? Born in British East Africa—in ‘96, I suppose. Came here when he was about twelve. Left officially a week ago. Good pupil, credit to the school. Turned down a chance to play for the county this summer."
He paused then. Still Leatherdale waited, sensing better game on its way.
"Exeter's had more than his share of tragedy already. I'm sure you recall the Nyagatha affair?"
"Vaguely."
"Exeter's father was the district officer. He and his wife were among the dead. They were due to go on leave within days."
"The general mentioned something about it. He was, er, rather vague.” That was an understatement of elephantine proportions.
Jones pulled a face. “You'd best look up the official report if you're interested. The whole thing was just one of those senseless episodes of bloodshed that seem to be the inevitable price of progress. Less than ten years ago that whole area was just uncharted bush, you know. Barbarism is still very close below the surface. The trouble did not even originate in Exeter's district. Some disaffected warriors of a neighboring tribe—Meru, or some name like that—outlaws, hungry, raiding for food ... massacre, atrocities, followed by retribution. So history rolls along, leaving a few more gravestones by the roadway to be mourned for a generation.” Mr. Jones sighed at the folly of mankind.
"How old would Exeter have been, then, sir?"
"Sixteen."
"He was here, in Fallow? How did he take it?"
"Oh, really! How do you think? He was shattered, of course. The news came in on a weekend and no one in Whitehall bothered to notify him. The first he knew was when the newspapers arrived on Monday morning. He hadn't seen his parents in four years, and was looking forward to a reunion that summer."
"No brothers or sisters?"
Jones sighed again. “None. He made a wonderful recovery. Tremendous pluck. His marks hardly dipped. And then, just as he seemed to be over the worst of it, the board of inquiry report came out and opened all the wounds again."
"Spell the name of that place, sir, if you please. And the exact date, or as close as you can recall?” Leatherdale knew he was getting full cooperation now. He felt no satisfaction from so easy a victory. “How did it open the wounds, sir?"
"Well, it opened wounds for Exeter.” Jones removed his pince-nez and wiped them on his tie. He dabbed one eye surreptitiously with a knuckle. “His father was cleared of any blame in the atrocity itself. As I said, the perpetrators were just a band of malcontents wandering off the reserve. But Exeter was severely criticized for not maintaining a garrison of trained native troops handy to defend the post. Young Exeter will tell you—and I can almost sympathize with his views—that his father was being condemned for being too good at his job. If he'd been a worse governor and ruled by terror as some of them do, then he would have had protection to hand! Another of the ironies of history, mm? But Exeter has already passed through the Valley of Shadows, young as he is."