Billy Bunter of Greyfriars School and Billy Bunter's ... (11 page)

CHAPTER
XXI

THE CONSTABLE FROM COURTFIELD!

“SISTER
ANNE! Sister Anne! Do you see anyone coming?”
“Ha, ha, ha!”
It was Bob Cherry who asked that playful question, in the Rag. And there was a
general chortle from the fellows in that apartment.
More than an hour had elapsed since Bob had—or rather had not—telephoned. Harry
Wharton and Co. had been in the gym, where they had completely forgotten the
fat existence of William George Bunter. But now, as they came back to the House
in a cheery bunch, and strolled into the Rag, they were reminded of the fat
ornament of the Lower Fourth.
Bunter was seated at the window, which gave a view of the quadrangle, and the
school gates in the distance. His eyes, and his spectacles, were fastened on
those gates— he was watching them like a plump Sister Anne.
Billy Bunter was not at all sure that a “bobby” would come from Courtfield.
Neither was he sure that a “bobby” wouldn’t! He was in a most disturbing state
of uncertainty and doubt.
As the minutes passed, and no bobby came, he felt a little more assured. But he
was in dread every moment of seeing a figure in official blue appear at the
gates and stride towards the House. He had other causes of uneasiness—but so
long as he remained in the Rag, he was safe from Coker of the Fifth. Even the
exasperated Horace was not likely to invade the junior room again. Not anywhere
was he safe from the long arm of the law—if a “bobby” really was coming to
investigate that daylight raid!
He blinked round at the Famous Five, as Bob called to him. It was a dismal and
dispirited blink.
“I say, you fellows, I know it’s only a rotten joke,” mumbled Bunter. “You may
as well own up, Cherry! I can take a jog-jog-joke! He, he, he!”
“What’s Bunter worrying about?” asked Bob. “Don’t you want that daylight raider
run in, Bunter?”
“Beast!”
“You won’t be safe from Coker unless they get the right man, you know.”
“Rotter!” hissed Bunter.
“Blessed if I don’t begin to think it must have been Bunter, after all, the way
he’s going on,” said Bob. “He seems worried about something. I don’t see why he
should worry about a bobby getting after a daylight raider.”
“Ha, ha, ha!”
“Well, if it was Bunter, his number’s up!” remarked Johnny Bull. “The bobby’s
sure to get the right man. They always do.”
“Poor old Bunter!” said Nugent. “He wants a good report this term, too. It will
spoil his report if Quelchy puts in that he was run in for pinching.”
“Oh, crikey!” gasped Bunter. “I—I say, it wasn’t me. you know. I—I was in the
tuck-shop at the time, you fellows. I was speaking to Mrs. Mimble over the
counter at the very minute I went to Coker’s study—I—I mean— when I never went
to Coker’s study. I—I say, you’ll tell Quelch that you were there with me,
won’t you, Toddy?”
“But I wasn’t,” said Peter.
“I think you might stand by a pal, Toddy!” said Bunter, reproachfully.
“He would be likely to believe that, as we met him in Redclyffe Lane, and you
weren’t with us,” said Bob. “But what’s the worry, old fat man? If you never
snooped Coker’s tuck, you’re all right.”
“Look here, I—.”
Bunter broke off suddenly.
He stared from the window, with his little round eyes almost popping through
his big round spectacles, and his plump jaw dropping.
“Oh, crikey!” he gasped.
Every fellow in the Rag stared at him, wondering what was the matter with the
fat Owl! Nobody—expect Bunter—was likely to suppose that a constable would come
to Greyfriars to investigate the mystery of Coker’s hamper. But it was clear
that Bunter had seen something alarming: and there was a rush to the window to
see what it was.
“Great pip!” ejaculated Bob Cherry.
“A bobby!” .yelled Skinner.
“An esteemed and ridiculous peeler!” exclaimed Hurree Singh.
“Holy smoke!”
In amazement the juniors stared at the figure in uniform at the gates. It was a
police-constable from Courtfield: there was no doubt whatever about that. He
had stopped to speak to Gosling at the door of his lodge: in full view of all
Greyfriars.
“Well, my only hat!” gasped Bob Cherry. “It’s a bobby—a jolly old bobby—and
he’s coming here!”
“Yarooooh!” Bunter bounded from his seat. “Oh, crikey! He’s after me! I say, you
fellows, d-d-don’t you tell him I’m here! I say—I—I won’t be run in! I—I never
touched Coker’s hamper—I—I say, tell that bobby I ain’t here—tell him I’ve gone
home—tell him I’ve left Greyfriars and ain’t coming back—oh, crikey!”
Bunter bolted from the Rag.
He had had doubts about the reality of the “bobby” from Courtfield—but he could
have no further doubts, now that the bobby actually had materialised. The
constable had left Gosling, and was coming towards the House. There was only
one idea in Billy Bunter’s mind—to dodge out of sight, and hide somewhere where
even the eagle eye of the law could not discover him. He vanished from the Rag
like a ghost at cock-crow.
Where was he going to hide—safe from the eagle eye and long arm of the law?
They would look in his study first thing—they would look in the Rag—they would
look everywhere for him! Then Bunter suddenly remembered that Quelch was
out—and surely they would never look for him in a master’s study! It was a
happy thought! Bunter bolted for Quelch’s study like a homing pigeon.
He was happily unaware that Quelch had come in unexpectedly early, and was now
in Common-Room, exercising his chin with the other beaks. The study, at all
events, was vacant, when Bunter hurtled into it.
He shut the door, and palpitated on the inner side.
He strained his fat ears to listen. On those fat ears fell the sound of heavy
official footsteps. He heard the voice of Trotter, the page.
“This way, Mr. Rance.”
The footsteps came up the passage towards Mr. Quelch’s door. Billy Bunter felt
a cold chill down his back.
Did the bobby know he was there? Had Trotter seen him dodge into that study?
The fat Owl cast a despairing blink round him for a hiding-place. Tap!
Trotter was tapping at the study door! Billy Bunter ducked under the table. It
was the only hiding-place— the last refuge—the final hope!
The door opened. Billy Bunter had been just in time—only just! But he was out
of sight as Trotter opened the door.
“Mr. Quelch isn’t here!” Bunter heard Trotter’s voice.
“I expect he’s in Common-Room. You wait ‘ere a minute, and I’ll go along and
tell him.”
“O.K.” said Mr. Rance.
And he came in with his heavy tread.
Billy Bunter had a view of official boots and trouser-ends. Police-Constable
Rance, of Courtfield, had no view of Bunter. The fat Owl realised that the
bobby did not know that he was in the study. There was hope yet! Bunter hugged
cover, under the table, trying to suppress his breathing.
The solid figure of Mr. Rance stood by the window, like a statue in uniform,
waiting, while Trotter went to apprise Mr. Quelch of his arrival.
The fat Owl could have groaned. He had decided on Quelch’s study as the safest
possible refuge—supposing that Quelch was still out. Instead of which, that
awful policeman was only six or seven feet from Bunter! If he happened to look
under the table—!
However, it never occurred to Mr. Rance to look under the table. He continued
to look from the window, till Mr. Quelch’s footsteps were heard in the
corridor. Then he turned round. And Billy Bunter’s fat heart almost died in his
podgy breast as Mr. Quelch came into the study and shut the door.

CHAPTER XXII

BEASTLY FOR BUNTER!

“PLEASE be seated, constable.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I am obliged to you for coming so promptly,” said Mr. Quelch, graciously.
“Not at all, sir! Dooty, sir!” said Mr. Rance. “We shall be very glad to get
hold of the rascal, sir.”
Billy Bunter trembled under the table. He could have no doubt of the identity
of the “rascal” to whom the officer of the law alluded!
“It will be a relief to me if the wretch can be found and taken into custody,”
said Mr. Quelch. “I shall be very glad ‘to hear that he is safe in your hands.
A most iniquitous scoundrel.”
Billy Bunter could hardly believe his ears. Was that really what his form-master
thought of him?
“From what my inspector was told on the phone, sir, I think we’ve heard of him
before,” said Mr. Rance. “An old offender, I fancy, sir. I’ve no doubt you’ll
be able to give me a good description of him.”
“Certainly I can give you a very accurate description,” said Mr. Quelch, “and I
hope most sincerely that it may lead to his arrest. I am prepared, of course,
to charge him, as soon as he is taken into custody.”
“Beast!” breathed Bunter inaudibly. He would never have expected that, even of
Quelch! Quelch had always been down on him, for what reason Bunter did not
know. But not to this extent! His form-master seemed to be actually looking
forward to seeing that member of his form taken into custody by a
police-constable!
Mr. Rance, having sat down, extracted his official notebook, to take down the
description of the footpad who had attacked Mr. Quelch in Redclyffe Lane. Mr.
Quelch sat down at his writing-table.
Billy Bunter gave a jump, as two long legs were projected under the table. He
dodged them wildly. But he dodged in vain.
One foot missed him by an inch. The other clumped on the best-filled waistcoat
in Greyfriars School.
“Ooooooh!” gasped Bunter.
He could not help it! He was almost winded. That sudden clump on his fat equator
had driven the breath out of him. He gasped—and he gurgled.
Mr. Quelch gave a sudden start. Mr. Rance stared. Both were astonished by those
strange and unexpected sounds from under the table.
“Bless my soul !“ exclaimed Mr. Quelch. “What— what is that?—is there some
animal in the study— what—what?”
He stooped to look under the table. Whether it was a dog, or a cat, that had
wandered into his study, or what it might possibly be, Mr. Quelch did not know.
But whatever he might have expected to see under his writing-table, certainly
he did not expect to see a fat, terrified face and a large pair of spectacles.
He gazed at Bunter, petrified.
Bunter gazed at him.
There was a moment of awful silence. Then Quelch spoke, in a voice compared
with which the filing of a saw might have been considered musical.
“Bunter!”
“Oh, crikey! I—I’m not here—!” gasped Bunter.
“Bunter! Is—is that Bunter— Wretched boy, what are you doing here? How dare you
enter my study? How dare you hide under my table? Come out at once.”
‘I—I—I——!”
Mr. Quelch rose from his chair. He grasped the cane from the table. Smithy had
recently had six from that cane. Mr. Quelch looked as if Bunter might receive
sixty if not six hundred.
“Bunter! Emerge at once!”
“I—I—I—oh, crikey! I—I—.”
 “Emerge!” roared Mr. Quelch.
But Billy Bunter did not emerge. Remove fellows were accustomed to jump to
obedience at the voice of their form-master. But for once, a Remove fellow did
not jump. Bunter was in terror of Quelch—but in greater terror of the constable
from Courtfield. He dared not emerge.
“I—I say, sir,” babbled Bunter, “it wasn’t me I—I never did it, sir! I—I was
out of gates when I did it, and I —.”
“Emerge!” thundered Mr. Quelch.
“I—I—I won’t be run in!” howled Bunter, “I—I never did it, and—and I won’t be
run in! I—I ain’t a scoundrel, sir—!”
“What?” gasped Mr. Quelch.
“I—I ain’t an iniquitous scoundrel, sir,” wailed Bunter. “It’s all a mistake.
I—I won’t be took—I mean taken—into custody—I won’t! Oh, crikey! I—I’ll go to
the Head—he won’t let me be run in! Oh, lor’!”
“Is this boy insane?” gasped Mr. Quelch. “Bunter, come out from under that
table this instant. I order you to emerge.”
And as Bunter still did not emerge, Quelch reached under the table with the
cane, and swiped.
“Yarooooh!” roared Bunter.
One swipe was enough! Bunter emerged! He rolled out from under the table
yelling.
Police-Constable Rance stared at him, blankly, quite surprised out of his
official stolidity. Mr. Quelch glared at him, as if he could have bitten him.
Bunter, having emerged from under the table dodged round it.
“I—I say, sir, keep him off! I won’t be run in!” yelled Bunter. “I never
touched Coker’s hamper.”
“Coker’s hamper!” repeated Mr. Quelch, like a man in a dream.
“Yes, sir! No, sir! I never went to Coker’s study at all. I never knew he had a
hamper. I never saw him open it. I—I didn’t go with a cricket-bag while Coker
was out, and never took the things up to the box-room, sir—I—I never thought of
such a thing! I—I wouldn’t! You can ask Snoop, sir! He knows—I gave him some of
the apples.”
“Bless my soul!
“It—it’s all a mistake, sir,” groaned Bunter. “If—if you won’t let me be run in
this time, sir, I’ll never do it again, and I never did it at all, sir. I—I think
very likely Coker ate it and forgot about it. I was out on a bike with Wharton
this afternoon when I did it—I—I mean, I was in the shop talking to Mrs.
Mimble, and—and—I Won’t be run in!” yelled Bunter. “Keep that bobby away!
Help!”
“My eye!” murmured Mr. Rance. He gazed at Bunter.
“Bless my soul!” repeated Mr. Quelch, “Bunter! you utterly stupid boy—you
incredibly obtuse boy—do you suppose that this police-constable’s visit has
anything to do with you?”
“Eh! Hasn’t he come after me, sir?” gasped Bunter.
“Grant me patience!” gasped Mr. Quelch. “Bunter, you—you—you—.” Words seemed to
fail the Remove master.
 “Oh!” gasped Bunter. “I—I—I thought—. Oh, crikey! I—I heard you say I was to
be took—taken into custody, sir—. Ain’t—ain’t he after me, sir?”
Mr. Rance was grinning. Mr. Quelch was not grinning. The look bestowed on
Bunter was worthy of the fabled Medusa.
“You stupid boy, the constable is here to take down he description of a
footpad—a tramp—who assaulted me this afternoon in Redclyffe Lane!” shrieked
Mr. Quelch.
 “Oh!” gasped Bunter. “I—I—I thought he’d come about Coker’s hamper, sir—. That
beast Cherry made out that a bobby was coming about the hamper—.”
“Silence!” roared Mr. Quelch. “I gather from your words, Bunter, that you have
been purloining comestibles in the studies, after all my serious warnings to
you. I shall deal with you later. Leave my study now.”
“I—I never—!”
“Go!” thundered Mr. Quelch.
The cane was rising—and Bunter shot to the door. He realised that it was time
to go. He realised, too, that the constable from Courtfield had not come to the
school about Coker’s hamper, but about quite another matter.
There was a roar of laughter in the Rag, as the fat junior rolled into that
apartment.
“Hallo, hallo, halo! Not run in, Bunter?” asked Bob Cherry.
“Ha, ha, ha!”
“Beast!” Bunter shook a fat fist at Bob. “I jolly well knew that it was all
gammon. The bobby never came about Coker’s hamper at all—!”
“Ha, ha, ha!” yelled the juniors.
“I believe you were only pretending to phone, you beast! I don’t believe you
got through to the police station at all!” roared Bunter.
“He’s guessed it!” gasped Bob Cherry. “What a brain!”
“Ha, ha, ha!”
“And I hid in Quelchy’s study for nothing, and he found me under the table,
and—and he looked fearfully waxy—.”
“Oh, crumbs!”
“And I shouldn’t wonder if Quelch gives me jip when that bobby’s gone,” hooted
Bunter. “He jolly well looked like it! I shouldn’t wonder if he gives me six!”
Billy Bunter was right. Quelch did!