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Glyn Severn's Schooldays, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 31. Glyn's Worried Brain |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. GLYN'S WORRIED BRAIN "Is any one with the Doctor, Wrench?" "No, sir," replied the man distantly, and he looked curiously at Glyn. "Aren't you well this morning, sir?" "Yes--no. Don't ask questions," cried the boy petulantly. "All right, sir," said the man. "I don't want to ask no questions. There's been too much of it lately. Suspicions and ugly looks, and the rest of it. I'd have given warning the other day, only if I had, the next thing would have been more suspicion and the police perhaps had in to ask me why I wanted to go. Shall I ask the Doctor, sir, if he will see you?" "No," cried Glyn, and walking past the man he tapped at the study-door, and in response to the Doctor's deep, "Come in," entered. "What does this mean?" muttered Wrench. "I don't like listening; but if I went there and put my ear to the keyhole I could catch every word; and so sure as I did somebody would come into the hall and find me at it. So I won't go. But what does it mean? Young Severn's found out all about it, as sure as I stand here. Then it's one of the boys after all. Well, I don't care about it as long as it ain't me or Sam, so I'll go on with my work." Meanwhile Glyn had entered, closed the door after him, and stood gazing at the Doctor with a curious sensation in his breast that seemed to stop all power of speaking connectedly, as he had meant to do when he had obeyed the impulse to make a clean breast to his old preceptor. "Well, Severn," said the Doctor gravely, as he laid down his pen, thrust up his glasses till they were stopped by the stiff grey hair, and allowed himself to sink back in his writing-chair, "you wish to speak to me?" "Yes, sir, please; I--" Glyn stopped short. That was all that would come, so the Doctor waited for a few moments to give him time to collect himself, and then with an encouraging smile: "Are you unwell, my boy? Do you wish to see our physician?" Glyn uttered a kind of gasp, and then, making a tremendous effort, the power to speak returned, and he cried, "Oh no, sir; I am quite well, only--only I am in great trouble, and I want to speak to you." "Indeed!" said the Doctor gravely, as he placed his elbows upon the table, joined his finger-tips, and looked over them rather sadly at his visitor. "I am glad you have come, my boy," he continued gently, "for I like my pupils to look up to me as if for the time being I stood in the place of their parents. Now then, speak out. What is it? Some fresh quarrel between you and Mr Slegge?" "No, sir," cried Glyn. "It's about that dreadful business of Singh's belt." "Ah!" said the Doctor, rather more sharply. "You know something about it?" "Yes, sir. It's about that I have come. About people being wrongfully suspected, and all the unpleasantry." "Indeed!" said the Doctor, and he now spoke rather coldly. "You know, Severn, where it is?" "I--I think so, sir. Yes, sir," continued the boy, speaking more firmly, "and I want to tell you all I do know." The Doctor fixed his eyes rather sternly now, for a strange suspicion was entering his mind, due to the boy's agitated manner and his hesitating, half-reticent speech. "Well," he said, "go on; and I beg, my boy, that you tell me everything without reservation, though I am sorry, deeply grieved, that you should have to come and speak to me like this." Glyn seemed to breathe far more freely now, and as if the nervous oppression at his breast had passed away. "You see, sir," he began, "I have known all along that Singh had that very valuable belt. It was his father's, and the Maharajah used to wear it; and when he died my father took charge of it and all the Maharajah's valuable jewels as well." "Yes," said the Doctor slowly. "He was the late Prince's executor and Singh's guardian." "Yes, sir; and Singh was very eager to have it--oh, months and months before we came over here to school, and my father used to smile at him and tell him that he had far better not have it until he had grown older, and asked him why he who was such a boy yet should want such a rich ornament, and told him it was vanity. But Singh said it wasn't that; it was because the people had been used to see his father wear it, and that now he was dead and he had become Maharajah they would think more of him and look up to him if he wore the belt himself. You see, sir, Singh told me it was like being crowned." "I see," said the Doctor gravely, and he kept his eyes fixed upon the young speaker. "Go on." "Well, sir, father always put him off, and Singh didn't like it, and asked for it again and again; but my father would never let him have it till we were coming slowly over here to England. We stopped for a month in Ceylon, and when we sailed again to come here, one day Singh asked father again to let him have it, so that he could wear the belt as soon as we reached England. And then father said he should have it if he would make a promise not to wear it unless he had to appear before the Queen. Then he was to put it away again, and not make a parade of himself in a country where the greatest people in the land were always dressed in the plainest way." "Your father spoke wisely and well, my boy," said the Doctor gravely. "Great men do not depend upon show, but upon the jewels of worth and wisdom with which they have adorned themselves in their careers. Well, I repeat I am very glad you have come. Go on." "Yes, sir," said Glyn, clearing his throat. "Singh promised father that he would do exactly as he was told, and the next day my father told me to try and keep Singh to his word. He said it would be very absurd now that we were going among strangers and a lot of boys of our own ages if Singh were tempted to make a show of the royal belt. 'You be watchful,' he said, 'and help him when he seems weak, for he has naturally a good deal of Eastern vanity and pride in him.'" "Quite true," said the Doctor softly; "but he has improved wonderfully since he has been here." "Yes, sir; but every now and then he has bad fits, and has wanted to show off; but I was always able to stop him. Then, you see, sir--" Glyn broke down, and as he met the Doctor's steady gaze he seemed to make effort after effort to proceed, but in vain. "I told you, my boy," said the Doctor encouragingly, "to speak to me as if I were your father." "Yes, sir, I know," cried Glyn passionately, "and I want to speak out plainly and clearly, but it won't come." "Yes," said the Doctor gravely; "it will, my boy. Go on to the end." "Yes, sir," cried Glyn. "Well, sir, there has been all this trouble about the belt when it was missed out of Singh's box." The Doctor bowed his head. "I seem to have been able to think of nothing else, and I couldn't do my lessons--I could hardly eat my meals--and at night I couldn't sleep for thinking about the belt and what my father would say about it being lost." The Doctor bowed his head again very slowly and solemnly, and fixed his eyes once more upon Glyn's flushed face. "You see, sir, my father said so much to me about Singh being as it were in my charge, and told me how he trusted in my example, and in me being ready to give Singh a sensible word whenever he was disposed to do anything not becoming to an English lad." "Exactly, my boy," said the Doctor. "Your father is a worthy trustee of this young ward, and it will be a terrible shock to him when he hears of this--er--er--accident and the loss." "Yes, sir, for you see, as he is the old Maharajah's executor, the royal belt was in his care till Singh is old enough to be his own master; and father will feel that he is to blame for giving way and letting Singh have it so soon." "Exactly," said the Doctor; "but, my boy, it seems to me that you are rather wandering away from your purpose, and are not telling me everything exactly as I should wish." "It's because, sir, it won't come; something seems to stop me. But I am trying, sir." "Well, I believe you, my boy," said the Doctor. "Go on." "Yes, sir. Well, I told you that I could hardly eat or sleep for thinking about it." The Doctor sighed. "And it seemed so horrid, sir, that so many people should be suspected for what one person alone must have done." "Yes," said the Doctor, fixing him with his eyes again; and then as he met the boy's frank, unblenching eyes his brow began to wear a curious look of perplexity, and he disjoined the tips of his fingers, picked up his quill-pen, and began slowly to litter the table-top by stripping off the plume. "Well, sir," continued Glyn, speaking very hurriedly now, "I have always been dreaming about it, and waking up with starts, sir, fancying I heard some one creeping into the room to get to Singh's box; and one night it was so real that I seemed to hear some one go to Singh's bedside, take out the keys from his pocket, crawl to his box, unlock it, and lift the lid, and then shut it and lock it again. And I lay there, sir, with my hands and face wet with perspiration, wanting to call out to Singh; but I couldn't stir. But when all was silent again I crept out of bed and went to his box to find the keys in it; and I opened it quickly and felt inside, feeling sure that it was one of the boys who had stolen the belt and who had repented and come and put it back again." "And had he?" cried the Doctor, startled out of his grave calmness. "No, sir; I think it was only my fancy. But I have been something like that over and over again." "Ah!" said the Doctor gravely once more. "The workings, my boy, of an uneasy mind." "Yes, sir, and that's what held me back from coming to you to speak out." "Go on," said the Doctor; "and speak plainly and to the point, my boy. What more have you to say?" "Only this, sir," cried Glyn huskily, "that the night before last I lay awake for a long time, thinking and thinking about the belt and about Singh lying there sleeping so easily and not troubling himself in the least about the loss of the emeralds; and then all at once, when my head was so hot with the worry that I felt as if I must get out and drink some cold water.--I don't know how it was, but I began going over the big cricket-match in the field, and it was as if it was the day before, and I was fidgeting and fidgeting about the crowd there'd be, and a lot of strangers walking about the grounds and perhaps finding their way into the empty dormitories; and it all worried me so, sir, that it made me think that somebody dishonest might go to Singh's box and carry off the emeralds, and they would never be found again." The Doctor leaned forward a little to gaze more fixedly in his pupil's eyes. Then rising slowly, he reached over and placed his cool white hand upon Glyn's forehead. "Yes, sir," said the boy quickly, "it's hot--it's hot; but it comes like that sometimes. I believe it's from thinking too much." "Ah!" said the Doctor, subsiding again into his chair. "Well, sir, I was so worried about the belt that I thought I wouldn't say anything to Singh, but that I would take his keys, get out the case, and bring it to you in the morning." "Ah!" cried the Doctor excitedly now. "It would not have been right, my boy. But you did not do that." "No, sir," said the boy, with a bitter laugh; "for the next minute I thought you would put it in your table-drawer, and that it wouldn't be safe there, for strangers might come into this room, so I--" Glyn stopped, and the Doctor waited patiently. "It seemed so weak and foolish, sir," continued Glyn at last, after moistening his parched lips with his tongue, "but I must tell you. I seemed to be obliged to do it. I took out the case and went downstairs past all the boys' rooms, and got out through the lecture-hall window to go across the playground to the cricket-shed where the boys' lockers are, and there I opened our locker and took out a ball of kite-string." "Yes," said the Doctor. "Go on, go on." "Then, sir, I came back across the playground and turned into the yard to go into the well-house, where I tied the end of the kite-string round the case very tightly and safely, and then leaned over and lifted one of the flaps of the well lid--" "And lowered the case down into the well?" cried the Doctor excitedly. "Yes, sir," said Glyn; "and I could smell the cool, damp sides of the place, and hear a faint dripping of the water as I let the string run through my fingers, till at last the case splashed and it ran down more slowly, seeming to jerk a little to and fro as a flat thing does when it sinks, till I felt it touch the bottom. And then I leaned over to feel for a place where I could tie the string to one of the loose bricks at the side." "But there are no loose bricks at the side, my boy," said the Doctor. "No, sir," said the boy. "I couldn't feel one; and then all at once, as I was feeling about, the ball slipped out of my fingers and fell below with a splash." "So that you could not pull the case up again?" cried the Doctor. "Yes, sir," said Glyn very slowly, and looking at him in a peculiar manner. "And then," said the Doctor, "what did you do?" "Nothing, sir," replied Glyn, "for just then the first bell rang." "What?" exclaimed the Doctor. "And I started up in bed, sir. It was all a dream." "A dream!" cried the Doctor angrily. "Why, my good lad--" "But it was all so real, sir, and I was thinking about it all day yesterday, and that perhaps it's possible that I really did do it walking in my sleep." "Oh, impossible!" cried the Doctor. "I don't know, sir," said the boy; "but you see, I might have done so." "Well--yes, you might," said the Doctor slowly. "I did have a pupil once who was troubled with somnambulism. He used to walk into the next dormitory and scare the other boys.--Oh, but this is impossible!" "I thought you'd say so, sir." "Yes," said the Doctor, "impossible. Why, if it were true the belt must have been lying at the bottom of the well ever since the cricket-match weeks ago." "Yes, sir, and I must have done it then in my sleep; and the night before last I dreamed again what I dreamed before." "Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut, tut!" ejaculated the Doctor, rising now from his chair and beginning to walk to and fro excitedly. "Strange--most strange, and I feel sceptical in the extreme. It must all be imagination. An empty dream, brought about by the worry and anxiety of this unfortunate loss. Well, I am glad you have come, my boy, and--er-- er--I must be frank with you. Your manner and the strangeness of your words half made me think that you had come, urged by your conscience, to make a confession of a very different kind." Glyn started; his lips parted, and he looked wildly in the Doctor's eyes. "Don't look at me like that, my lad. Your manner suggested it, and I cannot tell you how relieved I feel." As the Doctor spoke he leaned over his writing-table and caught the boy's hand in his, to press it warmly. "But," he said, as he subsided once more into his chair, "this must be a hallucination, an offspring of an overworked brain; and yet there are strange things in connection with the mental organisation, and I feel as if I ought to take some steps. What a relief it would be, my boy, to us all, the clearing away of a load of ungenerous suspicion. But one word: whom have you told of this?" "No one, sir," said Glyn. "Not even Mr Singh?" "No, sir. I have been ever since yesterday thinking about what I ought to do, and I came to the conclusion at last that I ought to come to you, sir." "Quite right, my boy; quite right." "But it was very hard work, sir--very hard indeed." "Yes, yes; so I suppose," said the Doctor thoughtfully; "and you have placed a problem before me, my boy, that I feel is as difficult to resolve. I am very, very glad that you have kept it in your own breast, Severn; and the more I think of it the more I feel that it is only an intangible vapour of the brain. But, all the same, the matter is so mysterious and so important that I should not be doing my duty if I did not have the well examined." "You will, sir?" cried the boy eagerly. "Yes, Severn, I will," said the Doctor firmly, "and at once. But this must be a private matter between us two. Let those who like consider the act eccentric; I shall have it done, and I look to you to take no one else into your confidence over the matter." "No, sir; I'll not say a word," cried Glyn. "But,"--he hesitated--"but--" "Well, Severn; speak out." "If it all turns out fancy, all imagination, sir, you will not be angry?" "No, Severn, not in the least," said the Doctor, smiling. "Now go and send Wrench to me." As he spoke the Doctor turned and rang, with the consequence that Glyn met the footman in the passage coming to answer the bell, and half an hour later, when the boy made it his business to casually stroll towards the well-house, he heard voices, and on looking in found Wrench, who had changed his livery for an old pair of trousers and vest, talking to the gardener and making plans for the emptying of the well. _ |
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