Caught in the act

 

EDGAR BRIGHT left Study No. 1 in the Remove and went downstairs and strolled round with a careless manner to Masters’ passage. He was aware that Mr. Quelch was out of doors that afternoon; he had seen the Remove master start on one of his long walks with Mr. Wiggins, the master of the Third. Mr. Quelch was not likely to be back some time yet; and on the half holiday the House was almost deserted. There was a first eleven match in progress on Big Side, and some of the masters were there, looking on. Bright found Masters’ passage deserted, as he had hoped, and he slipped quietly into Mr. Quelch’s study. There, he closed the door after him, and drew the curtain across the window.

Mr. Esau Bright, of Lantham, had told his hopeful son, as a certainty, that the last will and testament of John Thorpe, once a Form master at the school, was hidden somewhere at Greyfriars—probably in some secret recess, of which the existence was generally unknown. Bright’s nocturnal exploration had revealed nothing, so far. But it seemed to him now that he was on the track. Every question he had put to Bunter had been satisfactorily answered; and it did not yet occur to him that he had, in his eagerness, practically supplied the answers himself.

He grinned derisively as he thought of Levison of St. Jim’s coming to Greyfriars on the same quest. Levison of St. Jim’s would arrive too late! The document which would save Mr. Levison from ruin was going to be found by Bright before Levison even arrived. It would be in Mr. Bright’s hands very soon afterwards; and what his worthy parent was going to do with it Bright discreetly did not intend to inquire. He was well aware that the will would never see the light when once the greedy fingers of the Lantham moneylender closed on it. Once it was out of existence, the earlier will remained indisputable in law. That this was a crime hardly occurred to Bright; did not trouble him if it occurred to him. The moneylender’s son was a worthy son of a worthy sire.

Moving the bookcase was a rather hefty task for a weedy fellow like Bright. It was scarcely possible for it to be done without discovery and inquiry to follow. But with the missing will once safely in his pocket, the young rascal was prepared to leave Greyfriars and never return. He had no desire whatever to remain at the school.  Highcliffe was much more to his taste, and the society of Ponsonby and the Highcliffe nuts and his worthy father had promised that he should go where he liked if his quest at Greyfriars was once successful. In these circumstances, Bright was prepared to take some risks; and it was certain that he could not proceed without taking risks.

He opened the bookcase and proceeded to take out the bulky volumes it contained and stack them on the table. Even when it was emptied of its contents, the bookcase was heavy and not easy to move. Bright tugged and lugged at it, shifting it an inch or two at a time, till at last he had dragged out a foot or more from the wall.

He paused to recover breath and wipe the perspiration from his brow. Then he slipped behind the bookcase, and examined the old oak, almost black with age, of the wall. There was scarcely a doubt of success in his mind. But doubts soon came.

He groped and felt and pressed over every inch of the wall at the height of a fellow’s head. Nothing rewarded him. He tapped on the wall and listened; but there was no sound of a hollow.  Behind the oak panels was the old stone of which most of Greyfriars was built.
Bright’s eager face grew dark with disappointment.

But he did not relinquish the search. Again and again he groped over the wall. The spring must be there somewhere, he told himself savagely. If Bunter’s head had touched it and opened it by accident, it must be there. He was certain to succeed—if Bunter’s tale was true.

If!

Slowly Bright realised at long last that the tale was not true—that the fat Owl of the Remove had been pulling his leg!

There was no secret panel behind the bookcase. There was no spring to be found!

Bunter had told him that circumstantial story—he understood it now— for the sole purpose of extracting a loan of five shillings.

Bright’s face was almost white with rage when he realised it. But he realised it at last.

Dusty and perspiring and enraged, he stepped out from behind the bulky bookcase.

He was not going to take the train for Lanthain with the missing will in his pocket—not that afternoon, at all events. And Mr. Quelch’s study was in a state of disorder that would require a great deal of explanation when the Remove master came in. And Bright realised, with a start of terror, that Mr. Quelch could not be long now. A great deal of time had been spent in his fruitless search.

Bright breathed hard.

To get the bookcase back into its place and replace the books on the shelves would take a great deal of time—more time than he had at his disposal. If Mr. Quelch found him there— In any case, it was certain that Mr. Quelch would discover that someone had been rooting about in his study, and would inquire very rigorously into the matter. He might as well find the bookcase and the book,  just where they were. In any case, he would know that there had been a rag. It did not take Bright long to reach that decision. If he could get away unseen, there would be no evidence to connect him with what had happened in the study,

He crept to the door and opened it cautiously. With boating heart, he listened. Footsteps came to his ears, and the sound of voices.

“A very pleasant walk, Mr. Quelch.” That was the voice of Mr. Wiggins, the master of the Third. Bright trembled. The two masters had returned!

“Very pleasant indeed, Mr. Wiggins. Remarkably fine day for November.”

“Remarkably so, Mr. Quelch.”

Bright heard a door open and shut. Mr. Wiggins had gone into his study. Footsteps again!

There was no escape for the wretched Bright. He was standing rooted to the floor when Mr. Quelch’s angular figure loomed up in the doorway.

The Remove master glanced at him in surprise.

“What do you want here, Bright?”

“I—I—I came to—to speak to you, sir !” stammered Bright.

“Well, what—” Mr. Quelch broke off as he saw what had happened in his study.

He stared blankly at the stacks of books on the table and the floor, and the bookcase standing a foot out from the wall.

His astonishment was so great that he could not speak for some moments. But the expression on his face was eloquent. Bright quaked.

“Bless my soul !” said Mr. Quelch at last. “You have done this, Bright !”

“Oh ! No, sir !” gasped Bright.

“What? I find you here, and my study in wild disorder ! You deny that you have perpetrated this—this outrage!”

“I—I only came in this— this minute, sir ” uttered the wretched Toad. “I—I found the room like this, sir!

Mr. Quelch’s gimlet eyes seemed almost to bore into him.

“You only came in this minute? ”

“Ye-e-es sir!”

“I came into the House five minutes ago with Mr. Wiggins. I could not have failed to see you if you had entered my study during the last five minutes, Bright.”

“Oh! I—I mean—”

“Well, what do you mean ?” inquired Mr. Quelch, in a grinding voice.

“I—I came about—about ten minutes ago, sir, and—and waited, as—as you weren’t here.”

“And you came here with your hands and your clothes in a dusty state, as I see them at present?”

“Oh!  Bright started as he realised that he showed traces, only too plain, of the “moving job” he had undertaken.

“Ye-e-es, sir.

“You can scarcely expect me to believe that obviously false statement, Bright. You have been guilty of a practical joke—what you would call a rag, I believe—in my study—your Form- master’s study.  Is not that the truth?” thundered Mr. Quelch.

 “Oh dear! Yes, sir!” gasped Bright. He was glad, at least, that the Remove master did not dream of guessing his real object in dismantling the bookcase.

“Very well,” said Mr. Quelch. “Very well, indeed !” He picked up a cane from the table.

“You are one of the worst boys in my Form, Bright, but I should hardly have expected you to be guilty of this daring offence, You will learn, Bright, that you cannot play disrespectful tricks on your Form master with impunity. Bend over that chair !”

Bright almost collapsed over the chair, and his yells rang loudly as the cane rose and fell.

Mr. Quelch was wrathy. In his just wrath ho did not spare the rod. The Remove master’s study had been ragged before, once or twice. But never had there been what seemed to Mr. Quelch so utterly reckless a ragging as this. It was difficult for him to believe his eyes when he saw his bookcase dragged out, and his precious volumes stacked about anyhow. It was a senseless prank, in the Remove master’s opinion. Had he known that it was something much worse than a prank, perhaps the licking would have been still more severe. As it was, it was severe enough for Bright. He yelled and wriggled and squirmed under the cane.

Mr. Quelch was breathing quite hard when he had finished.

“Now, Bright—”

“Yoooooowoowwwoooh !”

“Cease that absurd noise!”

“Yo-ow-ow-ow-ow !”

“Silence! You will restore this study to order—to the most exact and meticulous order—before you leave it. If I find so much as a single volume out of its place, you will be caned again with the utmost severity. You understand me?”

“Yowow-ow! Yes, sir. Wow!”

“After that, you will go to your study and write out five hundred lines.  Those lines must be handed in by tomorrow.”

“Ow! Yes! Yow !”

“That is all Bright! You are young rascal, sir!”

And Mr. Quelch, with heightened colour, quitted the study, leaving Bright of the Remove to his task—and to his aches.

It was not till a couple of hours later that Bright—still with his lines to do —found time to search for Billy Bunter.

He searched for him with glinting eyes, and an ebony ruler hidden under his jacket. He searched with vengeful design.  Had he found Bunter, the Owl of the Remove would have had a knack tick time. But the Owl of the Remove had disappeared. Bright learned from Mrs. Mimble that he had been in the tuckshop, and had disposed of  five shillings’ worth of tuck there— long ago. Since then he did not seem to have been seen. Bright nursed his wrath, which, like wine, seemed rather to increase in potency with keeping. But he sought and sought in vain for William Bunter as the November dusk deepened over the old school. Billy Bunter was not a bright youth—but he was too bright for Bright as it were.

 

Picture credit: The Magnet

 

Extracted from The Toad of the Remove by Frank Richards, The Magnet,, 19 November 1927 (available to download here)

 

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