Read Online Was It Murder? by James Hilton - Free Book Online Page B

and told his wife, when she handed him a cup of tea, that it was disgustingly weak.  A boor as well as a bore, Revell reflected.  A few mouthfuls of buttered tea-cake made the man more talkative, but only to air his grumbles.  “Speech Day to-morrow, by Gad!” he muttered.  “And the Lord knows what’s going to happen—everything either altered or cancelled—no definite plans—no method—and in the meantime the whole discipline of the School going absolutely to pot!”  He gulped down a half-cupful of tea.  “Boys seem to think that because a fatal accident’s happened they can all run riot.  I had to thrash several of them to-day for being late, and the excuse they gave me, if you please, was that they’d been in the swimming-bath talking to Wilson!”
    “Don’t you think it’s rather excusable?” Mrs. Ellington queried, with an inflection in her voice that Revell thought was slightly acid.
    “No, I do not.”
    Revell interposed tactfully.  “I certainly agree,” he said, addressing Ellington, “that there’s been far too much sightseeing in the swimming-bath.  In my opinion the place ought to have been locked up immediately after the accident, and no one ought to have gone near it without special permission.  What possibility is there of reconstructing how the accident happened when everybody’s been allowed to treat the place like a side-show on a fair-ground?”
    Ellington faced him truculently.  “RECONSTRUCTING, eh?  What d’you mean?  Isn’t Murchiston’s opinion good enough?  And the Head’s too?  Don’t see what need there’ll be of any reconstructing, as you call it.  Still, you’re right about the sightseeing—there HAS been too much of it.  And there’s been too much of other things, too.  Chattering and gossiping and idle tittle-tattle—the whole School’s full of it.  I quite expect to have to discuss nothing else from morning till night to-morrow.”
    “I can quite understand that you must feel heartily sick of it all.”
    Ellington grunted.  “I can’t even cycle into the village without a dozen people stopping me to ask questions.  Stupid scandal-mongering, that’s all it is.”
    There was nothing much to be got out of him save repeated grumbles on similar lines, so Revell took an early leave, pitying Mrs.  Ellington for having to face the rest of the wrathful outpouring alone.  “You must come and see us again before you go,” she said, walking with him to the top of the outside steps.  And there was (or perhaps he merely imagined it) something in the tone of her voice that added an unspoken—“PLEASE come again.”
     
     
    Dr. Roseveare was most charming at dinner.  Though his face still bore traces of the strain he was undergoing, he yet managed, with the true courtesy of a host, to entertain his guest without apparent signs of preoccupation.  Revell would have been willing enough to discuss the swimming-bath affair, but he found the other’s opinions concerning Oriental china almost equally revealing, at any rate as a proof of his extraordinary self-control.  Yet this was the man, who, nine months before, had been suffering from nerves!
    Not till the close of the meal did the conversation approach the narrowed confines of Oakington, and then Revell, seizing the opportunity, asked if he might visit the swimming-bath on his own.
    Roseveare seemed more interested in the request than surprised by it.  “Why, yes, of course, if you wish.  But I should have thought you would have been there already.”
    “Oh, I have.  But I’d rather like to have a few moments there by myself—and at night.”
    “Very well—I will lend you my key.  I am afraid, though, that you will find very little of interest.”
    “Still, I’d like a look around.  And there’s just one other thing, too—I’m sorry to have to bother you about it, but I’m relying on your offer to help me, you know—could I be permitted to see the— er—the