I have never kept a diary, and I have found it, in consequence,somewhat difficult, in telling this narrative, to arrange theminor incidents of my story in their proper sequence. I am writingby the light of an imperfect memory; and the work is complicatedby the fact that the early days of my sojourn at Sanstead Houseare a blur, a confused welter like a Futurist picture, from whichemerge haphazard the figures of boys--boys working, boys eating,boys playing football, boys whispering, shouting, askingquestions, banging doors, jumping on beds, and clattering upstairsand along passages, the whole picture faintly scented with acomposite aroma consisting of roast beef, ink, chalk, and thatcurious classroom smell which is like nothing else on earth.

　　I cannot arrange the incidents. I can see Mr Abney, furrowed as tothe brow and drooping at the jaw, trying to separate Ogden Fordfrom a half-smoked cigar-stump. I can hear Glossop, feverishlyangry, bellowing at an amused class. A dozen other pictures comeback to me, but I cannot place them in their order; and perhaps,after all, their sequence is unimportant. This story deals withaffairs which were outside the ordinary school life.

　　With the war between the Little Nugget and Authority, forinstance, the narrative has little to do. It is a subject for anepic, but it lies apart from the main channel of the story, andmust be avoided. To tell of his gradual taming, of the chaos hisadvent caused until we became able to cope with him, would be toturn this story into a treatise on education. It is enough to saythat the process of moulding his character and exorcising thedevil which seemed to possess him was slow.

　　It was Ogden who introduced tobacco-chewing into the school, withfearful effects one Saturday night on the aristocratic interiorsof Lords Gartridge and Windhall and Honourables Edwin Bellamy andHildebrand Kyne. It was the ingenious gambling-game imported byOgden which was rapidly undermining the moral sense of twenty-fourinnocent English boys when it was pounced upon by Glossop. It wasOgden who, on the one occasion when Mr Abney reluctantly resortedto the cane, and administered four mild taps with it, relieved hisfeelings by going upstairs and breaking all the windows in all thebedrooms.

　　We had some difficult young charges at Sanstead House. Abney'spolicy of benevolent toleration ensured that. But Ogden Ford stoodalone.

　　* * * * *I have said that it is difficult for me to place the lesser eventsof my narrative in their proper order. I except three, howeverwhich I will call the Affair of the Strange American, the Adventureof the Sprinting Butler, and the Episode of the Genial Visitor.

　　I will describe them singly, as they happened.

　　It was the custom at Sanstead House for each of the assistantmasters to take half of one day in every week as a holiday. Theallowance was not liberal, and in most schools, I believe, it isincreased; but Mr Abney was a man with peculiar views on otherpeople's holidays, and Glossop and I were accordingly restricted.

　　My day was Wednesday; and on the Wednesday of which I write Istrolled towards the village. I had in my mind a game of billiardsat the local inn. Sanstead House and its neighbourhood werelacking in the fiercer metropolitan excitements, and billiards atthe 'Feathers' constituted for the pleasure-seeker the beginningand end of the Gay Whirl.

　　There was a local etiquette governing the game of billiards at the'Feathers'. You played the marker a hundred up, then you took himinto the bar-parlour and bought him refreshment. He raised hisglass, said, 'To you, sir', and drained it at a gulp. After thatyou could, if you wished, play another game, or go home, as yourfancy dictated.

　　There was only one other occupant of the bar-parlour when weadjourned thither, and a glance at him told me that he was notostentatiously sober. He was lying back in a chair, with his feeton the side-table, and crooning slowly, in a melancholy voice, thefollowing words:

　　_'I don't care--if he wears--a crown,He--can't--keep kicking my--dawg aroun'.'_He was a tough, clean-shaven man, with a broken nose, over whichwas tilted a soft felt hat. His wiry limbs were clad in what I putdown as a mail-order suit. I could have placed him by hisappearance, if I had not already done so by his voice, as anEast-side New Yorker. And what an East-side New Yorker could bedoing in Sanstead it was beyond me to explain.

　　We had hardly seated ourselves when he rose and lurched out. I sawhim pass the window, and his assertion that no crowned head shouldmolest his dog came faintly to my ears as he went down the street.

　　'American!' said Miss Benjafield, the stately barmaid, with strongdisapproval. 'They're all alike.'

　　I never contradict Miss Benjafield--one would as soon contradictthe Statue of Liberty--so I merely breathed sympathetically.

　　'What's he here for I'd like to know?'

　　It occurred to me that I also should like to know. In anotherthirty hours I was to find out.

　　I shall lay myself open to a charge of denseness such as evenDoctor Watson would have scorned when I say that, though I thoughtof the matter a good deal on my way back to the school, I did notarrive at the obvious solution. Much teaching and taking of dutyhad dulled my wits, and the presence at Sanstead House of theLittle Nugget did not even occur to me as a reason why strangeAmericans should be prowling in the village.

　　We now come to the remarkable activity of White, the butler.

　　It happened that same evening.

　　It was not late when I started on my way back to the house, but theshort January day was over, and it was very dark as I turned in atthe big gate of the school and made my way up the drive. The driveat Sanstead House was a fine curving stretch of gravel, about twohundred yards in length, flanked on either side by fir trees andrhododendrons. I stepped out briskly, for it had begun to freeze.

　　Just as I caught sight through the trees of the lights of thewindows, there came to me the sound of running feet.

　　I stopped. The noise grew louder. There seemed to be two runners,one moving with short, quick steps, the other, the one in front,taking a longer stride.

　　I drew aside instinctively. In another moment, making a greatclatter on the frozen gravel, the first of the pair passed me; andas he did so, there was a sharp crack, and something sang throughthe darkness like a large mosquito.

　　The effect of the sound on the man who had been running wasimmediate. He stopped in his stride and dived into the bushes. Hisfootsteps thudded faintly on the turf.

　　The whole incident had lasted only a few seconds, and I was stillstanding there when I was aware of the other man approaching. Hehad apparently given up the pursuit, for he was walking quiteslowly. He stopped within a few feet of me and I heard himswearing softly to himself.

　　'Who's that?' I cried sharply. The crack of the pistol had given aflick to my nerves. Mine had been a sheltered life, into whichhitherto revolver-shots had not entered, and I was resenting thisabrupt introduction of them. I felt jumpy and irritated.

　　It gave me a malicious pleasure to see that I had startled theunknown dispenser of shocks quite as much as he had startled me.

　　The movement he made as he faced towards my direction was almost aleap; and it suddenly flashed upon me that I had better at onceestablish my identity as a non-combatant. I appeared to havewandered inadvertently into the midst of a private quarrel, oneparty to which--the one standing a couple of yards from me with aloaded revolver in his hand--was evidently a man of impulse, thesort of man who would shoot first and inquire afterwards.

　　'I'm Mr Burns,' I said. 'I'm one of the assistant-masters. Who areyou?'

　　'Mr Burns?'

　　Surely that rich voice was familiar.

　　'White?' I said.

　　'Yes, sir.'

　　'What on earth do you think you're doing? Have you gone mad? Whowas that man?'

　　'I wish I could tell you, sir. A very doubtful character. I foundhim prowling at the back of the house very suspiciously. He tookto his heels and I followed him.'

　　'But'--I spoke querulously, my orderly nature was shocked--'youcan't go shooting at people like that just because you find themat the back of the house. He might have been a tradesman.'

　　'I think not, sir.'

　　'Well, so do I, if it comes to that. He didn't behave like one. Butall the same--'

　　'I take your point, sir. But I was merely intending to frightenhim.'

　　'You succeeded all right. He went through those bushes like acannon-ball.'

　　I heard him chuckle.

　　'I think I may have scared him a little, sir.'

　　'We must phone to the police-station. Could you describe the man?'

　　'I think not, sir. It was very dark. And, if I may make thesuggestion, it would be better not to inform the police. I have avery poor opinion of these country constables.'

　　'But we can't have men prowling--'

　　'If you will permit me, sir. I say--let them prowl. It's the onlyway to catch them.'

　　'If you think this sort of thing is likely to happen again I musttell Mr Abney.'

　　'Pardon me, sir, I think it would be better not. He impresses meas a somewhat nervous gentleman, and it would only disturb him.'

　　At this moment it suddenly struck me that, in my interest in themysterious fugitive, I had omitted to notice what was really themost remarkable point in the whole affair. How did White happen tohave a revolver at all? I have met many butlers who behavedunexpectedly in their spare time. One I knew played the fiddle;another preached Socialism in Hyde Park. But I had never yet comeacross a butler who fired pistols.

　　'What were you doing with a revolver?' I asked.

　　He hesitated.

　　'May I ask you to keep it to yourself, sir, if I tell yousomething?' he said at last.

　　'What do you mean?'

　　'I'm a detective.'

　　'What!'

　　'A Pinkerton's man, Mr Burns.'

　　I felt like one who sees the 'danger' board over thin ice. But forthis information, who knew what rash move I might not have made,under the assumption that the Little Nugget was unguarded? At thesame time, I could not help reflecting that, if things had beencomplex before, they had become far more so in the light of thisdiscovery. To spirit Ogden away had never struck me, since hisarrival at the school, as an easy task. It seemed more difficultnow than ever.

　　I had the sense to affect astonishment. I made my imitation of aninnocent assistant-master astounded by the news that the butler isa detective in disguise as realistic as I was able. It appeared tobe satisfactory, for he began to explain.

　　'I am employed by Mr Elmer Ford to guard his son. There areseveral parties after that boy, Mr Burns. Naturally he is aconsiderable prize. Mr Ford would pay a large sum to get back hisonly son if he were kidnapped. So it stands to reason he takesprecautions.'

　　'Does Mr Abney know what you are?'

　　'No, sir. Mr Abney thinks I am an ordinary butler. You are theonly person who knows, and I have only told you because you havehappened to catch me in a rather queer position for a butler to bein. You will keep it to yourself, sir? It doesn't do for it to getabout. These things have to be done quietly. It would be bad forthe school if my presence here were advertised. The other parentswouldn't like it. They would think that their sons were in danger,you see. It would be disturbing for them. So if you will justforget what I've been telling you, Mr Burns--'

　　I assured him that I would. But I was very far from meaning it. Ifthere was one thing which I intended to bear in mind, it was thefact that watchful eyes besides mine were upon that Little Nugget.

　　The third and last of this chain of occurrences, the Episode ofthe Genial Visitor, took place on the following day, and may bepassed over briefly. All that happened was that a well-dressedman, who gave his name as Arthur Gordon, of Philadelphia, droppedin unexpectedly to inspect the school. He apologized for nothaving written to make an appointment, but explained that he wasleaving England almost immediately. He was looking for a schoolfor his sister's son, and, happening to meet his businessacquaintance, Mr Elmer Ford, in London, he had been recommended toMr Abney. He made himself exceedingly pleasant. He was a breezy,genial man, who joked with Mr Abney, chaffed the boys, prodded theLittle Nugget in the ribs, to that overfed youth's discomfort,made a rollicking tour of the house, in the course of which heinspected Ogden's bedroom--in order, he told Mr Abney, to be ableto report conscientiously to his friend Ford that the son and heirwas not being pampered too much, and departed in a whirl ofgood-humour, leaving every one enthusiastic over his charmingpersonality. His last words were that everything was thoroughlysatisfactory, and that he had learned all he wanted to know.

　　Which, as was proved that same night, was the simple truth.