The Willoughby Captains - Reed Talbot Baines (книги бесплатно без регистрации TXT) 📗

Riddell began to get more and more uneasy. He had expected this was coming, and there was no escaping it.

“It was an awfully ugly business, of course,” continued Bloomfield; “and though no one suspected fellows like you and Fairbairn of such a thing, our fellows, you know, were pretty sure some one was at the bottom of it.”

Riddell could not help thinking, in the midst of his uneasiness, how very sagacious the Parrett’s fellows had been to make the discovery!

“And now,” said Bloomfield, looking up, and feeling relieved to have his speech nearly done—“now that you’ve found out who it is, and it’s all going to be cleared up, I think things ought to come all right.”

It was a painful situation for the captain of Willoughby. The bribe which Bloomfield offered for his secret was what had been the wish of his heart the whole term. If he accepted it now there would be an end to all the wretched squabbles which had worked such mischief in the school the last few months, and the one object of his ambition as head of the school would be realised.

Surely, now, he could hold back no longer. His duty, his interest, the honour of the school, all demanded his secret of him; whereas if he held it back things would be worse than ever before. And yet he hesitated.

That last wild half-finished exclamation of Wyndham’s lingered in his mind and perplexed him. Suppose there should be some mistake? With that knife in his pocket, and the poor boy’s whole conduct and demeanour to corroborate its story, he could scarcely hope it. But suppose there was a doubt, or even the shadow of a doubt, what right had he to accuse him, or even to breathe his name?

“I hope it will be cleared up before long,” said he. “Why, you said you knew who it was!” said Bloomfield. “I said I suspected somebody.”

“Who is it?” asked Bloomfield.

“I can’t tell you,” replied Riddell. “I’m not sure; I may be wrong.”

“But surely you’re not going to keep a thing like this to yourself!” exclaimed Bloomfield, warmly; “it concerns everybody in the school. I’ve a right, at any rate, as stroke of the Parrett’s boat, to know who it is.”

“Of course, you have; and if I was quite sure I was right I would tell you.”

“But you can tell me whom you suspect,” said Bloomfield, who had not anticipated this difficulty. “No, I cannot,” replied the captain. “In confidence, at any rate,” said Bloomfield. “No, not till I am sure. I really cannot.”

Bloomfield’s manner changed. This rebuff was not what he had expected. He had come here partly out of curiosity partly from a desire to be friendly, and partly owing to the eagerness of his companions to have an explanation. He had never doubted but that he would succeed; nay, even that Riddell would be glad to meet him more than half-way. But now it seemed this was not to be, and Bloomfield lost his temper.

“You mean to say,” said he, angrily, “you’re going to keep it to yourself?”

“Yes, till I am sure.”

“Till you are sure! What are you going to do to make it sure, I’d like to know?”

“Everything I can.”

“You know, I suppose, what everybody says about you and the whole concern?” said Bloomfield.

“I can’t help what they say,” said the captain. “They say that if you chose you could tell straight out like an honest man who it is.”

Riddell looked quickly up at the speaker, and Bloomfield felt half ashamed of the taunt directly it escaped his lips.

“I say that’s what the fellows think,” said he, “and it’s in your own interest to clear yourself. They think you are shielding some one.”

The captain’s face changed colour rapidly, and Bloomfield was quick enough to see it.

“It’s hardly what fellows had been led to expect of you,” said he, with a touch of sarcasm in his voice. “Anyhow it knocks on the head any idea of our pulling together as I had hoped. I certainly shall do nothing towards it as long as this ugly business is going on.”

“Bloomfield, I’ve told you—” began Riddell.

“You’ve told me a great deal,” said Bloomfield, “but you can’t deny that you are sheltering the cad, whoever he is, under the pretext of not being quite sure.”

Riddell said nothing, and Bloomfield, seeing nothing could come of this altercation, left the room.

At the door, however, a thought struck him. Could that agitated scene between Riddell and young Wyndham, which he had interrupted by his arrival, have had anything to do with this mystery?

He recollected now what a state of distress both had been in; and, now he thought of it, surely he had heard Wyndham’s voice saying something in tones of very eager appeal at the moment the door was open. Besides Wyndham had been very “down” for a week past. Bloomfield had noticed it at the cricket practices; and more than one fellow had spoken of it in his hearing. He knew too how thick the boy was with the captain, and with what almost brotherly concern Riddell watched over all his interests; every one in Willoughby knew it.

Bloomfield was only a moderately clever youth, but he knew enough to put two and two together; and, as he stood there at the door, the state of the case flashed across his mind. He might get at the secret after all!

“You forget that other people can suspect besides you, Riddell,” he said, turning back. “Suppose I was to suspect that precious young friend of yours who stood blubbering here just now?”

It was well for the captain that his back was turned as Bloomfield said this, otherwise the least doubt as to the correctness of his guess would have been instantly dispelled.

The last strait in which Riddell found himself was worse than any that had gone before. For he could not deny, and to say nothing would be the same as assenting. The secret was out, and what could he do? The only thing seemed to be to appeal to Bloomfield’s generosity, to explain all to him, and to implore him, for a day or two at least, to keep sacred the confidence.

And yet — it was the old question — suppose he were wrong, and suppose after all Wyndham were not the culprit, what grievous wrong would he be doing him by admitting even his suspicion! He composed himself with an effort, and turning, replied, “Excuse me, Bloomfield, I’ve told you I can say nothing at present, and it is really useless to say any more about it.”

Bloomfield departed, perplexed and angry. His anger was partly because he could not help feeling that Riddell was in the right; and his perplexity was to know what to think of it all, and whether his guess about young Wyndham was near the mark or not.

“Well,” inquired Game, who with one or two of the most ardent Parretts was eagerly waiting his return. “Have you got it out of him?”

“No,” said Bloomfield, “he won’t tell me.”

“The cad!” exclaimed Game. “Why ever not?”

“He says he’s not sure, that’s why,” said Bloomfield; “but it’s my private opinion he’s shielding some one or other.”

“Of course he is,” said Ashley. “I shouldn’t wonder if he’s known who it is all along.”

“Anyhow,” said Tipper, “he ought to be made to clear it up, or else pay up for it. I know I’ll cut him dead next time I see him.”

“So shall we,” replied one or two others.

“He won’t afflict himself much about that,” said Bloomfield; “if I were sure he didn’t want to shirk it I’d be inclined to give him a day or two before doing anything.”

“What’s the use? Of course he wants to shirk it,” said Game, “and thinks it will blow over if it goes long enough. I’ll take precious good care it doesn’t, though.”

“Upon my honour,” said Ashley, “I never expected Willoughby would come to this pass. It was bad enough to have a coward and a fool as captain, but it’s rather too much when he turns out to be a cheat too!”

“And to think that he ever got stuck in the first eleven,” said Tipper. “I told you, Bloomfield, he’d be no credit to you.”