awkward questions. He quite saw that there was very little he could hope to discover about that first affair.
He thought a little cynically of the bright new electric fittings that met the eye all over the School. That had been the Head’s doing—natural enough, in a way, but a pretty efficient method of clearing up traces if there had been anything wrong. Had the Head, by the way, known of Marshall’s sudden and unexpected arrival at the School that night?
He lit a cigarette as he began the second circuit of the Ring. The easiest thing, undoubtedly, was to believe that things were just as they seemed. Two fatal accidents to two brothers—well, it was unusual, even remarkable, but was it more so than any conceivable alternative supposition?
Anyhow, as Lambourne had said, he had better tackle the more recent affair, since not only was there a greater chance of discovering things from it, but also his inquiries could be made more openly, as springing from the mere natural curiosity of an Old Oakingtonian about an affair that was for the time being on everybody’s lips. And so, as he came round to the School buildings again, he made his way to the low, squat, red-bricked erection, some distance away from the rest, in which, ten years before, he had splashed about on many a summer’s afternoon.
His lips tightened irritably as he turned the handle of the door and found it unlocked. The place ought not, he felt, to have been thus left open to any casual sensation-seeker, though of course it suited him well enough to be able to enter so easily. He walked through the small entrance-hall, past the shower-baths and the drying-room, and into the main glass-roofed building. Four elderly charwomen were kneeling on the floor of the bath, busily engaged in scrubbing the white porcelain tiles. At the farther end, by the diving-platforms, a rough-looking fellow in grey flannels and a brown cardigan was noisily dismantling an improvised grandstand consisting of several tiers of wooden benches. Revell watched the scene for over a minute before anyone saw him, and even then no one took any particular notice. It was only too obvious that there had been many previous visitors. At length he walked along the edge of the bath and approached the man at the far end. “Busy cleaning up, I see?” he commented, with the air of the fatuous sightseer.
The man nodded deferentially, noticing the Old Oakingtonian tie.
“Yes, sir, and not a pleasant thing to ‘ave to clear up, neither.” How eager they all were, Revell thought, to discuss the little tit-bit of tragedy that had fallen into their midst! He offered the man a cigarette, which he took with a half-knowing salute. Another of them wanting to be told all about it, Revell fancied him thinking. “Yes, sir, I reckon I don’t want to see a thing like that again. Fell right off from the top, and you’d think so, too, if you’d seen what I saw. Terrible thing, ain’t it? An’ ‘appenin’ just now—right in front of Speech Day. Of course there ain’t goin’ to be no swimmin’ gala—natchrally THAT’S been put off.”
Revell inclined his head in melancholy agreement. “I suppose the poor chap must have taken a plunge in the dark?” he hazarded.
“Looks like it,” replied the other. “The fuses was all gorn. . . .
I daresay you ‘eard about ‘is poor brother larst Autumn Term, sir?”
The man’s eyes quickened with ghoulish pride.
“Yes, I read about it. By the way, what are you going to do when the cleaning’s finished? Fill the bath up again?”
“Yes, sir. Though I don’t suppose there’ll be any swimmin’ till next week. You don’t ‘ardly feel you’d like to go in it now, some’ow, do you, sir?”
Revell expressed a limited sympathy with this extreme of delicacy and then, with a farewell nod to the man, walked back towards the entrance. The same trick as before, he reflected ruefully—all traces
He thought a little cynically of the bright new electric fittings that met the eye all over the School. That had been the Head’s doing—natural enough, in a way, but a pretty efficient method of clearing up traces if there had been anything wrong. Had the Head, by the way, known of Marshall’s sudden and unexpected arrival at the School that night?
He lit a cigarette as he began the second circuit of the Ring. The easiest thing, undoubtedly, was to believe that things were just as they seemed. Two fatal accidents to two brothers—well, it was unusual, even remarkable, but was it more so than any conceivable alternative supposition?
Anyhow, as Lambourne had said, he had better tackle the more recent affair, since not only was there a greater chance of discovering things from it, but also his inquiries could be made more openly, as springing from the mere natural curiosity of an Old Oakingtonian about an affair that was for the time being on everybody’s lips. And so, as he came round to the School buildings again, he made his way to the low, squat, red-bricked erection, some distance away from the rest, in which, ten years before, he had splashed about on many a summer’s afternoon.
His lips tightened irritably as he turned the handle of the door and found it unlocked. The place ought not, he felt, to have been thus left open to any casual sensation-seeker, though of course it suited him well enough to be able to enter so easily. He walked through the small entrance-hall, past the shower-baths and the drying-room, and into the main glass-roofed building. Four elderly charwomen were kneeling on the floor of the bath, busily engaged in scrubbing the white porcelain tiles. At the farther end, by the diving-platforms, a rough-looking fellow in grey flannels and a brown cardigan was noisily dismantling an improvised grandstand consisting of several tiers of wooden benches. Revell watched the scene for over a minute before anyone saw him, and even then no one took any particular notice. It was only too obvious that there had been many previous visitors. At length he walked along the edge of the bath and approached the man at the far end. “Busy cleaning up, I see?” he commented, with the air of the fatuous sightseer.
The man nodded deferentially, noticing the Old Oakingtonian tie.
“Yes, sir, and not a pleasant thing to ‘ave to clear up, neither.” How eager they all were, Revell thought, to discuss the little tit-bit of tragedy that had fallen into their midst! He offered the man a cigarette, which he took with a half-knowing salute. Another of them wanting to be told all about it, Revell fancied him thinking. “Yes, sir, I reckon I don’t want to see a thing like that again. Fell right off from the top, and you’d think so, too, if you’d seen what I saw. Terrible thing, ain’t it? An’ ‘appenin’ just now—right in front of Speech Day. Of course there ain’t goin’ to be no swimmin’ gala—natchrally THAT’S been put off.”
Revell inclined his head in melancholy agreement. “I suppose the poor chap must have taken a plunge in the dark?” he hazarded.
“Looks like it,” replied the other. “The fuses was all gorn. . . .
I daresay you ‘eard about ‘is poor brother larst Autumn Term, sir?”
The man’s eyes quickened with ghoulish pride.
“Yes, I read about it. By the way, what are you going to do when the cleaning’s finished? Fill the bath up again?”
“Yes, sir. Though I don’t suppose there’ll be any swimmin’ till next week. You don’t ‘ardly feel you’d like to go in it now, some’ow, do you, sir?”
Revell expressed a limited sympathy with this extreme of delicacy and then, with a farewell nod to the man, walked back towards the entrance. The same trick as before, he reflected ruefully—all traces
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