to want to go that way; they went more and more slowly, and when they were half-way to the house, Caroline said:
‘I don’t think I will. I don’t know how. I should do something silly and give the show away. I shall say I’m too tired.’
‘You are too bad,’ said Charlotte, exasperated. ‘I go and lay all the plans and then you funk.’
‘I don’t,’ said Caroline. And so anxious was she not to have to play the part of pretending to look for Rupert when all the time she knew where he was, that she added humbly, ‘Don’t be snarky. I’m only saying I’m not clever enough. I’m not so clever as you, that’s all.’
I am sorry to say that Charlotte only answered ‘Rats!’ and added, ‘I suppose Charles is going to cry off next?’ She did not think he was: she just said it. And Charles most unexpectedly answered:
‘I think I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.’
Charlotte stamped her foot. ‘Oh, all right!’ she said; ‘but for goodness’ sake come on. They’ll think there’s something up.’ And they walked on.
‘Look here,’ said Caroline suddenly, ‘I will pretend to help. It was only that I was so awfully afraid they’d find him. Only if I disappear, you’ll understand it’s just because I felt sillier than I could bear. You help too, Charles. I’m sure you can – only don’t pretend too much. I shouldn’t talk much except asking questions, if I were you.’
‘Right O!’ said Charlotte.
And Charles said, ‘Oh, well, only if I give it away without meaning to, don’t blame me.’
And by this time they were quite near the house, by whose side door of many-coloured glass the group of talking grown-ups awaited them. Mrs. Wilmington was there with her handkerchief over her head. And William and the gardener’s boy and the gardener, and a tall stout young man with fat red hands who was the Police.
‘I can’t and won’t,’ Mrs. Wilmington was saying. ‘The Master’s orders is – are – that he’s not to be disturbed in the mornings on any pretence – not if the house was on fire. I couldn’t face him with this vulgar tale of runaway boys. I give you leave to search for him,’ she said in proud refined accents. ‘I’m quate competent to take that upon me; quate.’
The Police turned from her to the children, who said ‘Good morning!’ – all but Charlotte, who had said it before.
‘Good morning to you,’ said the Police, ‘and so you young ladies and gents is going to join the search-party?’
‘Yes, please,’ said Caroline.
‘What’ll you do with him if you catch him?’ Caroline asked abruptly.
‘Send him to gaol, in course,’ said the Police, winking at William. ‘An’ you’re all going to help the law in the execution of its duty. And very useful I daresay you’ll be,’ he added affably, ‘knowing the place and what not. Now see here,’ he went on, condescending to them in a way which, it was remarked later, was like his cheek; ‘let’s have a game of play, make-believe, you know. Let’s pretend this runaway lad is a friend of yours’ (a cold shiver ran down three youthful backs; for a moment it seemed that all was discovered, but the Police went on, still playfully) – ‘a friend of yours, and you and him has settled to play a little game of hide-and-seek. And he’s He. Now where,’ he ended, more affably almost than they could bear, – ‘where would you look first?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Charles miserably.
‘Oh! just anywhere,’ said Charlotte.
But Caroline said slowly, ‘I should look in the wood over there,’ and pointed straight to the spot where Rupert lay buried in fern and leaves.
‘Right you are,’ said the Police, delighted to have got a suggestion. ‘Then here goes.’
Charlotte dared not look at her sister lest her face should show her detestation of this traitorous act. Charles put his hands in his pockets to express indifference, and decided not to whistle for fear of overdoing his part. He told himself that he never would have believed it of Caro – never.
And now Caroline was speaking again, looking confidingly up into the large patronising face of the Police.
‘That’s where I should look,’ she was saying, ‘if we were playing hide-and-seek. But as it is – You see we’ve been there all the morning, and he couldn’t have come into the wood without our hearing him, you know. Have you tried the other wood, beyond the garden? And the thatched summer-house? And the lodge that isn’t used? Over by the other gates, you know.’
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