“Mr Wibberly,” said Bloomfield, “wishes to ask a question of Mr Riddell.”
“It is merely this,” said Wibberly, rapidly, and giving no time for any objection to be raised on the point of order. “I wish to ask Mr Riddell whether he has found out yet who cut the rudder-line of Parrett’s boat at the boat-race, or whether he suspects anybody, and, if so, whom?”
At this unlooked-for question a hubbub immediately arose. Several schoolhouse fellows protested against the proceedings being interrupted in this way, and even Bloomfield exclaimed across the table, “For goodness’ sake, Wibberly, don’t bring up that wretched subject again.”
But those who had watched Riddell had seen him turn suddenly pale at the question, and for a moment make as though he would rush from the room. But he stopped himself, and turned like a hunted deer on the questioner.
A dead silence fell on the assembly, as Wibberly coolly said, “I will repeat the questions. Has Mr Riddell found out who cut the rudder-lines? or does he suspect any one? and, if so, who is it?”
Every eye turned on Riddell. The brief pause had given him time to collect himself and fight out the inward battle; and now he answered steadily, “I do suspect some one. But until I am perfectly sure I shall not say who it is.”
So saying, he quietly left the room.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Everything gone wrong
Riddell was fairly committed to his task now. Like the good old general who burned his ships when he landed on the enemy’s shores, he had cut off from himself the slightest possibility of a retreat, and must now either go right through with the matter or confess himself a miserable failure.
The consciousness of this nerved him with unlooked-for courage, and he walked from the Parliament that afternoon a very different being from the boy who had entered it. He had entered it cowed, irresolute, wretched; he left it indeed still wretched, but with his spirit roused and his mind made up. His duty lay clear before him, and whatever it cost he must do it.
Whether Wibberly was himself the writer of the mysterious letter, or whether some one had prompted him to ask the question, or whether his asking it just at this time was a mere coincidence, he did not trouble to decide.
He felt rather grateful to him than otherwise for having asked it, just as one is occasionally grateful to the thunder-clap for clearing the air.
The first thing without doubt was to find Wyndham, and come to a clear understanding as to whether or not he was the culprit; and the captain lost no time in attempting to put this resolve into practice.
It would not do, he knew, immediately after the scene in the Parliament, when everybody would be on the tip-toe of curiosity, to be seen holding a secret interview with any particular boy. He therefore decided wisely to wait till the usual time when Wyndham was in the habit of coming to his study to do his lessons. Meanwhile, to make sure of his coming, he sent him a message by Cusack to tell him to be sure and turn up.
Cusack, little suspecting the importance of this simple message, delivered it glibly, and being of course brimful of the excitement of the hour, he remained a little to regale Wyndham with a history of the afternoon’s events.
“Oh, I say,” said he, “you weren’t at Parliament this afternoon. There was no end of a shine on.”
“Was there?” asked Wyndham.
“Rather. What do you think, those young Parrett’s cads came down in a body and kicked up the biggest row you ever saw — said they were a club, and made no end of beasts of themselves, and got kicked out at last, and serve them right too.”
“They’re always fooling about at something,” said Wyndham.
“That they are. They want a good taking down, and we mean to do it next week in the junior house match.”
“Ah,” said Wyndham, who amid all his recent troubles could never forget that he was a second-eleven man. “Ah, I heard the juniors’ match was to come off. What day is it to be?”
“Thursday.”
“Oh, I must come and have a look at you. Is Welch’s going to win?”
“Going to try, and I fancy we’re pretty fair. They’ve been lazy, you know, in Parrett’s, and so we get a pull there. Oh, but I was saving that row with the kids wasn’t all this afternoon. Just at the end that cad Wibberly got up and asked Riddell some more about the boat-race — they’re always hammering away at that, and what do you think Riddell said — guess!”
“I can’t,” said Wyndham.
“Why he said he knew who the chap was who had cut the strings, or fancied he did!”
“Who is it?” exclaimed Wyndham, excitedly.
“That’s what he won’t say. And of course there’s an awful row on. They say they’ll make him tell, or kick him out of the school or something. They’re in no end of a rage.”
“Why doesn’t he tell who it is?” asked Wyndham.
“Oh, he says he’s not sure, or something like that. But I dare say he’ll tell you all about it this evening. You’re to be sure and turn up, he says, at preparation time.”
And off went this vivacious messenger, leaving Wyndham in a considerable state of astonishment and perturbation.
What did Riddell want him for? He had not seen him since that evening, a week ago, when he had so nearly confessed to him about Beamish’s. He hardly liked not to go now, although he knew it would be hard to avoid letting out the wretched secret which he had promised Gilks and Silk to keep.
Besides, uneasy as he was about this, he could not help feeling excited about what Cusack had just told him of the boat-race affair. And most likely, when he came to consider, Riddell would be so full of that that he might perhaps not say any more about Beamish’s. So Wyndham decided to go, and in due time presented himself with his books at the captain’s study.
He could see at once that Riddell was in one of his serious moods, and his heart sank, for he had no doubt what was coming, and felt that, unless he were to break his promise, matters were sure to be made worse.
“I’m glad you’ve come,” said Riddell; “you went off so suddenly the other evening.”
“Yes,” said Wyndham; “the lock-up bell rang, and I was bound to be in my house before it stopped.”
“You know what I want to see you about now, Wyndham?” said the captain, nervously.
“Yes,” replied the boy, doggedly; “I suppose I do.”
There was a long, uncomfortable pause, at the end of which Riddell said, “Surely, Wyndham, you are not going to leave it to me to clear up this matter?”
“What do you mean?” asked the boy, burying his face in his hands, and utterly unnerved by the tones of his friend’s voice.
“I mean this,” said Riddell, as firmly as he could, “that there are only two courses open. Either you must confess what you have done, of your own accord, or it will be my duty to do it for you.”
“I don’t see how it’s your duty to tell everybody,” said the boy. “I should get expelled to a dead certainty!”
“It must either be one or the other,” said the captain.
“Oh, Riddell!” exclaimed the boy, springing to his feet, “don’t say that! I know I’ve been a cad, and let myself be led into it; but surely it’s not so bad as all that! You’ve always been a brick to me, I know, and I’ve not been half grateful enough. But do let us off this time! please do! I can’t tell you anything; I would gladly, only I’ve promised. You wouldn’t have me break my promise? If you tell of me I shall be expelled I know I shall! Do help me out this time!”
“Poor fellow!” said Riddell, who was not proof against this sort of appeal from any one, least of all from one he loved.
The boy was quick in the energy of his despair to follow up his advantage.
“I’d make it good any other way — any way you like — but don’t have me expelled, Riddell. Think of them all at home, what a state they would be in! I know I deserve it; but can’t you get me out of it?”