Chapter 33. The Missing Man

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_ CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. THE MISSING MAN

Jerry Brigley was operating upon his master's head, a few days later, with a couple of hair-brushes, and these he used in the most dexterous manner; and the results were wonderfully different from those produced by the people who brushed one's boyish hair in the good old times.

"Oh! for the days when I was young!" people cry, and they may well make use of that interjection; but it ought to be in something else than regret.

I, for one, would prefer not to be young again, to go through all that suffering connected with my head.

Pray, do not imagine that I refer to learning the three "R's" or to working out those angular puzzles invented by Euclid, whose problems would only stop in my brain one at a time--that is to say, when I had mastered one perfectly, and could repeat and illustrate it throughout upon slate with pencil, upon paper with pen, upon blackboard with chalk, the process of acquiring another made a clean sweep of the first, which was utterly demolished and had to be relearned, only in its turn to destroy "Proposition Two."

I meant nothing of that sort, but rather the external suffering that my unfortunate little head received at the hands of nurses, who half-suffocated me with the soap that produced temporary blindness in my eyes, and deafness in my ears, before the best family yellow or mottled was "slooshed" away, leaving me panting and hot. Then came the tremendous rubbing, followed by the jigging out of knots of hair with a cruel comb and the brushing which seemed to make numberless little holes in my tender scalp; while my head was knocked to this side and to that, and then tapped with the back of the brush, because I was a naughty boy and would not hold still.

Lieutenant Lacey's treatment at the hands of Jerry Brigley was of a very different type. When he was shampooing, Jerry could have given Cinquevalli, the great juggler, long odds and beaten him. This man performs wonderful feats with cannon-balls, but they are nothing to Jerry's graceful acts with the human head, which he would take in hand and keep in a perfect state of equilibrium, balancing the pressure of one set of fingers by the resistance of the other; the same when towelling, and, above all, when finishing with a pair of the lieutenant's ivory-backed brushes. His master's head was kept floating, as it were, on the points of the bristles, while a pleasant stimulation was kept up on what Jerry termed "the scallup."

"By the way, Brigley," said the lieutenant, who sat back in his chair, with his eyes half-shut, "I shall have three or four friends here to-night."

"Yes, sir."

"See that the refreshments are on a side-table."

"Yes, sir."

"And go down into the town and buy three or four packs of cards."

"Yes, sir."

Silence for a few moments, and then the lieutenant began again, just as Jerry had come to the conclusion that he could name the guests expected, one of whom was certain to be Mark Frayne.

"And he won't be very glad to see me here," thought Jerry, who started at his master's next words.

"What have you done with your tongue?"

"Beg pardon, sir? Nothing, sir."

"Because you don't talk. Aren't you well?"

"Well, sir? No, sir; not quite, sir."

"Take some pills!" growled Lacey.

"Pills, sir? I 'ate pills!"

"More stupid you. Swallow them at once!"

"Beg pardon, sir?"

"I say, swallow them at once. Best way is to wrap them in cigarette-paper."

"Beg pardon, sir! A mistake, sir. I said I 'ate pills."

"I heard you."

Jerry peered round a little into the lieutenant's face, to see if he were trying to make a joke; but Lacey looked serious enough, and the man went on, confidentially--

"Fact is, sir, I'm a bit upset."

"Look sharp and get right again. Don't you say you're too poorly to wait on us to-night!"

"Oh, dear, no, sir! I shall attend upon you; but, the fact is, I'm in trouble."

"Humph! And you want an advance upon your wages. How much?"

"No, sir," said Jerry, irritably, as he drove the bristles of one brush among the bristles of the other; "it's not that sort of trouble. It's about someone."

"Lady! Why, Brigley, you're not thinking of getting married?"

"Oh, no, sir! it's about--about a gent--I mean a man, sir. It's him as you know, sir--Smithson."

"Dick Smithson!" cried the lieutenant. "What's the matter with him?"

"He ain't been the same, sir, since the night of the ball. He has worried me a deal."

"Yes, he seems a good deal pulled down, poor fellow! But is he ill again?"

"No, sir; he went out yesterday--had a pass--and--"

"And what? Don't hesitate like that, man!"

"He did not come back last night."

"Sorry to hear it," said the lieutenant. "Means trouble--punishment. I liked Smithson."

"Yes, sir; everyone did."

"Perhaps he's taken ill, and had to stay somewhere."

Jerry was silent.

"You don't think he has bolted?"

Jerry made no answer, and the lieutenant swung round in his chair.

"Why, you do," he cried, excitedly. "Do you know that bolting means desertion, sir?"

"Yes, sir," said Jerry, humbly.

"Then you're a fool, Brigley."

"Yes, sir."

"If Smithson had been a common sort of pothouse-haunting fellow, it might have been so; but Smithson was a clever musician, and too much of a gentleman to do such a thing."

"Thank ye, sir."

"'Thank ye!'" cried the lieutenant, irritably; "what do you mean by that?"

"I mean, sir, that's what he is."

"Oh, pooh! he has not deserted."

"I don't know, sir," said Jerry, dubiously.

"Look here, Brigley: I don't often use bad language, but if you talk like that, confound you! I shall swear at you."

"I wish you would, sir," said Jerry.

"What?"

"I say I wish you would, sir. It would seem to do me good like, for I'm reg'larly upset about Smithson, sir."

"There, I beg your pardon, Brigley. I'm sorry I spoke so roughly."

"Oh, don't do that, sir. It don't matter. I don't want to think he's gone, sir, because it's 'ard--because he seemed to trust me a bit, and I don't like for him to have gone off without saying a word."

"Look here: you knew him before he joined?"

"Oh, yes, sir; I knew him."

"You were friends?"

"No, sir--not exactly friends, but I knew him."

"And--There! I don't want to pump you, Brigley, but I suppose he was in quite a different station of life, and got into some trouble, which made him leave home?"

"Beg pardon, sir; Dick Smithson made me swear as I'd keep my mouth shut about him, and I give him my word; and, all respeck to you, sir, I'm going to keep it; but I can't contradict what you said, sir, all the same."

"Well, it would be confoundedly ungentlemanly of me to be prying into anyone's affairs, Brigley, and I won't ask questions about him. I hope, though, he hasn't done anything so foolish as to desert, because, even if he is in the band, he is a soldier, and--I have heard nothing. Has it been reported?"

"Yes, sir; and Mr Wilkins is making a big stir about it. Never had a civil word for him, and used to sneer at his playing; but, now Dick's gone, he's going on as if he couldn't spare him at no price."

"How do you know--who told you?"

"The bombardon, sir."

"The what? Why don't you say the big drum?"

"Beg pardon, sir, I meant Sergeant Brumpton, the fa--stout musician, sir, as is practising for the band."

"Then they must be sending out notices to the police all over the place. Tut--tut--tut! This is a great pity. I must ask you one thing, Brigley: has there anything happened that would make him likely to go?"

Jerry nodded his head over and over again.

"I'm sorry--very sorry; but perhaps we are making a stir about nothing, and he'll be back soon."

"Yes, sir, perhaps he will."

"But you don't expect to see him, eh?"

Jerry shook his head--this time violently--and no more was said, for the lieutenant had to finish dressing and go on parade.

A couple of hours later the young bandsman's disappearance was the talk of the barracks, and numerous were the reasons assigned for it; while the customary notification was given, to the annoyance of Dick's friends and the gratification of his enemies, these consisting of the men who wished to be on good terms with the bandmaster.

But Jerry had his business to attend to; for, though Lieutenant Lacey was annoyed, he had invited friends for that evening, and the orders given had to be attended to. So the man went off into the town and bought the playing-cards, shaking his head as he walked back. "Don't seem much now for a pack of cards," he muttered, "but I'll be bound to say they'll cost the guv'nor a pretty penny. Wonder what he'd say to me if I told him the best thing he could do would be never to make another bet and never to touch a card again. I know--he'd kick me."

"Who would?" said someone at his elbow.

"Hallo! You! Mr Brumpton? Was I talking aloud?"

"Yes, quite aloud."

"Then it's a bad habit, sir. I say, has young Smithson come back?"

"No; I'm afraid he's gone, Brigley. There always was a bit of mystery about that young fellow. You had no idea that he was going off?"

"Not I, or I should have let out at him. I say, they won't call it desertion, will they, Mr Brumpton?"

"That's what they do call it; and, the worst of it is, he'll be punished."

"Won't the colonel let him off easy as--as he's a musician?"

"How can they let him off easy? Why, if they did, half the roughs of the regiment would be off at once."

"Ah! I didn't think of that," said Jerry, sadly. "But s'pose he comes back of himself?"

"He'll be punished, but not so severely."

"And s'pose he don't come back?"

"Don't suppose any confounded nonsense," said the fat sergeant, wiping his moist forehead. "I'd have given anything--sooner than it should have happened. There's that twopenny-fife of a man, Wilkins, squeaking about it all over the place. Hang him! I should like to punch his miserable little head, only my hands are so fat they'd feel like boxing-gloves to him. What do you think he said just now?"

"As he was glad Smithson had gone?"

"No; I'd have believed him for that. He never liked the lad, and it would only have been the honest truth. He said that it was a painful thing; but, under the circumstances, he should advise every man to examine his kit, and see that his instruments were all right."

"What did he mean by that?" cried Jerry.

"Mean! Why, for the men to see that the poor lad hadn't carried off anything that didn't belong to him."

"Well!" cried Jerry, fiercely, "of all! Here! I can't stand that!"

"Hold hard!" cried the fat sergeant, catching his arm. "Where are you going?"

"To the bandmaster," cried Jerry, "to have it out with him. My hands won't feel like gloves!"

"Stop where you are!" growled the sergeant. "Never mind Wilkins. You don't want to get in a row. Do you want to strike your officer?"

"Officer!" cried Jerry, excitedly; "officer! I don't call that combination of a thing an officer!"

"You be quiet," said Brumpton. "We've said enough as it is."

"No, sir, we ain't! and, soldier or no soldier, I'm a man, and not going to have things like that spoken about my comrade--and such a comrade as him!"

"Be quiet, I tell you!" said Brumpton; and the man's tone and manner made Jerry forget that he was so pincushion-like in appearance. "I don't want you to get in trouble, too!"

"And I don't want to get in trouble," said Jerry; "but I don't call it manly for a lot of fellows who knew Dick Smithson to be a reg'lar gent to the backbone to stand there and hear that mean little wax-match of a man, without saying a word or sticking up for him!"

"Who said nobody stuck up for him?" said Brumpton.

"You never said anyone did!"

"Well, they did!" said Brumpton.

"Oh, that's better! What did they say?"

"As soon as he spoke like that, a lot of the men began to hiss."

"Hiss!" cried Jerry, contemptuously; "why, a goose on Clapham Common could do that!"

"And then," continued Brumpton, "Wilkins began to blink over his music-stand, looking as red in the face as his uniform. 'Who was that?' he says--'who was it that dared to make that noise?'"

"And then no one spoke," sneered Jerry. "Hissed! I'd ha' punched his head. Bandmaster, indeed!--I'd ha' been the bandmaster's master that time!"

"Wrong, Jerry Brigley!" cried Brumpton. "Someone did speak, others did not; but I'll answer for everyone, I spoke out."

"Bravo!" cried Jerry. "What did you say, sergeant?"

"I said it was a blackguardly, cowardly thing to say behind a man's back."

"Yes; and what then?" cried Jerry, breathlessly.

"Then? Oh, he turned upon me and let me have it, while I took no notice, feeling as I did that I ought to have known better; and the quieter I was the more he went on giving it me, and threatening and getting more and more savage, till he roused me at last."

"How? What did he say?"

"Well, there is one thing that makes me wild, and he did it. I stood there holding the bombardon, letting him go on, till all at once he told me that I was no more good in my company and I had come sneaking to the band to try and get taken on there, but that I was of no use at all, and he'd soon put a stop to my practising with the men; and that I was--"

Brumpton stopped, and wiped his face again.

"Well, let's have it!" cried Jerry, excitedly.

"He said that I was a fat, idiotic porpoise; and that did it."

"Did what?" cried Jerry.

"I'd got that big bombardon upside down in my hands, and, before I knew it, I'd brought it down on his bald head, just as if it was an extinguisher."

"And put him out!" said Jerry.

"Well, he put me out then, anyhow."

"And what did he say, then."

"Oh, he didn't say any more," replied Brumpton. "But I'm sorry I did it, and there'll be a big row."

"Mind shaking hands with me, sergeant?"

"No, my lad--not a bit."

"Hah!" ejaculated Jerry after the operation. "That was a real honest English grip, and I wish Dick Smithson had been there to hear you take his part. He'll never come back now!"

"He will," said the sergeant, drily.

"Not he. Never show his face here again."

"No! We will show it for him, poor lad. Ah! it was a very mad thing to do; and, if the truth was known, not the first mad thing Smithson's done."

"Right," said Jerry.

"Look here, Jerry Brigley, you haven't been a soldier long enough to know how sharp the police are in tracking deserters. It don't take very long to send word all over the country that a man--described--has left his regiment."

"I dunno so much about that," said Jerry.

"Well, I do!" replied Brumpton. "Say the police here telegraph to twenty stations round, and each of those twenty stations wire to twenty, and each of those to another twenty, it don't take long, at that rate, to send all over the country. You mark my words: the bobbies won't be long before they put their hands on his shoulder and bring him back."

"Just as if he had stole something!" groaned Jerry.

"So he has," said the sergeant; "a smart, clever young man; and his clothes and all belonging to the Queen."

"But maybe he'll send the toggery back," pleaded Jerry.

"They don't want the clothes; they want the man!" _

Read next: Chapter 34. "Too Late! Too Late!"

Read previous: Chapter 32. A Startling Fact

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