Detective Stories (1998) Anthology by Philip Pullman

Author:Philip Pullman [Pullman, Philip]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Juvenile Fiction, Mysteries & Detective Stories
ISBN: 9780753451571
Google: vwsDHg28ES0C
Amazon: 0753451573
Publisher: Kingfisher
Published: 1998-04-14T21:00:00+00:00

“Well, I’m afraid the mystery remains unsolved for the time being,” he said briskly. “I’ve tried to phone Mr. Cheeseman’s home, but can’t get any answer, so both he and Mrs. Cheeseman must be out. I believe Mr. Price is free next period so I’ll ask him to come and take you. What is your next period by the way?”

“French, sir,” Marsden said when no one else spoke.

“Very well, stay in your classroom and I’ll go and speak to Mr. Price.”

“Excuse me, sir.”

“Yes, what is it, Kilby?”

“Didn’t you look in the mower shed, sir?”

“As a matter of fact, I did, Kilby. I told you that you were letting your imagination run away with you, lad. There wasn’t a single sign of Mr. Cheeseman having been in there this morning.”

Fifty minutes of French with the benign Mr. Price would normally have been something of a treat, but middle school agreed afterwards that they had never known the clock to move so slowly. It seemed as if the mid-morning break would never come. And when at last it did, Nigel Kilby found himself facing a barrage of questions which would have undermined the confidence of anyone less self-assured. As it was, however, he stuck to his story and remained outwardly unshaken. Cheesepot had definitely been lying on the floor beside the mower, his black and white check jacket being unmistakable. If he was no longer there when Mr. Repping inspected the shed, it meant only one thing. His body had been removed.

“But who’d have done it, Kilby?”

“And why, Kilby?”

To these and similar questions, Nigel Kilby did not pretend to have answers, but his trump card which he played over and over again was to remind his audience that Cheesepot had indisputably disappeared.

“Body-snatching is not unknown,” he added in a tone which hinted at personal experience of the practice.

And so the day dragged by with Mr. Cheeseman’s twelve jurors fermenting in an agony of feverish speculation.

When bedtime came, still without any news of their form master, the prospect of sleep could not have seemed more distant.

It was Perry mi who suggested that, like a wild animal aware of its approaching end, Cheesepot had gone off to die in a cave. But Kilby crushed this theory by pointing out that it didn’t begin to fit the facts.

“I wish now we’d never sentenced him to death,” Wace whispered to Webster in the next bed.

“So do I,” Webster said. “I’m scared.”

At breakfast the next morning, the head boy was deputed to sit at the end of their table and serve the porridge. He and Marsden then spent the whole time discussing England’s cricket prospects in the coming season.

When breakfast was over, various masters were to be observed exchanging conspiratorial whispers, but of Mr. Cheeseman there was neither sign nor mention.

By twenty minutes to nine, middle school were sitting at their desks wondering what to expect. Their first lesson was Latin and it seemed possible that the headmaster himself might take it.

Kilby had reminded them all of the need to stand firm and not break ranks because they had all been in it together.

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