_ CHAPTER THIRTY SIX. MISSING
Slowly Oliver followed Mr Rastle to the Doctor's study with strange forebodings at heart.
What the "something that must have happened to Loman" could be, he could not conjecture; but the recollection of his unhappy schoolfellow's troubles and of his difficulties, and--worse still--of his dishonesty (for Oliver had no doubt in his mind that Loman had taken the examination paper), all came to his mind now with terrifying force.
Oliver had never been fond of Loman, as the reader knows, but somehow there are times when one forgets whether one is fond of another person or not, and Oliver felt as if he would give anything now to be sure--
Here he was at the Doctor's study.
Dr Senior was standing at the fireplace with a very grave look, holding a letter in his hand.
"Greenfield," said he, the moment the boy entered, "when did you see Loman last?"
"Last night, sir, after preparation."
"He was not in his class this morning?"
"No, sir--he sent down word he had a headache."
"You saw him last night--where?"
"In my study."
The Doctor paused uncomfortably, and Mr Rastle put in a question.
"Are you and Loman great friends?"
"No, we are not friends."
"Does he often come to your study?"
"No, sir. Very rarely."
"May I ask, Greenfield," said the Doctor, "why he was in your study last night?"
This was getting close quarters for Oliver, who, however, had made up his mind he must, if put to it, say all he knew.
"He came to--to ask me about something."
"Yes, what?"
"He made me promise not to tell any one."
"Greenfield," said the Doctor, seriously, "Loman has disappeared from Saint Dominic's. Why, I cannot say. If you know of anything which will account for this proceeding, you owe it to yourself, to me, and to your schoolfellow, who may yet be recovered, to speak plainly now."
The Doctor's voice, which had been stern when he began to speak, betrayed his emotion before the sentence was ended, and Oliver surrendered without further demur.
"He came to borrow some money," he replied.
"Yes," said the Doctor.
Oliver had nothing for it but to narrate all he knew of Loman's recent money difficulties, of his connection with Cripps, and of his own and Wraysford's share in helping him out of his straits.
The Doctor heard all he had to say, putting in a question here and there, whenever by the boy's manner there seemed to be anything kept in the background which wanted some coaxing to bring out.
"And he wanted to borrow more money yesterday, then?"
"Yes, sir. He said Cripps had found there was another sovereign owing, and had threatened to expose Loman before you and the whole school unless he got it at once. But I fancy that must only have been an excuse."
"Yes. And did you lend him the pound?"
"I hadn't got it to lend," replied Oliver, "the last lot had completely cleared me out."
"There is one other question I want to ask you, Greenfield," said the Doctor, fidgeting with the paper in his hand. "How long do you suppose this has been going on?"
"I don't know, sir--but should think for some time."
"What makes you think so?"
"Because," replied Oliver--and there was no help for it--"because at the time I spoke to you about the scrape my young brother got into at the lock, last autumn, Loman was very thick with Cripps."
"Indeed? That was just before the Nightingale examination, was it not?"
"Yes, sir," said Oliver, beginning to feel the ground very uncomfortable all round. Here he was telling tales right and left, and no help for it. Surely the Doctor was carrying it a little too far.
"Do you suppose Loman was in debt at that time?"
"I have no idea," replied the boy, wondering whatever that had to do with Loman's disappearance now.
"You wonder why I ask this question," said the Doctor, apparently reading the boy's thoughts. "This letter will explain. I will read it to you, as you may be able to throw some light on it. I received it just now. It is from Cripps."
"Hon. Sir,--I take the liberty of informing you that one of your young gents, which his name is Mister Loman, is a prig. He's been a regular down at my shop this twelve month, and never paid a farthing for his liquor. More than that, he's been a-drawing money from me up to thirty-five pounds, which I've got his promissory note due last Micklemas. He said he was a-going to get a Nightingale or something then that would pay it all off, and I was flat enough to believe him. If that ain't enough, he's a-been and played me nicely over a rod I sold him. I might have persecuted him over that job but I didn't. He cracked it to rights, and then tries to pass it back on me for same as when he got it, and if I hadn't a-been a bit sharper nor some folk I should have been clean done. This is to tell you I ain't a-going to stand it no longer, and if I don't get my money there'll be a rumpus up at the school which won't be pleasant for none of you. So the shortest cut is to send on the money sharp to your humble servant, Ben Cripps.
"P.S.--I've wrote and told the young swell I've put you on the job."
"It is evident," said Mr Rastle, "this letter has something to do with Loman's disappearance."
"Yes," said Oliver, "he was awfully frightened of you or his father getting to know about it all, sir."
"Foolish boy!" said the Doctor, with a half groan.
What little could be done at that late hour was done. Strict inquiries were made on all hands as to when and where the missing boy was last seen, and it was ascertained that he must have left Saint Dominic's that morning during early class time, when every one supposed him ill in bed with a headache.
But where had he gone, and with what object? A telegram was sent to his father, and the reply came back that the boy had not gone home, and that Mr Loman was on his way to Saint Dominic's. At the Maltby railway station no one had seen or heard anything of him.
Meanwhile, Mr Rastle had gone down to the Cockchafer to see Cripps. The landlord was not at home, but, said the potboy, was most likely "up along with the old 'un at the lock-'us." From which Mr Rastle gathered there was a chance of seeing Mr Cripps junior at the residence of Mr Cripps senior, at Gusset Lock-house, and thither he accordingly went. Mr Cripps junior was there, sweetly smoking, and particularly amiable.
In answer to Mr Rastle's inquiries, he made no secret of his belief that the boy had run away for fear of exposure.
"You see, Mister," said he, "I don't like a-getting young folk into trouble, but when it comes to robbing a man downright, why, I considers it my dooty to give your governor the tip and let him know."
Mr Rastle had no opinion to offer on this question of morals. What he wanted to know was whether Cripps had seen the boy that day, or had the slightest idea what had become of him.
Mr Cripps laughed at the idea.
"Not likely," he said, "he'd tell me where he was a-goin' to, when he'd got thirty-five-pound of mine in his pocket, the young thief. All I can say is, he'd better not show up again in a hurry till that little bill's squared up." And here Mr Cripps relapsed into quite a state of righteous indignation.
"Wait till he do come back, I says," he repeated. "I'll be on him, mister, no error. I'll let the folks know the kind of young gents you turn out up at your school, so I will."
Mr Rastle took no notice of all this. He admitted to himself that this man had some reason for being disagreeable, if Loman had really absconded with such a debt as he represented.
"Thirty-five pounds," continued Cripps, becoming quite sentimental over his wrongs, "and if you won't believe me, look at this. This here bit of paper's all I've got in return for my money--all I've got!"
And so saying he took from his pocket and exhibited to Mr Rastle the very promissory note, signed by Loman, which he had pretended to tear up and burn the last time that unhappy boy was at the Cockchafer.
Had Mr Rastle known as much as the reader knows he would not have wasted more time over Mr Cripps. He would have seen that, whatever had happened to the boy, Mr Cripps's purpose was to make money by it. But he did not know all, and looked at the bill with mingled astonishment and sorrow as an important piece of evidence.
"He really owed you this?" he asked.
"He did so--every brass farthing, which I've waited ever since Michaelmas for it, mister. But I ain't a-going to wait no longer. I must have my money slap down, I let you know, or somebody shall hear of it."
"But he has paid you something?" said Mr Rastle, remembering Oliver's account of the loan of eight pounds.
"Has he?" exclaimed Cripps, satirically. "Oh, that's all right, only I ain't seen it, that's all."
"Do you mean he hasn't paid you anything?" demanded Mr Rastle, becoming impatient with his jocular manner.
"Of course, as you says so, it ain't for me to say the contrairy; but if you hadn't told me, I should have said he ain't paid me one brass farthing, so now."
"Dear me, dear me!" exclaimed Mr Rastle. Of course, if that was so, Loman must have borrowed the eight pounds from Oliver on false pretences, and kept it for his own use.
"I tell you what," broke in Mr Cripps, in the midst of this meditation, "I don't want to do nothing unpleasant to you, or the governor, or anybody. What I say is, you'd better see this little bill put square among you, and then the thing can be kept quiet, do you see? It would be awkward for you to have a regular shindy about it, my man, but that's what it'll come to if I don't get my money."
This declaration Mr Cripps delivered in a solemn voice which was his nearest approach to earnestness. But he was mistaken in expecting Mr Rastle to be much affected or overawed by it. On the contrary, it gave that gentleman a new insight into his acquaintance's character, which decided him that a prolongation of this interview would neither be pleasant nor profitable.
So Mr Rastle abruptly turned and went, much to the regret of Cripps, who had not half spoken his mind yet.
Returning to the school, the master reported all he had to say, which was not much. There an anxious night was spent by the masters and the one or two boys who were in their confidence in the matter.
The half hope that Loman might return of his own accord before night was quickly dispelled. Bed-time came, and no signs of him. Later his father arrived, anxious and excited, and was closeted for some time with the Doctor.
Meanwhile everything that could be done at that time of night was done. The Maltby newspapers were communicated with, and the police. Unpleasant as it was, the masters decided the right thing to do was to make the matter known at once, and not damage the chance of the boy's discovery by any attempt to keep his disappearance quiet.
At dawn next day an organised search was begun, and inquiries were started in every direction. Mr Cripps, among others, once more received the honour of a visit, this time from Mr Loman himself, who, greatly to the astonishment of the worthy landlord, called for his son's promissory note, which, being produced, he paid without a word. Cripps was fairly taken aback by this unexpected piece of business, and even a trifle disconcerted. It never suited him to be quite square with anybody, and now that Mr Loman had paid every farthing that could be claimed against his son, he did not like the look of Mr Loman at all, and he liked it less before the interview ended. For Mr Loman (who, by the way, was a barrister by profession) put his man that morning through a cross-examination which it wanted all his wits to get over creditably. As it was, he was once or twice driven completely into a corner, and had to acknowledge, for the sake of telling one lie, that the last twenty statements he had made had been lies too. Still Mr Loman kept at him. Now he wanted to know exactly how often his son had visited the Cockchafer? When he was there last? When the time before that? What he had done during his visits? Had he played cards? With whom? With Cripps? Had he lost? Had Cripps won? Had Cripps gone on letting him run up a score and lose money, even though he got no payment? Why had Cripps done so? Where had he expected to get payment from in the end?
Altogether it was hot quarters for Cripps that morning, and once or twice he struck completely, and putting himself on his dignity, declared "he wasn't a-going to be questioned and brow-beated as if he was a common pickpocket!" which objection Mr Loman quietly silenced by saying "Very well," and turning to go, a movement which so terrified the worthy publican that he caved in at once, and submitted to further questions.
Mr Loman then followed up his advantage by finding out all he could about the companions whom his son had been in the habit of meeting on the occasion of his visits to the Cockchafer. What were their names, occupations, addresses, and so on? Cripps, if any one had told him twenty-four hours ago that he would be meekly divulging all this information to any one in his own house, would have scoffed at the idea. But there was something about Mr Loman's voice, and Mr Loman's eye, and Mr Loman's note-book, which was too much for the publican, and he submitted like a lamb.
In due time the ordeal was over, and Mr Loman said he would now go and call upon these young gentlemen, and see what they had to say, and that Mr Cripps would most likely hear from him again.
Altogether the landlord of the Cockchafer had hardly ever passed such an uncomfortable morning.
Meanwhile the other searchers, among whom were Oliver and Wraysford, were busy.
For a whole day there came no news of the missing boy. No one could be met who had seen him or heard of him. Neither in Maltby nor up the river, nor in the country roads round, could any tidings of him be found. Towards evening those who remained anxiously behind began to entertain fresh fears. Had the boy been merely running away, some one would surely have seen him or heard of him. Had anything worse happened to him?
Mr Loman and the police-inspector paid a hurried visit to the boathouse. Had the boy been there? No, no one had been there for two days. They followed the paths through the woods, asking at every cottage and stopping every passer-by. But no, no one knew anything. No boat had passed through the lock, no passenger on foot had gone past it.
The night came, and with it most of the searchers returned, dejected and worn-out.
The school was strangely silent. Not a sound could be heard in the passages or class-rooms. Nothing but the heavy rain, which now began to fall dismally upon the roof and windows of the old school-house.
Boys who heard it shuddered, and their minds went out into the dark wet night after their lost schoolfellow, wherever he might be.
Where was he now? they wondered, and how was he faring?
"Has Greenfield returned?" asked the Doctor, as about ten o'clock the masters and Mr Loman met for the mockery of supper in the head master's study.
"No," said Mr Jellicott. "I have just been inquiring. He has not returned."
"Strange," said the Doctor; "which direction did he take?"
"Up towards Grandham," said Wraysford; "we went together as far as the cross roads, and then I went off on the Dallingford road and back by the river."
"He ought to be back now," said the Doctor, looking concerned.
"There is no railway or coach from Grandham," suggested Mr Rastle; "he would have to walk back most likely."
"And in this rain!" said the Doctor.
"Perhaps," said Wraysford, "he may have heard something."
It was a cheery suggestion. If it could but be true!
"He would have telegraphed," said Mr Loman.
"There is no telegraph office there," said the Doctor; "the Grandham people have to come here or to Dallingford to telegraph."
They waited an hour, but Oliver did not return.
The night became more and more stormy. The bleak February wind whistled among the chimneys, and the hard rain beat pitilessly at the windows and on the gravel walk outside.
The Doctor rose and pulled up the blind and looked out. It was a dreary prospect. The rain had turned to sleet, and the wind was growing fast to a gale. The trees round the house creaked and groaned beneath it.
"It is a dreadful night," said the Doctor. "Those two poor boys!"
No one else said anything. The storm grew fiercer and fiercer. Boys in their dormitories sit up in bed and listened to the roar of the wind as it howled round the house. And that silent party in the Doctor's study never once thought of seeking rest. Midnight came; but no Oliver, no Loman--and the storm as furious as ever.
Presently there came a soft knock at the door, which made every one start suddenly as the door opened.
It was Stephen in his night-shirt. He, like every one else, had been awakened by the storm. Oliver was the monitor of his dormitory; and now for the first time the boy missed his elder brother. Where was Oliver? he asked. No one could say. He had been out all day, and no one had seen him since he got back.
This was enough for Stephen. With bounding heart and quivering lips he sprang from his bed and hurried down stairs. There was a light in the Doctor's study; and there he went.
The boy's alarm and terror on hearing that his brother had not returned was piteous to see. He begged to be allowed to go and look for him, and only the Doctor's authoritative command could put him from this purpose. But nothing would induce him to return to bed; so Wraysford fetched him an ulster to keep out the cold.
The night wore on, by inches; and the storm raged outside with unabated wildness.
More than once the impulse had seized Wraysford to sally out at all risks and look for his friend. But what _could_ one do in a night like this, with a blinding sleet full in one's face, and a wind which mocked all attempts at progress or shouting!
No, there was nothing for it but to sit patiently and await daylight.
One, two, three o'clock came, and still nothing but the storm. Stephen crouched closer up beside Wraysford, and the elder boy, as he put his arm round the younger, could feel how his chest heaved, and how his teeth chattered.
"You're cold, old boy," said he, kindly.
"No, I'm not, Wray," said the boy, with a gulp; "but don't talk, Wray, I--"
The next instant Stephen, with a sudden cry, had bounded to his feet and rushed to the window.
"Some one called!" he cried. _