Paul and Grimes looked at each other sadly.

  'It seems to me, said Paul, 'that one of us will have to take Prep. for him to‑night.

  'No, no, old boy; that'll be all right, said Grimes. 'You and I are off to Mrs Roberts. Prendy gives me a thirst.

  'But we can't leave him like this.

  'He'll be all right. The little beasts can't make any more noise than they do usually.

  'You don't think the old man will find him?

  'Not a chance.

  The bell rang. Mr Prendergast jumped to his feet, straightened his wig and steadied himself gravely against the chimneypiece.

  'There's a good chap, said Grimes gently. 'Just you trot down the passage to the little boys and have a good nap.

  Singing quietly to himself, Mr Prendergast sauntered down the passage.

  'I hope he's none the worse for this, said Grimes. 'You know, I feel quite fatherly towards old Prendy. He did give it to that blackamoor about Church architecture, bless him.

  Arrn in arm they went down the main avenue towards the inn.

  'Mrs Beste‑Chetwynde asked me to call on her in London, said Paul.

  'Did she? Well, just you go. I've never been much of a one for society and the smart set myself, but if you like that sort of thing, Mrs Beste‑Chetwynde is the goods all right. Never open a paper but there's a photograph of her at some place or other.

  'Does she photograph well? asked Paul. 'I should rather think that she would.

  Grimes looked at him narrowly. 'Fair to middling. Why the sudden interest?

  'Oh, I don't know. I was just wondering.

  At Mrs Roberts' they found the Llanabba Silver Band chattering acrimoniously over the division of the spoils.

  'All the afternoon the band I have led in Men of Harlech and sacred music too look you and they will not give me a penny more than themselves whatever. The college gentleman whatever if it is right I ask, said the stationmaster, 'me with a sister‑in‑law to support too look you.

  'Now don't bother, old boy, said Grimes, 'because, if you do, I'll tell your pals about the extra pound you got out of the Doctor.

  The discussion was resumed in Welsh, but it was clear that the stationmaster was slowly giving way.

  'That's settled him all right. Take my tip, old boy; never get mixed up in a Welsh wrangle. It doesn't end in blows, like an Irish one, but goes on for ever. They'll still be discussing that three pounds at the end of term; just you see.

  'Has Mr Beste‑Chetwynde been dead long? asked Paul.

  'I shouldn't say so; why?

  'I was just wondering.

  They sat for some time smoking in silence.

  'If Beste‑Chetwynde is fifteen, said Paul, 'that doesn't necessarily make her more than thirty‑one, does it?

  'Old boy, said Grimes, 'you're in love.

  'Nonsense!

  'Smitten? said Grimes.

  'No, no.

  'The tender passion?

  'No.

  'Cupid's jolly little darts?

  'No.

  'Spring fancies, love's young dream?

  'Nonsense!

  'Not even a quickening of the pulse?

  'No.

  'A sweet despair?

  'Certainly not.

  'A trembling hope?

  'No.

  'A frisson? a je ne sais quoi?

  'Nothing of the sort.

  'Liar! said Grimes.

  There was another long pause. 'Grimes, said Paul at length, 'I wonder if you can be right?

  'Sure of it, old boy. Just you go in and win. Here's to the happy pair! May all your troubles be little ones.

  In a state of mind totally new to him, Paul accompanied Grimes back to the Castle. Prep. was over. Mr Prendergast was leaning against the fireplace with a contented smile on his face.

  'Hullo, Prendy, old wine‑skin! How are things with you?

  'Admirable, said Mr Prendergast. 'I have never known them better. I have just caned twenty‑three boys.

  CHAPTER XI Philbrick ‑ continued

  Next day Mr Prendergast's self‑confidence had evaporated.

  'Head hurting? asked Grimes.

  'Well, as a matter of fact, it is rather.

  'Eyes tired? Thirsty?

  'Yes, a little.

  'Poor old Prendy! Don't I know? Still, it was worth it, wasn't it?

  'I don't remember very clearly all that happened, but I walked back to the Castle with Philbrick, and he told me all about his life. It appears he is really a rich man and not a butler at all.

  'I know, said Paul and Grimes simultaneously.

  'You both knew? Well, it came as a great surprise to me, although I must admit I had noticed a certain superiority in his manner. But I find almost everyone like that. Did he tell you his whole story ‑ about his shooting the Portuguese Count and everything?

  'No, he didn't tell me that, said Paul.

  'Shooting a Portuguese Count? Are you sure you've got hold of the right end of the stick, old boy?

  'Yes, yes, I'm sure of it. It irnpressed me very much. You see Philbrick is really Sir Solomon Philbrick, the shipowner.

  'The novelist, you mean, said Grimes.

  'The retired burglar, said Paul.

  The three masters looked at each other.

  'Old boys, it seems to me someone's been pulling our legs.

  'Well, this is the story that he told me, continued Mr Prendergast. 'It all started from our argument about Church architecture with the black man. Apparently Philbrick has a large house in Carlton House Terrace.

  'Camberwell Green.

  'Cheyne Walk.

  'Well, I'm telling you what he told me. He has a house in Carlton House Terrace. I remember the address well because a sister of Mrs Crump's was once governess in a house in the same row, and he used to live there with an actress who, I regret to say, was not his wife. I forget her name, but I know it is a particularly famous one. He was sitting in the Athenaeum Club one day when the Archbishop of Canterbury approached him and said that the Government were anxious to make him a peer, but that it was impossible while he lived a life of such open irregularity. Philbrick turned down the offer. He is a Roman Catholic, I forgot to tell you. But all that doesn't really explain why he is here. It only shows how important he is. His ships weigh hundreds and hundreds of tons, he told me.

  'Well, one evening he and his play‑actress were giving a party, and they were playing baccarat. There was a Portuguese Count there ‑ a very dark man from the Legation, Philbrick said. The game rapidly became a personal contest between these two. Philbrick won over and over again until the Count had no more money left and had signed many I O U's. Finally, very late in the night, he took from the Countess's hand ‑ she was sitting beside him with haggard eyes watching him play ‑ an enormous emerald. As big as a gold ball, Philbrick said.

  ' "This has been an heirloom of my family since the first crusade," said the Portuguese Count. "It is the one thing which I had hoped to leave to my poor, poor little son." And he tossed it on to the table.

  ' "I will wager against it my new four‑funnel, turbine-driven liner called The Queen of Arcady," said Philbrick.

  ' "That's not enough," said the Portuguese Countess.

  ' "And my steam‑yacht Swallow and four tugs and a coaling‑barge, said Philbrick. All the party rose to applaud his reckless bid.

  'The hand was played. Philbrick had won. With a low bow he returned the emerald to the Portuguese Countess. "For your son!" he said. Again the guests applauded, but the Portuguese Count was livid with rage. "You have insulted my honour," he said. "In Portugal we have only one way of dealing with such an occurrence."

  'There and then they went out into Hyde Park, which was quite close. They faced each other and fired: it was just dawn. At the feet of the Achilles statue Philbrick shot the Portuguese Count dead. They left him with his smoking revolver in his hand. The Portuguese Countess kissed Philbrick's hand as she entered her car. "No one will ever know," she said. "It will be taken for suicide. It is a secret between us."

  'But Philbrick was a changed man. The actress was driven from his house. He fell into a melancholy and paced up and down his deserted home at night, overpowered by his sense of guilt. The Portuguese Countess rang him up, but he told her it was the wrong number. Finally he went to a priest and confessed. He was told that for three years he must give up his house and wealth and live among the lowest of the low. That, said Mr Prendergast simply, 'is why he is here. Wasn't that the story he told you?

  'No, it wasn't, said Paul.

  'Not the shade of a likeness, said Grimes. 'He told me all about himself one evening at Mrs Roberts'. It was like this:

  'Mr Philbrick, senior, was a slightly eccentric sort of a cove. He made a big pile out of diamond mines while he was quite young and settled in the country and devoted his declining years to literature. He had two kids: Philbrick and a daughter called Gracie. From the start Philbrick was the apple of the old chap's eye, while he couldn't stick Miss Gracie at any price. Philbrick could spout Shakespeare and Hamlet and things by the yard before Gracie could read "The cat sat on the mat." When he was eight he had a sonnet printed in the local paper. After that Gracie wasn't in it anywhere. She lived with the servants like Cinderella, Philbrick said, while he, sensible little beggar, had the best of everything and quoted classics and flowery language to the old boy upstairs. After he left Cambridge he settled down in London and wrote away like blazes. The old man just loved that; he had all Philbrick's books bound in blue leather and put in a separate bookcase with a bust of Philbrick on top. Poor old Gracie found things a bit thin, so she ran off with a young chap in the motor trade who didn't know one end of a book from the other, or of a car for that matter, as it turned out. When the old boy popped off he left Philbrick everything, except a few books to Gracie. The young man had only married her because he thought the old boy was bound to leave her something, so he hopped it. That didn't worry Philbrick. He lived for his art, he said. He just moved into a bigger house and went on writing away fifteen to the dozen. Gracie tried to get some money out of him more than once, but he was so busy writing books, he couldn't bother about her. At last she became a cook in a house at Southgate. Next year she died. That didn't worry Philbrick at first. Then after a week or so he noticed an odd thing. There was always a smell of cooking all over the house, in his study, in his bedroom, everywhere. He had an architect in who said he couldn't notice any smell, and rebuilt the kitchen and put in all sorts of ventilators. Still, the smell got worse. It used to hang about his clothes so that he didn't dare go out, a horrible fatty smell. He tried going abroad, but the whole of Paris reeked of English cooking. That was bad enough, but after a time plates began rattling round his bed when he tried to sleep at nights and behind his chair as he wrote his books. He used to wake up in the night and hear the frizzling of fried fish and the singing of kettles. Then he knew what it was: it was Gracie haunting him. He went to the Society for Psychical Research, and they got through a conversation to Gracie. He asked how he could make reparation. She said that he must live among servants for a year and write a book about them that would improve their lot. He tried to go the whole hog at first and started as chef, but of course that wasn't really in his line, and the family he was with got so ill, he had to leave. So he came here. He says the book is most moving, and that he'll read me bits of it some day. Not quite the same story as Prendy's.

  'No, it's not. By the way, did he say anything about marrying Dingy?

  'Not a word. He said that as soon as the smell of cooking wore off he was going to be the happiest man in the world. Apparently he's engaged to a female poet in Chelsea. He's not the sort of cove I'd have chosen for a brother‑in‑law. But then Flossie isn't really the sort of wife I'd have chosen. These things happen, old boy.

  Paul told them about the 'Lamb and Flag' at Camberwell Green and about Toby Cruttwell. 'D'you think that story is true, or yours, or Prendy's? he asked.

  'No, said Mr Prendergast.

  CHAPTER XII The Agony of Captain Grimes

  Two days later Beste‑Chetwynde and Paul were in the organ‑loft of the Llanabba Parish Church.

  'I don't think I played that terribly well, do you, sir?

  'No.

  'Shall I stop for a bit?

  'I wish you would.

  'Tangent's foot has swollen up and turned black, said Beste‑Chetwynde with relish.

  'Poor little brute! said Paul.

  'I had a letter from my mamma this morning, Beste-Chetwynde went on. 'There's a message for you in it. Shall I read you what she says?

  He took out a letter written on the thickest possible paper. 'The first part is all about racing and a row she's had with Chokey. Apparently he doesn't like the way she's rebuilt our house in the country. I think it was time she dropped that man, don't you?

  'What does she say about me? asked Paul.

  'She says: "By the way, dear boy, I must tell you that the spelling in your last letters has been just too shatteringfor words. You know how terribly anxious I am for you to get on and go to Oxford, and everything, and I have been thinking, don't you think it might be a good thing if we were to have a tutor next holidays? Would you think it tooboring? Some one young who would fit in. I thought, would that good‑looking young master you said you liked care to come? How much ought I to pay him? I never know these things. I don't mean the drunk one, tho' he was sweet too." I think that must be you, don't you? said Beste‑Chetwynde; 'it can hardly be Captain Grimes.

  'Well, I must think that over, said Paul. 'It sounds rather a good idea.

  'Well, yes, said Beste‑Chetwynde doubtfully, 'it might be all right, only there mustn't be too much of the schoolmaster about it. That man Prendergast beat me the other evening.

  'And there'll be no organ lessons, either, said Paul.

  Grimes did not receive the news as enthusiastically as Paul had hoped; he was sitting over the Common Room fire despondently biting his nails.

  'Good, old boy! That's splendid, he said abstractedly. 'I'm glad; I am really.

  'Well, you don't sound exactly gay.

  'No, I'm not. Fact is, I'm in the soup again.

  'Badly?

  'Up to the neck.

  'My dear chap, I am sorry. What are you going to do about it?

  'I've done the only thing: I've announced my engagement.

  'That'll please Flossie.

  'Oh, yes, she's as pleased as hell about it, damn her nasty little eyes.

  'What did the old man say?

  'Baffled him a bit, old boy. He's just thinking things out at the moment. Well, I expect everything'll be all right.

  'I don't see why it shouldn't be.

  'Well, there is a reason. I don't think I told you before, but fact is, I'm married already.

  That evening Paul received a summons from the Doctor. He wore a double‑breasted dinner-jacket, which he smoothed uneasily over his hips at Paul's approach. He looked worried and old.

  'Pennyfeather, he said, 'I have this morning received a severe shock, two shocks in fact. The first was disagreeable, but not wholly unexpected. Your colleague, Captain Grimes, has been convicted before me, on evidence that leaves no possibility of his innocence, of a crime ‑ I might almost call it a course of action ‑ which I can neither understand nor excuse. I daresay I need not particularize. However, that is all a minor question. I have quite frequently met with similar cases during a long experience in our profession. But what has disturbed and grieved me more than I can moderately express is the information that he is engaged to be married to my elder daughter. That, Pennyfeather, I had not expected. In the circumstances it seemed a humiliation I might reasonably have been spared. I tell you all this, Pennyfeather, because in our brief acquaintance I have learned to trust and respect you.

  The Doctor sighed, drew from his pocket a handkerchief of crêpe de chine, blew his nose with every accent of emotion, and resumed:

  'He is not the son‑in‑law I should readily have chosen. I could have forgiven him his wooden leg, his slavish poverty, his moral turpitude, and his abominable features; I could even have forgiven him his incredible vocabulary, if only he had been a gentleman. I hope you do not think me a snob. You may have discerned in me a certain prejudice against the lower orders. It is quite true. I do feel deeply on the subject. You see, I married one of them. But that, unfortunately, is neither here nor there. What I really wished to say to you was this: I have spoken to the unhappy young woman my daughter, and find that she has no particular inclination towards Grimes. Indeed, I do not think that any daughter of mine could fall as low as that. But she is, for some reason, uncontrollably eager to be married to somebody fairly soon. Now, I should be quite prepared to offer a partnership in Llanabba to a son‑in‑law of whom I approved. The income of the school is normally not less than three thousand a year ‑ that is with the help of dear Diana's housekeeping ‑ and my junior partner would start at an income of a thousand, and of course succeed to a larger share upon my death. It is a prospect that many young men would find inviting. And I was wondering, Pennyfeather, whether by any chance, looking at the matter from a business‑like point of view, without prejudice, you understand, fair and square, taking things as they are for what they are worth, facing facts, whether possibly you… I wonder if I make myself plain?

  'No, said Paul. 'No, sir, I'm afraid it would be impossible. I hope I don't appear rude, but ‑ no, really I'm afraid…

  'That's all right, my dear boy. Not another word! I quite understand. I was afraid that would be your answer. Well, it must be Grimes, then. I don't think it would be any use approaching Mr Prendergast.

  'It was very kind of you to suggest it, sir.

  'Not at all, not at all. The wedding shall take place a week to‑day. You might tell Grimes that if you see him. I don't want to have more to do with him than I can help. I wonder whether it would be a good thing to give a small party? For a moment a light sprang up in Dr Fagan's eyes and then died out. 'No, no, there will be no party. The sports were not encouraging. Poor little Lord Tangent is still laid up, I hear.