Dorcas eyed this arrangement casually. “Comings and goings this morning, Mr. Gosling?”
“Always comings and goings in a school this size,” was the noncommittal response.
He seemed eager to bustle them straight inside, but Jackie with a sharp cry went over to the pile of luggage and was staring at the books. He bent and turned over a luggage label. “Spielman! These are Spielman’s things!”
Gosling stopped in his tracks and, with a sigh, went over to Jackie and exchanged a few quiet words. Turning to Joe he spoke with an air of resignation: “Only to be expected, of course. The first of many abrupt withdrawals, I’d calculate. News spreads fast up at that level. Our parents are … of a certain status in society, if you understand. Diplomats, politicians, Civil Service posted abroad-that sort of thing. The kind of people who can’t be doing with the slightest whiff of scandal. Spielman’s father is a diplomat so we’re not surprised that he’s the first to get wind of the-er-sad occurrence. And-worse-he’s got a very fussy mother. It’s Madame Spielman who’ll be the instigator of this panicking rush for the exit.”
He turned again to Jackie. “I think you knew him better than most,” he said gently. “Look, he’s sitting waiting in the trunk room just inside. Would you like to say goodbye?”
At that moment, a Daimler purred in stately fashion up the drive and braked behind the Morris. A chauffeur in grey uniform stepped out and saluted Gosling. “I’m here for Master Spielman,” he announced. He glanced at Jackie. “Is this him?”
“No, no! Wait a moment, will you? If you’d like to start loading these things, I’ll just go and get the young gentleman.”
He went inside and reappeared a moment later with a small boy.
“Spielman!”
“Oh, hullo, Drummond,” the child said warily. “You got away with it, then?”
“Can’t say. I don’t know what ‘it’ was, Spielman! They’ve brought me back to have it out. But where are you going?”
“My people have sent for me. Mama doesn’t want me staying in a place infested with murderers and such riff-raff.”
“Oh. We’d better say goodbye then,” said Jackie politely.
The chauffeur had finished his loading and jangled his keys in a marked manner. Spielman stepped forwards, eager to be off.
“Look-I’ll miss our talks about books,” Jackie said, grabbing him by the sleeve. “Wait a minute!” He dashed to his Afghan bag and took out his copy of Treasure Island. “Here, take this. I’ve finished it.”
“Oh, I say. Are you sure? Can I put my name in it? Thank you very much, Drummond. I’ll say goodbye then.”
The chauffeur held the door for him and the small figure, clutching his book, scrambled into the back seat. He didn’t look around as they drove off.
Joe noted the swift pat on the head Jackie received from his new form master.
As he led them down the corridor, Gosling leaned to Joe out of earshot of Dorcas and Jackie and muttered, “Sorry about that, sir. You weren’t supposed to witness the departure. Bad for morale. They tried to schedule it discreetly.”
“At least the two friends had time to say their goodbyes,” Joe remarked.
“Not sure ‘friends’ would be the right word for that relationship,” Gosling said. “I don’t think Drummond will be heartbroken. Spielman didn’t fit in here. Made no effort to fit in. Not a sporting type. Only happy when his nose was in a book. And he had certain physical problems which are not best catered for in general schooling. It was all getting too much for Matron, I’m afraid. He wrote every week to his parents asking to be taken away, so, at last, he’s got his own way.”
“You fear a similar panic amongst the other pupils? More letters home begging a swift removal?”
“You’ve got it. It would be a disaster. But there are two things that could avert it.”
Joe looked at him questioningly.
“First-the behaviour of your nephew, sir. He’s a steady lad, I’ve observed. If he can settle down again as though nothing’s happened, it would help to calm nerves and silence tongues. As his form master, I can help with that. I’ve already been preparing the ground. Drummond should find he has no difficulties as far as his classmates are concerned.”
“And the second palliative action?”
“Would be initiated by you, sir. Top policeman? That’s what they’re saying. The very best outcome-speaking for St. Magnus, naturally-would result if you were to acknowledge that the crime has nothing to do with the school.”
“Apart from the uncomfortable fact that a killing occurred on school premises and deprived you of one of your senior masters?” Joe was taking exception to being steered into any premature conclusions by this young squirt. “Bit difficult to brush a bleeding corpse under the axminster, I would have thought?”
Gosling gave one of his conciliatory grins. “Both incontrovertible facts, as you say, sir. But then, easier to account for and dismiss when you understand that the crime has, in fact, been solved to the satisfaction of us all and-more importantly-to the satisfaction of the Sussex Constabulary.”
“Solved?”
“Yes. Inspector Martin has a man in custody in the local jail. A man known to the school, indeed known to the whole town and the county but totally unconnected with us as an educational establishment. An itinerant knife-grinder.”
The affable features hardened into something more knowing, more sardonic as he confided, “It was he who put the fine edge on the weapon that skewered poor old Rapson.”
The Headmaster had chosen the sensible route, Joe estimated, in the preliminary social skirmishing and had decided to address him as an equal. His tone was neither lofty nor unctuous. Joe’s was civil and direct. They established that Joe would be referred to as “Commissioner Sandilands” and the head would be “Headmaster” or “Mr. Farman.”
Dorcas had been greeted politely, the Sir James connection acknowledged, and immediately assigned the suitably female task of escorting Jackie and his luggage to Matron’s room for what the head called “the usual inspections.” A quick search for head lice, Woodbines, smuggled comics, and any other contaminants from the capital, Joe guessed. To his relief, Dorcas had gone quietly.
“Delighted you could find the time to come down, Commissioner!” Left alone with Joe, the headmaster appeared to relax, and his knowing smile indicated that the irony was deliberate. His features instantly took on an earnestness as he continued: “I’m not going to make light of this-it could have been a serious matter … a runaway boy, at large in London … recipe for disaster! I expect you’re only too well aware of the dangers. Thank God you were there to pick up the pieces.”
Joe noted that a certain evolution in the head’s thinking had taken place over the past thirty-six hours. He made no comment but wondered if he detected the pervasive influence of Sir James Truelove in this development. He’d wait to see the opposition’s cards on the table before he made his own play.
“Indeed. And thanks also to Andrew Drummond’s clear instructions regarding his son. You will have received …?” Joe’s hand went to his pocket.
Farman waved away his search for documentation. “All that is in order, I assure you. The boy’s mother will be here in a few weeks and will doubtless make her own arrangements at that time. Meanwhile, it’s you we have to deal with, your requirements and your decisions we have to hear.”
At last a flash of irritation. Joe was glad to hear it. He never walked comfortably along a path too thickly strewn with rose petals. He smiled affably. “My first concern is for the boy’s well-being, Mr. Farman. I’m confident that, together, we can decide on a course of action that will ensure it.”
Placated, the head was encouraged to play another card. “Continuity, that’s the key, Sandilands. Sure you’ll agree. Enough disruption in the boy’s life already, you know. He was bedding down nicely. Beginning to make friends. Scored a try at rugger the week before he bunked off. The other boys were noticing him and appreciating his qualities. Best I think for all concerned if he were to resume his place in school with the least possible fuss and bother.”