23
Mr Nox telephoned Sir George Ponders.
‘I shall oppose Jaraby as President at next week’s meeting.’
‘Oppose Jaraby? Why do that? Have you some grounds?’
‘Something unpleasant that has come to light.’
‘Some scandal, Nox?’
‘Enough to make it wise to keep the Jaraby name beneath the bushel.’
‘Speak plainly: what is it?’
‘Jaraby’s son has just been arrested on a serious charge.’
‘His son – not Jaraby himself?’
‘Not Jaraby himself.’
‘But in that case –’
‘In the interests of the School, Jaraby must not be President.’
Sir George Ponders telephoned General Sanctuary.
‘Do you know about this, Sanctuary? Nox has been on to me about Jaraby’s son.’
General Sanctuary sighed, thinking of his garden and his bees. He said: ‘What’s the matter with his son?’
‘Nothing’s the matter with him. The chap’s done something.’
‘Jaraby’s a funny fellow.’
‘It’s his son Nox is on about.’
‘Yes, well, what does he say about his son? I don’t understand any of this.’
‘Neither do I. Nox says he will oppose Jaraby as President.’
‘Why should Nox say that?’
‘Jaraby’s son has been arrested.’
‘They have arrested Basil Jaraby,’ said Mr Cridley.
‘Who have arrested Basil Jaraby?’
‘Guess, Sole, guess.’
‘Do you mean the police have taken the boy?’
‘If Nox has got his facts right, they have handcuffed Jaraby minor and carried him away from Crimea Road.’
‘He was not there when we visited them.’
‘He is not there now. The parents wail and gnash their teeth.’
‘Jaraby will take that hard.’
‘His son may take it harder.’
‘Did Nox give details? Why has it happened? Was Basil Jaraby drunk?’
‘A serious charge, Nox said. A big court case to follow. He implied it would make a stir.’
‘For goodness’ sake, what mischief has the lad got himself into?’
‘A grave offence, Nox said; no more.’
‘You should have asked him. It would have been a natural question.’
‘Nox says it will affect Jaraby going up as President.’
A week later Mr Jaraby telephoned Mr Swabey-Boyns.
‘Jaraby here. Look here, this lunatic Nox is against my going up as President. What do you say, Boyns?’
‘This is extraordinary,’ Mr Swabey-Boyns said. ‘Do I know you, sir? My name is Swabey-Boyns. I am relaxing just now. Who is that there?’
‘Jaraby on the line. Nox is opposing me as President. He will speak on Friday.’
‘Say your name clearly, Jaraby, and thus avoid confusion. Well, well, Nox has reasons no doubt. Let us hear them. Let us give the man the floor and hear him air his views. Funny. I was thinking only last night of the day you locked Haw minor in the lavatory.’
‘This is a serious matter, Boyns. Nox is out to make –’
‘It was a serious matter for Haw minor as I recall.’
‘Be that as it may, it has nothing to do with what we are discussing.’
‘You nailed the door on the outside. Or screwed it maybe. The poor devil was there for eighteen hours.’
‘I don’t remember that. Which lavatory was it?’
‘The one at the back of Dowse’s. Haw minor was inside – you, with carpenter’s kit, without.’
‘Oh, quite impossible. Certainly it wasn’t me. You will be present on Friday, Boyns?’
‘Yes, of course I shall. Incidentally, I must remind you that my name is Swabey-Boyns. I do not address you as Jar.’
‘Dear fellow, a slip of the tongue. Have to watch Nox, you see. The madman is out to make trouble. Stand together against the upstarts, eh? Remember Nox on the cricket field?’
‘Ha, ha, ha,’ said Mr Swabey-Boyns, thinking of Haw minor in the lavatory.
‘This says there is no need to let grey hair make you look older than your years, or to resort to dyes and rinses with their embarrassing change of colour. Nox says that was how they caught young Jaraby out. His hair was white and his beard black. I should have thought that was elementary.’
Mr Sole said: ‘We should ring up old Boyns and remind him of the committee meeting.’
‘I’m going to write to this one. I’m most interested in this.’
‘Boyns can never be relied upon.’
‘You see to him then, like a good fellow. I shall pen a letter.’
‘Be careful now: that very advertisement may well have been young Jaraby’s undoing. You can trust nothing you read. Remember Harp.’
‘There is no harm in writing. I shall not commit myself.’
‘Put S.A.G. on the back of the envelope. My mother used to do that, every letter she sent.’
‘S.A.G. Whatever for?’
‘St Anthony guide, it means.’
Mr Nox telephoned Mr Swabey-Boyns.
‘Do not forget Friday’s meeting. I shall oppose Jaraby as President. It will be an important occasion.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Mr Swabey-Boyns.
‘Can you hear me? The meeting on Friday: you will be there?’
‘Of course I shall be there. I never miss a meeting. Who is that speaking?’
‘Nox. Well, I look forward to seeing you.’
‘My God,’ said Mr Swabey-Boyns, returning to his jigsaw.
Mr Sole telephoned Mr Swabey-Boyns.
‘Just to remind you about Friday, old man. Best bib and tucker, you know.’
‘The meeting? Yes.’
‘Dinner beforehand, don’t forget.’
‘I’m doing a jigsaw now. You are interrupting me.’
‘Sorry about that. Don’t forget, best bib –’
‘Why are you assing about in that funny way? Are we a couple of infants? I can’t stand here talking about bibs.’
‘You may remember,’ Mr Sole retorted sharply, ‘that the last time you had to borrow Cridley’s overcoat to cover yourself at the dinner-table. Having turned up in garments with paint on them.’
‘What?’ said Mr Swabey-Boyns.
‘You had paint on your clothes.’
‘I wish to God you people would stop telephoning me.’
Swingler made for the Italian Riviera. Sipping a glass of gin and lemon as he waited for his plane, he felt a sorry smile flit across his face. To think that the two old men had imagined that for such paltry sums one could tamper with the freedom of our British press. The smile cheered up; no doubt about it, he still had an eye for a situation. His lips moved soundlessly, practising his Italian.
Mr Jaraby telephoned Mr Nox.
‘Jaraby here. Look here, Nox, about this matter of the –’
‘You are coming to the meeting?’ Mr Nox asked. ‘Well then, we can discuss the whole question there.’