Chapter Twenty One.Going Shares.Mr Roach confessed to being an admirer of the fair sex; and consequent upon his position, not from any special attraction of mind or person, the butler’s advances were in more than one instance favourably received; but he also confessed, in the strictest personal confidence, to a feeling of jealousy against Arthur.“He’s big, and he’s not bad-looking, but he’s very weak and young, and there’s a want of manly tone about him. I can’t see why they should make so much fuss over the fellow.”“They” embraced the lady members of the Clareborough household staff; and in spite of what the butler might say, Arthur was distinctly high in favour and enjoyed his popularity.There were reasons, of course, more than the great display of affability, and one day Mr Roach took his fellow-servant seriously to task.“Look here, Orthur, my lad,” he said confidentially; “you’re having a fine old time of it just now, but recollect this: the sex is soft, and smooth, and pleasant, and as you may say sweet, but don’t you make a mistake and think that girls are fools.”“I don’t,” said Arthur, complacently—“Old boy’s a bit jealous,” he added to himself.“Then don’t act as if you did. They’re sharp enough, and before long they’ll begin talking. One of ’em ’ll be jealous of you taking out another, and then out’ll come the claw from the soft paws, and there’ll be a row.”“Well, they must settle it among themselves if there is.”“But don’t you see that the disappointed one that you’ve made an enemy ’ll begin to talk nasty-like and she’ll know what your wages are.”“Eh?”“That’s it, my boy; she’ll be wanting to know how you can be treating some of ’em to music-halls, and paying for cabs and railway fares, and supper afterwards, on five pound a quarter.”“Dash it!” cried Arthur.“Yes, that’s it, my lad. You and me’s doing very nicely just now; don’t spoil a good thing. See what I mean?”“Yes, I see what you mean, old chap,” said Arthur, who had suddenly become sobered.“That’s right. You see, you gave Maria Blay a gold watch.”“Only a second-’and ’un, and I bought the pawn-ticket cheap.”“Maybe, but there’s a big sound about a gold watch. Then you gave cook a brooch, and Betsy Dellow a gold ring, and it ain’t wise, my lad, it ain’t wise. We’re on the road to fortune, so don’t you get looking back for the sake of a bit of nonsense, or you and me may have to part. Don’t do foolish things.”“No, Mr Roach, I won’t, sir. I’m very sorry, and I’ll be a bit more careful.”“That’s right, Orthur,” said the butler, importantly. “I shouldn’t like for anything to come between us two.”“Of course not, sir. It wouldn’t do,” cried the footman, eagerly.“Got anything new?”“Well, no, Mr Roach, sir. I haven’t seen the chance of a tip lately.”The butler smiled triumphantly.“You don’t mean to say you have, sir?”“But I do, Orthur,” he replied in a hoarse whisper. “It isn’t Mr Rob’s or Mr Paddy’s this time, but a put-up thing of the guv’nor’s.”Arthur whistled in his excitement.“It means a big stroke, Orthur. I’ve got the tip, and if you and me’s got the pluck to do it we’re made men.”“Oh, we’ve got the pluck,” said the footman, huskily. “What’s the ’orse?”“Not a horse at all, my lad. It’s a company. They’re working it to rights, and I’ve found out all about it, Orthur. I’ve seen the letters. They’re going to blow the thing up full of wind, and buy up all the shares they can. Then when the thing’s at the height, they sell, and make thousands.”“Phew!” whistled the footman.“S’pose we make a couple o’ thou, a-piece; that’s better than backing horses.”“Yes; but could we?”“Don’t they, my lad? Isn’t all this place run that way? Why shouldn’t we do it as well as them? They ain’t so precious clever after all.”“Not as I see,” said the younger man, contemptuously.“Then what do you say? Shall we venture?”“I’m on,” said Arthur, eagerly. “How much does it want?”“Two hundred a-piece. How much have you got?”The footman gave him a curious look, and then said drily—“Nothing at all.”“Why, you don’t mean to say you’ve spent all we’ve made, Arthur?”“Every penny. Haven’t you?”The butler was silent, and frowned; but his companion followed up his question.“Well, why don’t you answer a fellow?”“I haven’t exactly spent it, Orthur,” said the butler at last, coughing to clear his voice.“Well, what have you done with it?”“’Orses.”“Without saying a word to me?”“Well, I didn’t know I was bound to tell you everything, Orthur.”“Well, I did; and it serves you right. If you’d gone by my advice and taken my tips you’d ha’ won.”“Yes, it was a mistake,” said the butler, humbly. “I was tempted to have just one little flutter on my own account, Orthur.”“Well, don’t you do it again. That’s worse than giving the gals presents, old man. Then I suppose it will have to be your uncle again?”“Yes, Orthur; but it’s a pity we couldn’t manage about a key for that door.”“Ah! it is; but it ain’t to be done, only with a big hammer and wedges, I’m afraid. I’m trying still, though, to get a key made, and it may turn up trumps. Never mind; raise something on what you can take.”“But it won’t be enough, my boy.”“Never mind; let’s do what we can. A little’s more than none. Half a loaf’s better than no bread, old man.”“Very well, my boy; I’ll take what I can to-night.”“I say, you’re sure this’ll turn out all right?”“Certain. It’s as safe as safe. I’ll make him let me have a little more—put something else up—and then we’ll take all the shares we can get.”“And about selling out at the right time?”“You leave that to me,” said the butler, smiling confidently. “Look here.”He took out a letter and held it to his companion, who read it with his face lighting up, and clapped it back in the butler’s hands.“That’s right, isn’t it?” said Roach.“Splendid, old man. But stop; why, that’s your writing.”“Of course it is; I copied it.”“Oh, I see. Well, then, that’s all right. Go on ahead.”“But I wish it wasn’t that centre-piece again. I’m always afraid of its being wanted.”“Oh, it won’t be wanted,” said the footman, impatiently.“If you could only have managed about that key.”“Well, give me time. I say, that was a narrow squeak, when the old woman nearly caught us.”“Yes, it was horrible,” said the butler, wiping his forehead. “Fancy her telling Jemmy, and him sending for us to come up in the lib’ry afore the lot of them!”“Easy enough for him to send,” said the footman, with a grin, “but it would have taken a lot of pulling to get us there.”“Yes, Orthur, my boy, the game would have been up.”“And before we’d made our pile, old man. There, you want a glass of wine to pull you together. You mustn’t go and see our dear old relative looking like that.”“No,” said Roach, brightening up; “that would not do, Orthur. The old woman did not find us out.”“I held the door too fast for her, and a miss is as good as a mile, eh, guv’nor? I say, old man, don’t you think we might wet it?”The butler smiled blandly.“Well, just one glass wouldn’t be amiss, my boy. What shall it be?”“Can’t beat a glass o’ port, old man. What do you say?”“I say ditto, my dear boy,” and the butler, smiling, drew out his keys, unlocked a cupboard, lifted out a cobwebby bottle with a dab of whitewash on its end, and with a great deal of ceremony drew the cork, while Arthur fetched and gave a finishing touch to a couple of glasses as the cork was presented to him.But it was only to smell, and Arthur inhaled the fragrance and sighed. Then the rich wine came gurgling out into the glasses, and these latter were raised.“Well, old man, here’s success to speculation,” said Arthur.“Suck-cess to speculation,” said the butler, and the glasses were slowly drained. Lips were smacked and the glasses refilled. “A very fine wine, Orthur.”“Tip-top. How much is there of it?”“Over six hundred dozen, my lad.”“Well, we’ll help ’em drink it, old man. It’s fine. Sets a fellow thinking. Now, look here. We’re not going to stand still, eh?”“Not a bit of it, dear boy. We’ll make our hay while the sun shines.”“Ah, yes,” said the butler, filling another glass of the port; “and some people shoot a long time before folks get hit, eh, Orthur?”“That’s so, guv’nor; you’ve only to keep going, and the chances are that they can’t hit you at all.”The result of the emptying of that bottle of wine was that the gold epergne and several other pieces of plate went into the charge of the none too particular descendant of the Medici, a gentleman who, having been exceedingly unfortunate in carrying on what he called a square trade, had of late gone in for the risky and round, with the result that he was making money fast, and calming his conscience by chuckling to himself and saying—“What harm is there, so long as you’re not found out?”That evening Mr Roach returned with a sufficient amount to dip slightly into the new speculation in which the Clareboroughs were engaged, but he did not sleep any better for that. He dreamed about brokers who dealt in stock, and by a steady descent of thought he went on to brokers who put executions into houses. They suggested debtors’ prisons—debtors’ prisons brought up Holloway, and Holloway the criminal side—the criminal side, penal Portland, with irons, and costumes ornamented with broad arrows, shortcut hair, chain-gangs, and an awakening in a violent perspiration.Mr Roach had no appetite next morning, but on behalf of footman Arthur and himself, a couple of hundred pounds were invested in the shares of the gaseous company which had nothing whatever to do with gas.
Mr Roach confessed to being an admirer of the fair sex; and consequent upon his position, not from any special attraction of mind or person, the butler’s advances were in more than one instance favourably received; but he also confessed, in the strictest personal confidence, to a feeling of jealousy against Arthur.
“He’s big, and he’s not bad-looking, but he’s very weak and young, and there’s a want of manly tone about him. I can’t see why they should make so much fuss over the fellow.”
“They” embraced the lady members of the Clareborough household staff; and in spite of what the butler might say, Arthur was distinctly high in favour and enjoyed his popularity.
There were reasons, of course, more than the great display of affability, and one day Mr Roach took his fellow-servant seriously to task.
“Look here, Orthur, my lad,” he said confidentially; “you’re having a fine old time of it just now, but recollect this: the sex is soft, and smooth, and pleasant, and as you may say sweet, but don’t you make a mistake and think that girls are fools.”
“I don’t,” said Arthur, complacently—“Old boy’s a bit jealous,” he added to himself.
“Then don’t act as if you did. They’re sharp enough, and before long they’ll begin talking. One of ’em ’ll be jealous of you taking out another, and then out’ll come the claw from the soft paws, and there’ll be a row.”
“Well, they must settle it among themselves if there is.”
“But don’t you see that the disappointed one that you’ve made an enemy ’ll begin to talk nasty-like and she’ll know what your wages are.”
“Eh?”
“That’s it, my boy; she’ll be wanting to know how you can be treating some of ’em to music-halls, and paying for cabs and railway fares, and supper afterwards, on five pound a quarter.”
“Dash it!” cried Arthur.
“Yes, that’s it, my lad. You and me’s doing very nicely just now; don’t spoil a good thing. See what I mean?”
“Yes, I see what you mean, old chap,” said Arthur, who had suddenly become sobered.
“That’s right. You see, you gave Maria Blay a gold watch.”
“Only a second-’and ’un, and I bought the pawn-ticket cheap.”
“Maybe, but there’s a big sound about a gold watch. Then you gave cook a brooch, and Betsy Dellow a gold ring, and it ain’t wise, my lad, it ain’t wise. We’re on the road to fortune, so don’t you get looking back for the sake of a bit of nonsense, or you and me may have to part. Don’t do foolish things.”
“No, Mr Roach, I won’t, sir. I’m very sorry, and I’ll be a bit more careful.”
“That’s right, Orthur,” said the butler, importantly. “I shouldn’t like for anything to come between us two.”
“Of course not, sir. It wouldn’t do,” cried the footman, eagerly.
“Got anything new?”
“Well, no, Mr Roach, sir. I haven’t seen the chance of a tip lately.”
The butler smiled triumphantly.
“You don’t mean to say you have, sir?”
“But I do, Orthur,” he replied in a hoarse whisper. “It isn’t Mr Rob’s or Mr Paddy’s this time, but a put-up thing of the guv’nor’s.”
Arthur whistled in his excitement.
“It means a big stroke, Orthur. I’ve got the tip, and if you and me’s got the pluck to do it we’re made men.”
“Oh, we’ve got the pluck,” said the footman, huskily. “What’s the ’orse?”
“Not a horse at all, my lad. It’s a company. They’re working it to rights, and I’ve found out all about it, Orthur. I’ve seen the letters. They’re going to blow the thing up full of wind, and buy up all the shares they can. Then when the thing’s at the height, they sell, and make thousands.”
“Phew!” whistled the footman.
“S’pose we make a couple o’ thou, a-piece; that’s better than backing horses.”
“Yes; but could we?”
“Don’t they, my lad? Isn’t all this place run that way? Why shouldn’t we do it as well as them? They ain’t so precious clever after all.”
“Not as I see,” said the younger man, contemptuously.
“Then what do you say? Shall we venture?”
“I’m on,” said Arthur, eagerly. “How much does it want?”
“Two hundred a-piece. How much have you got?”
The footman gave him a curious look, and then said drily—
“Nothing at all.”
“Why, you don’t mean to say you’ve spent all we’ve made, Arthur?”
“Every penny. Haven’t you?”
The butler was silent, and frowned; but his companion followed up his question.
“Well, why don’t you answer a fellow?”
“I haven’t exactly spent it, Orthur,” said the butler at last, coughing to clear his voice.
“Well, what have you done with it?”
“’Orses.”
“Without saying a word to me?”
“Well, I didn’t know I was bound to tell you everything, Orthur.”
“Well, I did; and it serves you right. If you’d gone by my advice and taken my tips you’d ha’ won.”
“Yes, it was a mistake,” said the butler, humbly. “I was tempted to have just one little flutter on my own account, Orthur.”
“Well, don’t you do it again. That’s worse than giving the gals presents, old man. Then I suppose it will have to be your uncle again?”
“Yes, Orthur; but it’s a pity we couldn’t manage about a key for that door.”
“Ah! it is; but it ain’t to be done, only with a big hammer and wedges, I’m afraid. I’m trying still, though, to get a key made, and it may turn up trumps. Never mind; raise something on what you can take.”
“But it won’t be enough, my boy.”
“Never mind; let’s do what we can. A little’s more than none. Half a loaf’s better than no bread, old man.”
“Very well, my boy; I’ll take what I can to-night.”
“I say, you’re sure this’ll turn out all right?”
“Certain. It’s as safe as safe. I’ll make him let me have a little more—put something else up—and then we’ll take all the shares we can get.”
“And about selling out at the right time?”
“You leave that to me,” said the butler, smiling confidently. “Look here.”
He took out a letter and held it to his companion, who read it with his face lighting up, and clapped it back in the butler’s hands.
“That’s right, isn’t it?” said Roach.
“Splendid, old man. But stop; why, that’s your writing.”
“Of course it is; I copied it.”
“Oh, I see. Well, then, that’s all right. Go on ahead.”
“But I wish it wasn’t that centre-piece again. I’m always afraid of its being wanted.”
“Oh, it won’t be wanted,” said the footman, impatiently.
“If you could only have managed about that key.”
“Well, give me time. I say, that was a narrow squeak, when the old woman nearly caught us.”
“Yes, it was horrible,” said the butler, wiping his forehead. “Fancy her telling Jemmy, and him sending for us to come up in the lib’ry afore the lot of them!”
“Easy enough for him to send,” said the footman, with a grin, “but it would have taken a lot of pulling to get us there.”
“Yes, Orthur, my boy, the game would have been up.”
“And before we’d made our pile, old man. There, you want a glass of wine to pull you together. You mustn’t go and see our dear old relative looking like that.”
“No,” said Roach, brightening up; “that would not do, Orthur. The old woman did not find us out.”
“I held the door too fast for her, and a miss is as good as a mile, eh, guv’nor? I say, old man, don’t you think we might wet it?”
The butler smiled blandly.
“Well, just one glass wouldn’t be amiss, my boy. What shall it be?”
“Can’t beat a glass o’ port, old man. What do you say?”
“I say ditto, my dear boy,” and the butler, smiling, drew out his keys, unlocked a cupboard, lifted out a cobwebby bottle with a dab of whitewash on its end, and with a great deal of ceremony drew the cork, while Arthur fetched and gave a finishing touch to a couple of glasses as the cork was presented to him.
But it was only to smell, and Arthur inhaled the fragrance and sighed. Then the rich wine came gurgling out into the glasses, and these latter were raised.
“Well, old man, here’s success to speculation,” said Arthur.
“Suck-cess to speculation,” said the butler, and the glasses were slowly drained. Lips were smacked and the glasses refilled. “A very fine wine, Orthur.”
“Tip-top. How much is there of it?”
“Over six hundred dozen, my lad.”
“Well, we’ll help ’em drink it, old man. It’s fine. Sets a fellow thinking. Now, look here. We’re not going to stand still, eh?”
“Not a bit of it, dear boy. We’ll make our hay while the sun shines.”
“Ah, yes,” said the butler, filling another glass of the port; “and some people shoot a long time before folks get hit, eh, Orthur?”
“That’s so, guv’nor; you’ve only to keep going, and the chances are that they can’t hit you at all.”
The result of the emptying of that bottle of wine was that the gold epergne and several other pieces of plate went into the charge of the none too particular descendant of the Medici, a gentleman who, having been exceedingly unfortunate in carrying on what he called a square trade, had of late gone in for the risky and round, with the result that he was making money fast, and calming his conscience by chuckling to himself and saying—
“What harm is there, so long as you’re not found out?”
That evening Mr Roach returned with a sufficient amount to dip slightly into the new speculation in which the Clareboroughs were engaged, but he did not sleep any better for that. He dreamed about brokers who dealt in stock, and by a steady descent of thought he went on to brokers who put executions into houses. They suggested debtors’ prisons—debtors’ prisons brought up Holloway, and Holloway the criminal side—the criminal side, penal Portland, with irons, and costumes ornamented with broad arrows, shortcut hair, chain-gangs, and an awakening in a violent perspiration.
Mr Roach had no appetite next morning, but on behalf of footman Arthur and himself, a couple of hundred pounds were invested in the shares of the gaseous company which had nothing whatever to do with gas.
Chapter Twenty Two.Man Masters.“At last!” muttered Chester, as he stood, pale and careworn, leaning upon the iron rail in the Row, watching the carriages slowly filing by, or stopping from time to time.For after days and days of watching, he was once more about to give up in despair and venture, in spite of all rebuffs, upon another call at the house, when in the distance he caught sight of the Clareborough’s light victoria approaching, and to his great delight he found that it only contained one occupant.He hesitated for a few moments as to what he should do—wait, or advance to meet it, and decided now upon a bold attack, for every nerve was on the strain.“I will not be put off this time,” he said to himself. “She shall acknowledge me.”As he approached his heart began to beat fast and he gazed upon the elegantly-dressed figure leaning carelessly back with her face shaded by the tinted parasol she held, and, as yet unobserved, Chester saw that she looked pale, troubled and weary, her half-closed eyes dreamy and thoughtful.Fate favoured him, for there was a block somewhere ahead, and the horses were stopped only a few yards away.He passed under the rail, walked up quickly, still unobserved, till his hand was upon the carriage door.“Marion!” he whispered.She gave a violent start, the blood suffused her cheeks, and then fled, leaving her deadly pale, as she gazed at him with dilating eyes.“I beg your pardon,” she said coldly, “you addressed me?”“Yes,” he said in a low voice which trembled a little from the excess of his emotion, “but we are alone now, Marion. For pity’s sake let there be an end to this.”“Ah, I remember,” she said in her low, musical tones, “you are the strange gentleman who addressed me before. You are repeating your mistake, sir.”“Indeed!” he said reproachfully, as he fixed her eyes with his. “Do you think I could ever be mistaken?”She bowed slightly and drew a little back, glancing hurriedly at the driver, and then looking ahead as if eager for the carriage to proceed.“How can you be so cruel?” he whispered. “Marion, you are maddening me!”He saw her wince, but with wonderful self-command she sat rigid as she said slowly—“I beg, sir, that there may be an end of this. Can you not see that you are making a mistake, and are insulting an unprotected woman?”She looked him fully in the eyes now with a calm air of wonderment, and for the moment he was in doubt.But the next moment his heart said no, and his pulses increased their beat. No accidental resemblance could have produced that effect upon him. He knew that there was something which he could not explain—a strange vitality or occult force which bound him to her, and, though his eyes might have erred, his nature could have made no such blunder, and he was eager to continue the attack now the opportunity was there.“Mistaken?” he said in a low, impassioned tone; “how could I be mistaken? From the first moment you came to me, your looks, the tones of your voice in your appeal to me for help, awoke something which till then had slumbered within me. I had lived in ignorance of the reality of such a passion, one which has gone on growing like a torrent ever since. It has swept all before it since the hour I knew that I had found my fate.”“My good sir,” she said firmly and gently; “indeed you are taking me for someone else.”He smiled as he gazed at her intently.“For whom?” he said.“I cannot say; some friend. It is an accidental resemblance, and once more—I appeal to you as a gentleman to cease this persecution.”He shook his head sadly.“Accidental resemblance? No. There is but one Marion on earth. No woman ever resembled you in any way. This is impossible. Marion, be merciful. After the night on which I saw you last, what must you think of me? Of what manner of man could I be if, after striving so hard to gain an interview like this, I could let you throw me over in so cruel a way? Marion, for pity’s sake. There must be stronger reasons than I already know of to make you act like this.”She glanced round wildly for a moment or two, as if in dread that they were being observed and his words were taking the attention of the people around, then up at the coachman, but he sat erect and stolid, too well schooled in his duties to have a thought or eyes for anything but the beautiful pair of horses under his charge. Then, as she realised the fact that they were perfectly unobserved by the busy throng around, she recovered her passing composure, and said quite calmly, and with a suggestion of pity in her tone for one who seemed to her to be suffering from some slight mental aberration—“Can you not see that you are mistaken?”“No,” he said, smiling sadly; “only that it is impossible.”There was a faint quiver of the lips, but it passed off, and her beautiful eyes flashed, and the colour rose in her cheeks, as she made a strong effort to be firm. Then there was a touch of anger in her voice as she said coldly—“Must I appeal to someone passing, sir, or to one of the police?”Her words stung him to the quick, “No,” he whispered huskily; “there is no need. If you are made of steel and can act to me like this, I must suffer; but do not insult me by treating me as if I were insane. I could bear it from your brother; not from you, Miss Clareborough.”She winced slightly at the utterance of her name, and he fancied that there was the light of compassion for one brief moment in her eyes.His own face hardened now in the bitterness and despair of the moment as he took out his pocket-book, and in spite of her self-command she watched his action narrowly as he drew out the carefully-folded handkerchief stained with blood.“I saved this inadvertently,” he continued. “Yours; marked with your initials.”He looked her full in the eyes as he spoke, bitterly now.“When I found it where I had hurriedly thrust it into my pocket that night, it seemed to offer itself as an excellent clue for the police to track out the mystery of the house to which I was taken.”She leaned forward quickly and caught at the handkerchief to cover it with her hand, while he still retained his hold.“For God’s sake, no!” she whispered, and her face convulsed with fear. “Don’t do that—the police!”The stained scrap of cambric formed a bond between them as he gazed deeply in her eyes now, while a faint smile dawned upon his lip.“I checked the thought at once,” he said softly. “I told myself that such an act might hurt you—might give you pain; and I set to and tried to track you without, all through the months of agony and dread for what you might have to fear from him. Take it, to destroy or save, as you will. It is yours; but do not do me the injustice to think I would retain it to hold over you in terrorem. Marion, I love you too well.”He breathed these words in the faintest tones, but he could read that they fell heavily upon her ears, for in spite of her rigid position he saw that her eyes looked wildly and imploringly into his.“For Heaven’s sake be silent!” she whispered faintly.“I am your slave,” he said softly. “Take the handkerchief.”“No, no; I trust you,” she whispered back. “I will not try to dissimulate any longer. It is impossible; but you must never speak to me again—never recognise me. I cannot explain—I am not my own mistress. It would injure others. Be merciful to me, for I have suffered deeply. Think of all that has passed as some dream. I cannot—must never see you more.”The carriage began to move on, but he walked by the side as she continued—“Spare me—spare those I love. I ask it of you. Now, farewell for ever, for your own sake—for mine.”“No,” he said softly, as he walked on, unnoticed by the many they passed, for it was a commonplace thing enough to see a gentleman by a carriage door talking to its occupant. “No. You have made me more happy then I can express. The dense black cloud that has been over my life has passed away, for I know now that you have been wearing this mask for the sake of others whom you wish to spare. But you have let me see behind it; just one glimpse, but enough to show me the true nature of the woman I love.”“Oh, hush!” she whispered. “Believe me, that is impossible. Now leave me, pray.”“Nothing is impossible to a man who loves as I love you,” he whispered.“No, no; once more, I tell you that we must never meet again.”“And I tell you,” he whispered back, “that you are part of my life, and that while my heart beats I will never give you up. Marion, we must meet again sooner or later; I live for nothing else. Your hand one moment.”“No, no!” she moaned.“Your hand—life of my life,” he whispered softly; and as she gazed at him wildly, her hand, as if drawn by the magnetism of his nature, glided slowly into his, and was clasped in his nervous grasp.“I am going to wait.”“No,” she said more firmly. “This for the last time. They would kill me—they would kill you.”“No,” he said. “An hour ago I would have welcomed death; now life opens before me in its fullest sunshine of joy. They shall not kill you; they shall not kill me, for I know you love me and have suffered, and it has made me strong.”“Impossible, impossible,” she whispered, with her eyes fixed upon his.Then he loosed his hold of her gloved hand, dropping back and raising his hat as the carriage rolled on.He stood and watched it for a few minutes till it had passed out of sight, and then drawing himself up, feeling that a breach of invigorating life had run through his being, he turned to walk back across the path, and found himself nearly confronting the man who had occupied so much of his waking thoughts, and whose eyes now seemed to flash as they gazed fiercely in his.“Well,” said Chester to himself, as he set his teeth hard, “I am ready for the worst. Am I to learn the mystery of the big house now?” And he took a step forward to meet the man he felt to be the great enemy of both their lives.
“At last!” muttered Chester, as he stood, pale and careworn, leaning upon the iron rail in the Row, watching the carriages slowly filing by, or stopping from time to time.
For after days and days of watching, he was once more about to give up in despair and venture, in spite of all rebuffs, upon another call at the house, when in the distance he caught sight of the Clareborough’s light victoria approaching, and to his great delight he found that it only contained one occupant.
He hesitated for a few moments as to what he should do—wait, or advance to meet it, and decided now upon a bold attack, for every nerve was on the strain.
“I will not be put off this time,” he said to himself. “She shall acknowledge me.”
As he approached his heart began to beat fast and he gazed upon the elegantly-dressed figure leaning carelessly back with her face shaded by the tinted parasol she held, and, as yet unobserved, Chester saw that she looked pale, troubled and weary, her half-closed eyes dreamy and thoughtful.
Fate favoured him, for there was a block somewhere ahead, and the horses were stopped only a few yards away.
He passed under the rail, walked up quickly, still unobserved, till his hand was upon the carriage door.
“Marion!” he whispered.
She gave a violent start, the blood suffused her cheeks, and then fled, leaving her deadly pale, as she gazed at him with dilating eyes.
“I beg your pardon,” she said coldly, “you addressed me?”
“Yes,” he said in a low voice which trembled a little from the excess of his emotion, “but we are alone now, Marion. For pity’s sake let there be an end to this.”
“Ah, I remember,” she said in her low, musical tones, “you are the strange gentleman who addressed me before. You are repeating your mistake, sir.”
“Indeed!” he said reproachfully, as he fixed her eyes with his. “Do you think I could ever be mistaken?”
She bowed slightly and drew a little back, glancing hurriedly at the driver, and then looking ahead as if eager for the carriage to proceed.
“How can you be so cruel?” he whispered. “Marion, you are maddening me!”
He saw her wince, but with wonderful self-command she sat rigid as she said slowly—
“I beg, sir, that there may be an end of this. Can you not see that you are making a mistake, and are insulting an unprotected woman?”
She looked him fully in the eyes now with a calm air of wonderment, and for the moment he was in doubt.
But the next moment his heart said no, and his pulses increased their beat. No accidental resemblance could have produced that effect upon him. He knew that there was something which he could not explain—a strange vitality or occult force which bound him to her, and, though his eyes might have erred, his nature could have made no such blunder, and he was eager to continue the attack now the opportunity was there.
“Mistaken?” he said in a low, impassioned tone; “how could I be mistaken? From the first moment you came to me, your looks, the tones of your voice in your appeal to me for help, awoke something which till then had slumbered within me. I had lived in ignorance of the reality of such a passion, one which has gone on growing like a torrent ever since. It has swept all before it since the hour I knew that I had found my fate.”
“My good sir,” she said firmly and gently; “indeed you are taking me for someone else.”
He smiled as he gazed at her intently.
“For whom?” he said.
“I cannot say; some friend. It is an accidental resemblance, and once more—I appeal to you as a gentleman to cease this persecution.”
He shook his head sadly.
“Accidental resemblance? No. There is but one Marion on earth. No woman ever resembled you in any way. This is impossible. Marion, be merciful. After the night on which I saw you last, what must you think of me? Of what manner of man could I be if, after striving so hard to gain an interview like this, I could let you throw me over in so cruel a way? Marion, for pity’s sake. There must be stronger reasons than I already know of to make you act like this.”
She glanced round wildly for a moment or two, as if in dread that they were being observed and his words were taking the attention of the people around, then up at the coachman, but he sat erect and stolid, too well schooled in his duties to have a thought or eyes for anything but the beautiful pair of horses under his charge. Then, as she realised the fact that they were perfectly unobserved by the busy throng around, she recovered her passing composure, and said quite calmly, and with a suggestion of pity in her tone for one who seemed to her to be suffering from some slight mental aberration—
“Can you not see that you are mistaken?”
“No,” he said, smiling sadly; “only that it is impossible.”
There was a faint quiver of the lips, but it passed off, and her beautiful eyes flashed, and the colour rose in her cheeks, as she made a strong effort to be firm. Then there was a touch of anger in her voice as she said coldly—
“Must I appeal to someone passing, sir, or to one of the police?”
Her words stung him to the quick, “No,” he whispered huskily; “there is no need. If you are made of steel and can act to me like this, I must suffer; but do not insult me by treating me as if I were insane. I could bear it from your brother; not from you, Miss Clareborough.”
She winced slightly at the utterance of her name, and he fancied that there was the light of compassion for one brief moment in her eyes.
His own face hardened now in the bitterness and despair of the moment as he took out his pocket-book, and in spite of her self-command she watched his action narrowly as he drew out the carefully-folded handkerchief stained with blood.
“I saved this inadvertently,” he continued. “Yours; marked with your initials.”
He looked her full in the eyes as he spoke, bitterly now.
“When I found it where I had hurriedly thrust it into my pocket that night, it seemed to offer itself as an excellent clue for the police to track out the mystery of the house to which I was taken.”
She leaned forward quickly and caught at the handkerchief to cover it with her hand, while he still retained his hold.
“For God’s sake, no!” she whispered, and her face convulsed with fear. “Don’t do that—the police!”
The stained scrap of cambric formed a bond between them as he gazed deeply in her eyes now, while a faint smile dawned upon his lip.
“I checked the thought at once,” he said softly. “I told myself that such an act might hurt you—might give you pain; and I set to and tried to track you without, all through the months of agony and dread for what you might have to fear from him. Take it, to destroy or save, as you will. It is yours; but do not do me the injustice to think I would retain it to hold over you in terrorem. Marion, I love you too well.”
He breathed these words in the faintest tones, but he could read that they fell heavily upon her ears, for in spite of her rigid position he saw that her eyes looked wildly and imploringly into his.
“For Heaven’s sake be silent!” she whispered faintly.
“I am your slave,” he said softly. “Take the handkerchief.”
“No, no; I trust you,” she whispered back. “I will not try to dissimulate any longer. It is impossible; but you must never speak to me again—never recognise me. I cannot explain—I am not my own mistress. It would injure others. Be merciful to me, for I have suffered deeply. Think of all that has passed as some dream. I cannot—must never see you more.”
The carriage began to move on, but he walked by the side as she continued—
“Spare me—spare those I love. I ask it of you. Now, farewell for ever, for your own sake—for mine.”
“No,” he said softly, as he walked on, unnoticed by the many they passed, for it was a commonplace thing enough to see a gentleman by a carriage door talking to its occupant. “No. You have made me more happy then I can express. The dense black cloud that has been over my life has passed away, for I know now that you have been wearing this mask for the sake of others whom you wish to spare. But you have let me see behind it; just one glimpse, but enough to show me the true nature of the woman I love.”
“Oh, hush!” she whispered. “Believe me, that is impossible. Now leave me, pray.”
“Nothing is impossible to a man who loves as I love you,” he whispered.
“No, no; once more, I tell you that we must never meet again.”
“And I tell you,” he whispered back, “that you are part of my life, and that while my heart beats I will never give you up. Marion, we must meet again sooner or later; I live for nothing else. Your hand one moment.”
“No, no!” she moaned.
“Your hand—life of my life,” he whispered softly; and as she gazed at him wildly, her hand, as if drawn by the magnetism of his nature, glided slowly into his, and was clasped in his nervous grasp.
“I am going to wait.”
“No,” she said more firmly. “This for the last time. They would kill me—they would kill you.”
“No,” he said. “An hour ago I would have welcomed death; now life opens before me in its fullest sunshine of joy. They shall not kill you; they shall not kill me, for I know you love me and have suffered, and it has made me strong.”
“Impossible, impossible,” she whispered, with her eyes fixed upon his.
Then he loosed his hold of her gloved hand, dropping back and raising his hat as the carriage rolled on.
He stood and watched it for a few minutes till it had passed out of sight, and then drawing himself up, feeling that a breach of invigorating life had run through his being, he turned to walk back across the path, and found himself nearly confronting the man who had occupied so much of his waking thoughts, and whose eyes now seemed to flash as they gazed fiercely in his.
“Well,” said Chester to himself, as he set his teeth hard, “I am ready for the worst. Am I to learn the mystery of the big house now?” And he took a step forward to meet the man he felt to be the great enemy of both their lives.
Chapter Twenty Three.The Game is up.To Chester’s surprise James Clareborough’s face hardened and grew stony as they approached, and the next moment he had passed him without a word or the slightest sign of recognition, and when, stung by jealous solicitude for the woman he loved, Chester turned and followed, he saw his enemy take another direction to that in which Marion was being driven.Then days passed—then weeks; and in spite of constant watchfulness Chester could not get a glimpse of her who filled his thoughts. The reason was patent—the family had left town, and he had once more to track them out. But this was easy, and in a day or two he was down at the nearest spot where he could unobserved obtain lodgings, ostensibly trout fishing the stream that meandered by The Towers, the Clareboroughs’ Kentish estate.Still he could not obtain a second interview. He knew, though, that which filled him with exultation and patience to wait—he was loved.There were troubles at The Towers in the lower stratum, all connected with speculation; and, though money was worthless in these days in Chester’s eyes, the speculation affected his fate.It was in this wise:—Roach looked puffy, and especially so beneath the eyes, where a couple of pendulous bags disfigured his important-looking countenance.Unkind people would have said that the flushed aspect was due to drinking, but he was perfectly steady as he got out of a hansom cab, in company with Arthur, after a short run up to town, where they had arrived by a fast train that afternoon, and taking the two small, light portmanteaus which the driver handed down, each threw his overcoat across his arm, and they walked together round the corner into Highcombe Street, made for the Clareboroughs’ town house, tried the area gate, which, as they expected, was locked, and went up the steps to the front door.“How do you feel, Arthur?” whispered Roach.“Right as the mail, old man. Now then, no gammon. You keep your pecker up, and do the talking, and I’ll do the business. There’s nothing to mind.”“Nothing to mind?” said Roach, as he raised his hand towards the servants’ bell, but did not ring.“Only the handcuffs if we don’t do what we want and clear off.”Roach groaned.“Don’t be a fool, old man,” whispered the footman. “As I told you, we must do it now. The game’s up, and you know what Jemmy is. There’ll be no mercy, so let’s make our hay while the sun shines. Pull the bell.”With trembling hand Roach rang the servants’ bell, and then drew a deep breath.“That’s right, old man, pull yourself together. Think it’s going to be a lark, and after it a fortune for us both.”“Yes, I’m going to be firm now,” growled Roach, hoarsely. “It’s our only chance, Orthur, so stand by me.”“Like an iron post, old man. That’s the way, jolly’s the style. Here she comes.”They caught a glimpse of the housekeeper at the side window, and directly after the door was open.“Good-morning, ma’am,” began the butler.“Good-morning, Mrs Barron, ma’am,” said Arthur.She looked sternly from one to the other, without making way for them to enter.“Why are you two men up in town?” she said harshly.“Well, the fact is, ma’am, I had a little bit o’ business to do about my savings in the sweet threes, and as the gentlemen were all in Paris, and the ladies were not expecting any company, I made so bold as to ask Mrs James Clareborough to spare me till to-morrow night and let Orthur come with me, for I don’t like going through money matters without a witness.”“Oh,” said the housekeeper, speaking with her lips very close together, but without drawing back. “Then why have you both come here? This is not a broker’s.”“No, ma’am, of course not,” said Arthur, with a little laugh.“I was not speaking to you, sir,” said the housekeeper, turning upon him suddenly. “Have the goodness to keep your place.”“Certainly, ma’am. Beg pardon, ma’am.”“Now, Mr Roach; what do you want here?”“Want here, ma’am?” stammered the butler; “want here? Why, I can’t go to my broker without my warrants.”The housekeeper’s pale face looked more pinched than ever as she gazed searchingly at the other, who looked completely taken aback; and then she darted a sharp glance at Arthur, who evidently expected it and did not look, but busied himself in bringing a little bit of vanity well into sight, the said piece of vanity taking the shape of a couple of bronze fox-head cuff studs, which he drew beyond the sleeves of his coat.“You can go down into your pantry and get what you require,” said the housekeeper, coldly, and she made way for the butler to enter. Arthur was about to follow. “No,” she said sharply, “you can wait.”“Wait—here, ma’am?”“Yes,” said the housekeeper, decisively, and she made as if to shut the door. “Or, no; you can sit down inside.”Arthur brightened up, and stepped in jauntily, the housekeeper closing the door.“You need not take your portmanteau down with you, Roach.”“No, ma’am, of course not,” said the butler, respectfully.“Here, I’ll mind that, Mr Roach, sir,” said the footman, stepping forward to take the valise, after standing his own on end.The butler was a few steps in the hall, the housekeeper between them, and a little on Arthur’s right, as he took a step forward, taking his overcoat from his arm and shaking it out the while, as if about to double it afresh. Then, quick as thought, he stepped aside, threw it over the woman’s head, and twisted it together. “Now, old man; her legs, sharp!”Roach stood for a moment as if bewildered. Then at an oath from his companion, he stepped forward, threw his arms round the struggling woman’s legs, lifted her up, and in spite of her smothered cries bore her right to the end of the passage.“Down with her; pantry,” said the footman, sharply, and they carried her quickly down the basement to the butler’s pantry, where they laid her on the table.“Fetch the trunks, old man,” said Arthur, loudly. “I can manage. Quiet, you old cat, or I’ll choke you!”He tightened the coat with a couple, of twists as he spoke, but the faint cry continued.“Bah! let her squeak; she might howl for a month, and no one could hear.”This, for the butler looked unnerved. He went up directly, though, and as soon as he was gone Arthur put his face to the coat, close to the old lady’s ear.“You just listen,” he said. “You’ve had your innings, and led me a pretty devil of a life with your nasty ways. It’s my turn now. Quiet, curse you! Stop that row, or as sure as you’re a living woman now, you’ll want a coffin to-morrow.”“What—what is it you want. Money?” came faintly.“Never you mind what we want, old girl. There, you needn’t kick and struggle; we don’t want to carry you off and marry you by force, so lie still. Ah, that’s right; look sharp. My Gladstone, not yours. Get out the rope.”The butler, whose face was now mottled with white patches, opened one of the portmanteaus and took out a cord.“Now come here and lay hold. If she begins to squeal again, tighten your grip a bit.”But the woman lay perfectly still now, and she did not even wince when the footman twisted the rope tightly round her ankles and knotted it fast.“Now then, over on her face, guv’nor. I must have these wrists tied behind, or she may begin to scratch.”The helpless woman was turned over, her wrists firmly secured, and she was then laid on her side and the coat taken off, to reveal her wide, staring eyes, and teeth set, with the lips drawn right away.“You’ve killed her, my boy,” whispered the butler in a hoarse voice.“Bah! Old cats like that have got nine lives,” said the man, contemptuously. “Here, give me a clean glass cloth, and I’ll shove a gag in her mouth.”“No, no. She’s bad enough as it is,” whispered the butler. “Let her be.”The footman looked at the old housekeeper dubiously, and then unwillingly gave up his project.“Shall we put her in the plate-closet? I have the key.”Arthur laughed.“Why, that would smother her in half an hour. No; help me to lay her down on the hearth-rug. We can come and look at her now and then. But she won’t move. We’ve pretty well frightened her to death.”Judging from appearances, this was the case, and after laying the unfortunate woman on the hearth-rug, they took portmanteaus and coats and hurried out into the main passage, then into that which went off at right angles, to stop in front of the lobby door.
To Chester’s surprise James Clareborough’s face hardened and grew stony as they approached, and the next moment he had passed him without a word or the slightest sign of recognition, and when, stung by jealous solicitude for the woman he loved, Chester turned and followed, he saw his enemy take another direction to that in which Marion was being driven.
Then days passed—then weeks; and in spite of constant watchfulness Chester could not get a glimpse of her who filled his thoughts. The reason was patent—the family had left town, and he had once more to track them out. But this was easy, and in a day or two he was down at the nearest spot where he could unobserved obtain lodgings, ostensibly trout fishing the stream that meandered by The Towers, the Clareboroughs’ Kentish estate.
Still he could not obtain a second interview. He knew, though, that which filled him with exultation and patience to wait—he was loved.
There were troubles at The Towers in the lower stratum, all connected with speculation; and, though money was worthless in these days in Chester’s eyes, the speculation affected his fate.
It was in this wise:—
Roach looked puffy, and especially so beneath the eyes, where a couple of pendulous bags disfigured his important-looking countenance.
Unkind people would have said that the flushed aspect was due to drinking, but he was perfectly steady as he got out of a hansom cab, in company with Arthur, after a short run up to town, where they had arrived by a fast train that afternoon, and taking the two small, light portmanteaus which the driver handed down, each threw his overcoat across his arm, and they walked together round the corner into Highcombe Street, made for the Clareboroughs’ town house, tried the area gate, which, as they expected, was locked, and went up the steps to the front door.
“How do you feel, Arthur?” whispered Roach.
“Right as the mail, old man. Now then, no gammon. You keep your pecker up, and do the talking, and I’ll do the business. There’s nothing to mind.”
“Nothing to mind?” said Roach, as he raised his hand towards the servants’ bell, but did not ring.
“Only the handcuffs if we don’t do what we want and clear off.”
Roach groaned.
“Don’t be a fool, old man,” whispered the footman. “As I told you, we must do it now. The game’s up, and you know what Jemmy is. There’ll be no mercy, so let’s make our hay while the sun shines. Pull the bell.”
With trembling hand Roach rang the servants’ bell, and then drew a deep breath.
“That’s right, old man, pull yourself together. Think it’s going to be a lark, and after it a fortune for us both.”
“Yes, I’m going to be firm now,” growled Roach, hoarsely. “It’s our only chance, Orthur, so stand by me.”
“Like an iron post, old man. That’s the way, jolly’s the style. Here she comes.”
They caught a glimpse of the housekeeper at the side window, and directly after the door was open.
“Good-morning, ma’am,” began the butler.
“Good-morning, Mrs Barron, ma’am,” said Arthur.
She looked sternly from one to the other, without making way for them to enter.
“Why are you two men up in town?” she said harshly.
“Well, the fact is, ma’am, I had a little bit o’ business to do about my savings in the sweet threes, and as the gentlemen were all in Paris, and the ladies were not expecting any company, I made so bold as to ask Mrs James Clareborough to spare me till to-morrow night and let Orthur come with me, for I don’t like going through money matters without a witness.”
“Oh,” said the housekeeper, speaking with her lips very close together, but without drawing back. “Then why have you both come here? This is not a broker’s.”
“No, ma’am, of course not,” said Arthur, with a little laugh.
“I was not speaking to you, sir,” said the housekeeper, turning upon him suddenly. “Have the goodness to keep your place.”
“Certainly, ma’am. Beg pardon, ma’am.”
“Now, Mr Roach; what do you want here?”
“Want here, ma’am?” stammered the butler; “want here? Why, I can’t go to my broker without my warrants.”
The housekeeper’s pale face looked more pinched than ever as she gazed searchingly at the other, who looked completely taken aback; and then she darted a sharp glance at Arthur, who evidently expected it and did not look, but busied himself in bringing a little bit of vanity well into sight, the said piece of vanity taking the shape of a couple of bronze fox-head cuff studs, which he drew beyond the sleeves of his coat.
“You can go down into your pantry and get what you require,” said the housekeeper, coldly, and she made way for the butler to enter. Arthur was about to follow. “No,” she said sharply, “you can wait.”
“Wait—here, ma’am?”
“Yes,” said the housekeeper, decisively, and she made as if to shut the door. “Or, no; you can sit down inside.”
Arthur brightened up, and stepped in jauntily, the housekeeper closing the door.
“You need not take your portmanteau down with you, Roach.”
“No, ma’am, of course not,” said the butler, respectfully.
“Here, I’ll mind that, Mr Roach, sir,” said the footman, stepping forward to take the valise, after standing his own on end.
The butler was a few steps in the hall, the housekeeper between them, and a little on Arthur’s right, as he took a step forward, taking his overcoat from his arm and shaking it out the while, as if about to double it afresh. Then, quick as thought, he stepped aside, threw it over the woman’s head, and twisted it together. “Now, old man; her legs, sharp!”
Roach stood for a moment as if bewildered. Then at an oath from his companion, he stepped forward, threw his arms round the struggling woman’s legs, lifted her up, and in spite of her smothered cries bore her right to the end of the passage.
“Down with her; pantry,” said the footman, sharply, and they carried her quickly down the basement to the butler’s pantry, where they laid her on the table.
“Fetch the trunks, old man,” said Arthur, loudly. “I can manage. Quiet, you old cat, or I’ll choke you!”
He tightened the coat with a couple, of twists as he spoke, but the faint cry continued.
“Bah! let her squeak; she might howl for a month, and no one could hear.”
This, for the butler looked unnerved. He went up directly, though, and as soon as he was gone Arthur put his face to the coat, close to the old lady’s ear.
“You just listen,” he said. “You’ve had your innings, and led me a pretty devil of a life with your nasty ways. It’s my turn now. Quiet, curse you! Stop that row, or as sure as you’re a living woman now, you’ll want a coffin to-morrow.”
“What—what is it you want. Money?” came faintly.
“Never you mind what we want, old girl. There, you needn’t kick and struggle; we don’t want to carry you off and marry you by force, so lie still. Ah, that’s right; look sharp. My Gladstone, not yours. Get out the rope.”
The butler, whose face was now mottled with white patches, opened one of the portmanteaus and took out a cord.
“Now come here and lay hold. If she begins to squeal again, tighten your grip a bit.”
But the woman lay perfectly still now, and she did not even wince when the footman twisted the rope tightly round her ankles and knotted it fast.
“Now then, over on her face, guv’nor. I must have these wrists tied behind, or she may begin to scratch.”
The helpless woman was turned over, her wrists firmly secured, and she was then laid on her side and the coat taken off, to reveal her wide, staring eyes, and teeth set, with the lips drawn right away.
“You’ve killed her, my boy,” whispered the butler in a hoarse voice.
“Bah! Old cats like that have got nine lives,” said the man, contemptuously. “Here, give me a clean glass cloth, and I’ll shove a gag in her mouth.”
“No, no. She’s bad enough as it is,” whispered the butler. “Let her be.”
The footman looked at the old housekeeper dubiously, and then unwillingly gave up his project.
“Shall we put her in the plate-closet? I have the key.”
Arthur laughed.
“Why, that would smother her in half an hour. No; help me to lay her down on the hearth-rug. We can come and look at her now and then. But she won’t move. We’ve pretty well frightened her to death.”
Judging from appearances, this was the case, and after laying the unfortunate woman on the hearth-rug, they took portmanteaus and coats and hurried out into the main passage, then into that which went off at right angles, to stop in front of the lobby door.
Chapter Twenty Four.And Grows Dangerous.The key the men possessed admitted them at once and the other portmanteau was opened, ready for use—a use which soon became plain.“Think it’ll be all right this time?” said Roach, who was in an intense state of excitement.“Dunno till I try,” was the reply. “Light up and look sharp.”Roach turned to the second portmanteau, which stood inside the door, and took out a dark lantern. Then striking a match, he lit it, and in obedience to a word from his young companion, he held up the cover of the iron door key-hole with one hand, and directed the full glare of the bull’s-eye on the opening with the other.Arthur had not been idle. Hastily doubling his overcoat, he made of it a pad to kneel upon, and then taking a bright new key from out of a piece of tissue paper, he began to try if it would fit.“All right,” he whispered, “it goes splendidly.”“Well done,” panted Roach. “But be quick.”“Quick be blowed! Don’t you be so jolly nervous; there’s no one to interrupt us now.”“Well, turn the key.”“Won’t turn—sticks. Oil.”Roach handed a little oil tin from the portmanteau, the key was withdrawn and lubricated and once more thrust in, to evidently act upon a part of the mechanism of the great lock, but that was all.“Bah!” ejaculated Arthur. “I know the beggar. It’s one of that sort you see at the safe shops. When you turn the key you shoot bolts, top, bottom and both sides. It nearly does. He made it quite to the wax pattern, and it only wants a touch or two. Here, give us the file.”“Stop a minute.”“What’s the matter?”“I want to see if old Mrs Barron’s safe.”“Look alive then. No, no; give me the file first.”The tool was handed and the active young fellow held the key close to the light and began filing away where it seemed to him the wards of the key wanted opening; and he was still busy when Roach returned. “She’s all right,” he panted, his breath coming short as if he had been running.“Oh yes, she won’t get clear of those knots—an old cat!—I know. You take it easy, old man; we’re as safe as safe.”“But suppose the guv’nors come back from Paris, my dear boy?”“Won’t be back for a fortnight. You know as well as I do. Lor’ ’a’ mussy! on’y think of our taking up a game like this, old man!”“It’s awful—it’s awful, Orthur.”“Yah! we can’t help it. How were we to know that everything we backed would go wrong and leave us in such a hole?” said Arthur, as he filed away.“But it seems like burglary,” whispered the butler.“Burglary be blowed! Look here, if you’re going to whine I shall cut it, and my stick too, and you may face it out with the guv’nors. What are you going to say when they ask after that gold centre-piece, and the rest of the plate you’ve lent my uncle?”“We’ve lent my uncle!” said the butler, reproachfully.“Oh, well, we then. I’m ready to take my share. It was their fault, and we’re driven to this to get money to take out all you’ve pledged.”“We’ve pledged.”“We be hanged! You did the pledging, but I don’t want to back out of it. I’m going to stand by you. Only, you see, circumstances are against us, old man. We meant to come quietly and get enough out of here to square us and make us able to make a fresh start on our own hook—I’m sick of their tips—but as soon as we come to do it quietly, meaning to sleep here for the night, that old cat cuts up rough, and we have to quiet her. Consequence is, old man, we’ve got to go the whole thing and make ourselves rich men all at once. Don’t matter. Just as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, so I mean to make it two sheep if I can—two sheep a-piece, old chap. There, that ought to do it now.”He ceased filing and applied the key again, to find that he could turn it a little more.“Almost,” he said. “Oil again.”But the fresh oil sent it no farther, and the butler wiped his dripping brow and ejaculated—“Tut-tut-tut-tut!”“Look here, old chap, if you can do it better come and try yourself,” cried Arthur in an ill-used tone.“No, no, my dear boy, I can’t. You are cleverer at such things than I am, but it’s such fidgeting work to stand here holding the light and doing nothing.”“Never mind, it’s worth it,” said Arthur, laughing. “Think of the pearls and diamonds in here, old fellow. Now for another try. We shall be as rich as Rothschilds when we’ve done, and across the water before they can put a hand upon us. Bah! Blister the key! It’s as near as near. But I’ll do it, if I try till to-morrow morning. Here, go and see how the old girl’s getting on. Got your keys?”“Yes, my boy, but they are no good for this.”“Pah! who said they were? They’re good for a bottle of wine, though, ain’t they?”“Oh yes—yes!”“Then bring one with the cork out, and never mind a glass; and don’t stop to decant it, old chap, for I want a drink horrid bad. This is warm work.”The butler went away on tip-toe. As he walked along the passage he heard the sharp grating of the file, and shivered with dread. But upon reaching the pantry he felt relieved, for the housekeeper seemed to be asleep.Not content with this, Roach went up to the hall and listened. But all was perfectly still in the great solemn mansion, and he went down again, to be conscious of the scrap, scrap of the file, before he reached the pantry, where the old lady still lay unmoved.Hastily getting a bottle of wine from the cupboard, and uncorking it, he went back, to find Arthur still filing away.“Oh, there you are then,” he grumbled. “I was just a-coming to see if you were finishing the bottle all to your own cheek. Here, give us hold.”He took a deep draught, and recommenced filing with renewed vigour for some minutes.“Now,” he said, “this is the last time of trying. If it won’t do it we must do the other thing.”He tried the key, and it turned half-way, but it was forced upon them that there was something wanting. The key did not touch some portion of the ingeniously-made lock, and the young man thrust it in his pocket.“Better have tried the hammering at first,” he said.“No, no! The noise,” cried Roach.“Bah! Who’s going to take any notice of a bit of knocking?” said the young man, contemptuously. “The sound can’t reach them there.”“But suppose a policeman heard it as he passed?”“Well, he’d hear it and say to himself, ‘They’ve got the workpeople in.’”“But—”“Oh, blow your buts, old man! Did the police come to see what was the matter when the men took out the kitchener and put in a new one?”“No, but—”“But you’re in a stew. That’s what’s the matter. Give us hold. Thinnest wedge, and the hammer, and you hold the light. That piece of leather will stop the sound.”The butler sighed, but obeyed his companion, handing him a steel wedge with an edge as fine as the blade of a knife. Then he held the light close while his companion gently tapped it in between the door and frame.Another followed, and another—quite a dozen, of increasing sizes, having been brought; and the leather-covered hammer deadened the sound greatly, while the crack grew larger, and it seemed pretty certain that the steel wedges would sooner or later force open the door.“See this?” said the operator, triumphantly.“Oh yes, I see, but I’m in a bath o’ perspiration.”“With doing nothing but hold a candle!” said Arthur, with a chuckle, as he drove in another wedge as far as it would go and released two more thinner ones. “Now I’m going to have a moment’s rest and a drink while you go and see how dear old Mrs Barron is. Whistle if you want help.”The butler went off, and the young man drank and examined the progress he had made, and he was still examining so as to find where he could drive in the next wedge with the most effect when the butler came back.“She hasn’t stirred,” he said.“She can’t,” said his companion, with a laugh, and he began tapping again vigorously, but at the end of half a dozen strokes, as his hammer was poised to deliver another, there was a dull clang, and the young fellow leaped back.“Hear that?” he said in a whisper full of triumph.“Yes, it was like the banging to of another iron door.”“Banging to of an iron grandmother!” cried Arthur, contemptuously; “it’s the whole front splitting away, and another wedge in will fetch it right off.”“I hope so,” said Roach, piteously. “Do you think it will take much longer?”“I don’t care if it takes two days,” said the other, coolly. “Don’t matter so long as we get the door open.”Roach sighed.“There, hold the light, and don’t do that. You are a cheerful mate, ’pon my sivvy. Here goes.”The speaker began again, keeping a sharp lookout, so as to spring back and not be crushed by the falling door; and to this end he made Roach stand in the entrance and direct the light from there, giving him plenty of room. But the door did not fall, and at the end of an hour the hammer was thrown down.“It’s no go.”“Do you give it up?” cried Roach, eagerly.“No, I don’t give it up, but I’m not going to work all the flesh off my bones when one stroke will do the work.”“What! The powder?”“That’s it, old chap. Go and see how the old woman is.”Roach sighed, and went away, to return shivering.“She looks horrible,” he whispered; “but you mustn’t think of powder, my lad. You’ll bring the people in from both sides to see what’s the matter.”“Won’t make noise enough for that, and I sha’n’t use enough,” said Arthur, coolly. “Don’t talk. That door’s got to come open, and I wish I’d tried this plan at first.”“But it’s too dangerous.”“No, it isn’t. You keep quiet, and make that light shine well on the key-hole.”As he spoke the young man took a pound canister of fine gun-powder from the portmanteau pushing the latter afterwards outside into the passage. Then with a small funnel, also provided in the portmanteau, and fitted with a curved piece of pipe, to fill the interior of the lock with the fine black dust, which ran away down the funnel and pipe as easily as sand from one side to another of an hour-glass.“This is the way,” said Arthur, eagerly. “I shall get pretty well half a pound in.”It seemed quite probable, for the powder ran trickling on, every stoppage being overcome by a shake or a tap or two, till at last, no matter how the door was rapped, no more would go down.“Doesn’t matter; there’s plenty,” said the young man, quietly, thrusting in a piece of ready prepared slow match, which hung down the front of the door and half a yard over the floor, where the powder sprinkled about was carefully dusted away.Then by means of a wedge some scraps of rag were driven in tightly to fill up the key-hole, and the young man rose up.“There we are, old chap,” he said. “All we’ve got to do is to open the lantern, touch the end of that slow match in the light, let it go down—stop a minute, let’s blow away a little more of the powder—then there’ll be plenty of time to shut and lock the door, wait for the blow-out of the lock, and go in after and pick up the best pieces, fill our Gladstones as we like and be off.”He went down on his knees, and, trembling violently, Roach held up the lantern, as he stood quiet outside now.“Here! How am I to see?” cried his companion, angrily.“But it isn’t safe to bring a light near the powder.”“Bosh! How can a light behind glass do any harm? Come closer, I mustn’t leave any powder near the slow match. That’s better; I can see now, and—Ah! take care.”For all at once the butler fell over him with a crash, the lantern struck against the opposite wall and came open, the lamp portion falling out and firing some of the scattered powder, while at the same moment the lobby door was banged to, shut, and they heard the shooting of the lock.
The key the men possessed admitted them at once and the other portmanteau was opened, ready for use—a use which soon became plain.
“Think it’ll be all right this time?” said Roach, who was in an intense state of excitement.
“Dunno till I try,” was the reply. “Light up and look sharp.”
Roach turned to the second portmanteau, which stood inside the door, and took out a dark lantern. Then striking a match, he lit it, and in obedience to a word from his young companion, he held up the cover of the iron door key-hole with one hand, and directed the full glare of the bull’s-eye on the opening with the other.
Arthur had not been idle. Hastily doubling his overcoat, he made of it a pad to kneel upon, and then taking a bright new key from out of a piece of tissue paper, he began to try if it would fit.
“All right,” he whispered, “it goes splendidly.”
“Well done,” panted Roach. “But be quick.”
“Quick be blowed! Don’t you be so jolly nervous; there’s no one to interrupt us now.”
“Well, turn the key.”
“Won’t turn—sticks. Oil.”
Roach handed a little oil tin from the portmanteau, the key was withdrawn and lubricated and once more thrust in, to evidently act upon a part of the mechanism of the great lock, but that was all.
“Bah!” ejaculated Arthur. “I know the beggar. It’s one of that sort you see at the safe shops. When you turn the key you shoot bolts, top, bottom and both sides. It nearly does. He made it quite to the wax pattern, and it only wants a touch or two. Here, give us the file.”
“Stop a minute.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I want to see if old Mrs Barron’s safe.”
“Look alive then. No, no; give me the file first.”
The tool was handed and the active young fellow held the key close to the light and began filing away where it seemed to him the wards of the key wanted opening; and he was still busy when Roach returned. “She’s all right,” he panted, his breath coming short as if he had been running.
“Oh yes, she won’t get clear of those knots—an old cat!—I know. You take it easy, old man; we’re as safe as safe.”
“But suppose the guv’nors come back from Paris, my dear boy?”
“Won’t be back for a fortnight. You know as well as I do. Lor’ ’a’ mussy! on’y think of our taking up a game like this, old man!”
“It’s awful—it’s awful, Orthur.”
“Yah! we can’t help it. How were we to know that everything we backed would go wrong and leave us in such a hole?” said Arthur, as he filed away.
“But it seems like burglary,” whispered the butler.
“Burglary be blowed! Look here, if you’re going to whine I shall cut it, and my stick too, and you may face it out with the guv’nors. What are you going to say when they ask after that gold centre-piece, and the rest of the plate you’ve lent my uncle?”
“We’ve lent my uncle!” said the butler, reproachfully.
“Oh, well, we then. I’m ready to take my share. It was their fault, and we’re driven to this to get money to take out all you’ve pledged.”
“We’ve pledged.”
“We be hanged! You did the pledging, but I don’t want to back out of it. I’m going to stand by you. Only, you see, circumstances are against us, old man. We meant to come quietly and get enough out of here to square us and make us able to make a fresh start on our own hook—I’m sick of their tips—but as soon as we come to do it quietly, meaning to sleep here for the night, that old cat cuts up rough, and we have to quiet her. Consequence is, old man, we’ve got to go the whole thing and make ourselves rich men all at once. Don’t matter. Just as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, so I mean to make it two sheep if I can—two sheep a-piece, old chap. There, that ought to do it now.”
He ceased filing and applied the key again, to find that he could turn it a little more.
“Almost,” he said. “Oil again.”
But the fresh oil sent it no farther, and the butler wiped his dripping brow and ejaculated—
“Tut-tut-tut-tut!”
“Look here, old chap, if you can do it better come and try yourself,” cried Arthur in an ill-used tone.
“No, no, my dear boy, I can’t. You are cleverer at such things than I am, but it’s such fidgeting work to stand here holding the light and doing nothing.”
“Never mind, it’s worth it,” said Arthur, laughing. “Think of the pearls and diamonds in here, old fellow. Now for another try. We shall be as rich as Rothschilds when we’ve done, and across the water before they can put a hand upon us. Bah! Blister the key! It’s as near as near. But I’ll do it, if I try till to-morrow morning. Here, go and see how the old girl’s getting on. Got your keys?”
“Yes, my boy, but they are no good for this.”
“Pah! who said they were? They’re good for a bottle of wine, though, ain’t they?”
“Oh yes—yes!”
“Then bring one with the cork out, and never mind a glass; and don’t stop to decant it, old chap, for I want a drink horrid bad. This is warm work.”
The butler went away on tip-toe. As he walked along the passage he heard the sharp grating of the file, and shivered with dread. But upon reaching the pantry he felt relieved, for the housekeeper seemed to be asleep.
Not content with this, Roach went up to the hall and listened. But all was perfectly still in the great solemn mansion, and he went down again, to be conscious of the scrap, scrap of the file, before he reached the pantry, where the old lady still lay unmoved.
Hastily getting a bottle of wine from the cupboard, and uncorking it, he went back, to find Arthur still filing away.
“Oh, there you are then,” he grumbled. “I was just a-coming to see if you were finishing the bottle all to your own cheek. Here, give us hold.”
He took a deep draught, and recommenced filing with renewed vigour for some minutes.
“Now,” he said, “this is the last time of trying. If it won’t do it we must do the other thing.”
He tried the key, and it turned half-way, but it was forced upon them that there was something wanting. The key did not touch some portion of the ingeniously-made lock, and the young man thrust it in his pocket.
“Better have tried the hammering at first,” he said.
“No, no! The noise,” cried Roach.
“Bah! Who’s going to take any notice of a bit of knocking?” said the young man, contemptuously. “The sound can’t reach them there.”
“But suppose a policeman heard it as he passed?”
“Well, he’d hear it and say to himself, ‘They’ve got the workpeople in.’”
“But—”
“Oh, blow your buts, old man! Did the police come to see what was the matter when the men took out the kitchener and put in a new one?”
“No, but—”
“But you’re in a stew. That’s what’s the matter. Give us hold. Thinnest wedge, and the hammer, and you hold the light. That piece of leather will stop the sound.”
The butler sighed, but obeyed his companion, handing him a steel wedge with an edge as fine as the blade of a knife. Then he held the light close while his companion gently tapped it in between the door and frame.
Another followed, and another—quite a dozen, of increasing sizes, having been brought; and the leather-covered hammer deadened the sound greatly, while the crack grew larger, and it seemed pretty certain that the steel wedges would sooner or later force open the door.
“See this?” said the operator, triumphantly.
“Oh yes, I see, but I’m in a bath o’ perspiration.”
“With doing nothing but hold a candle!” said Arthur, with a chuckle, as he drove in another wedge as far as it would go and released two more thinner ones. “Now I’m going to have a moment’s rest and a drink while you go and see how dear old Mrs Barron is. Whistle if you want help.”
The butler went off, and the young man drank and examined the progress he had made, and he was still examining so as to find where he could drive in the next wedge with the most effect when the butler came back.
“She hasn’t stirred,” he said.
“She can’t,” said his companion, with a laugh, and he began tapping again vigorously, but at the end of half a dozen strokes, as his hammer was poised to deliver another, there was a dull clang, and the young fellow leaped back.
“Hear that?” he said in a whisper full of triumph.
“Yes, it was like the banging to of another iron door.”
“Banging to of an iron grandmother!” cried Arthur, contemptuously; “it’s the whole front splitting away, and another wedge in will fetch it right off.”
“I hope so,” said Roach, piteously. “Do you think it will take much longer?”
“I don’t care if it takes two days,” said the other, coolly. “Don’t matter so long as we get the door open.”
Roach sighed.
“There, hold the light, and don’t do that. You are a cheerful mate, ’pon my sivvy. Here goes.”
The speaker began again, keeping a sharp lookout, so as to spring back and not be crushed by the falling door; and to this end he made Roach stand in the entrance and direct the light from there, giving him plenty of room. But the door did not fall, and at the end of an hour the hammer was thrown down.
“It’s no go.”
“Do you give it up?” cried Roach, eagerly.
“No, I don’t give it up, but I’m not going to work all the flesh off my bones when one stroke will do the work.”
“What! The powder?”
“That’s it, old chap. Go and see how the old woman is.”
Roach sighed, and went away, to return shivering.
“She looks horrible,” he whispered; “but you mustn’t think of powder, my lad. You’ll bring the people in from both sides to see what’s the matter.”
“Won’t make noise enough for that, and I sha’n’t use enough,” said Arthur, coolly. “Don’t talk. That door’s got to come open, and I wish I’d tried this plan at first.”
“But it’s too dangerous.”
“No, it isn’t. You keep quiet, and make that light shine well on the key-hole.”
As he spoke the young man took a pound canister of fine gun-powder from the portmanteau pushing the latter afterwards outside into the passage. Then with a small funnel, also provided in the portmanteau, and fitted with a curved piece of pipe, to fill the interior of the lock with the fine black dust, which ran away down the funnel and pipe as easily as sand from one side to another of an hour-glass.
“This is the way,” said Arthur, eagerly. “I shall get pretty well half a pound in.”
It seemed quite probable, for the powder ran trickling on, every stoppage being overcome by a shake or a tap or two, till at last, no matter how the door was rapped, no more would go down.
“Doesn’t matter; there’s plenty,” said the young man, quietly, thrusting in a piece of ready prepared slow match, which hung down the front of the door and half a yard over the floor, where the powder sprinkled about was carefully dusted away.
Then by means of a wedge some scraps of rag were driven in tightly to fill up the key-hole, and the young man rose up.
“There we are, old chap,” he said. “All we’ve got to do is to open the lantern, touch the end of that slow match in the light, let it go down—stop a minute, let’s blow away a little more of the powder—then there’ll be plenty of time to shut and lock the door, wait for the blow-out of the lock, and go in after and pick up the best pieces, fill our Gladstones as we like and be off.”
He went down on his knees, and, trembling violently, Roach held up the lantern, as he stood quiet outside now.
“Here! How am I to see?” cried his companion, angrily.
“But it isn’t safe to bring a light near the powder.”
“Bosh! How can a light behind glass do any harm? Come closer, I mustn’t leave any powder near the slow match. That’s better; I can see now, and—Ah! take care.”
For all at once the butler fell over him with a crash, the lantern struck against the opposite wall and came open, the lamp portion falling out and firing some of the scattered powder, while at the same moment the lobby door was banged to, shut, and they heard the shooting of the lock.
Chapter Twenty Five.The Collector Wakes Up.Professor Westcott, next door, had another consignment that morning. The London and North Western Railway Company’s men called with their van and a way-bill to deliver two chests from Birmingham, weighing over two hundredweight each, both strongly screwed up and roped, and a smaller line round them, carefully-sealed:—“Books; with great care. To be kept dry.”There were two men with the van, and a boy, the former making very light of the heavy chests as they lifted them off the tail-board of the vehicle, while the professor stood blinking on the steps in his big spectacles, his grey hair hanging down long from beneath a black velvet skull-cap, and his rusty dressing-gown, tied on anyhow, reaching nearly to his heels.“Rum old owl, Joe,” said one of the men. “This makes six chesties I’ve delivered since Christmas.”“Books?” said the other. “Yes, books. The old buffer’s got his house chock-full of ’em from top to bottom, I should say. You’ll see when we get in; he’ll ask us to carry ’em downstairs.”“All right, mate; I don’t mind if its anywheres near the beer cellar.”“Well, it ain’t, Tom, and so I tell you. I’ve delivered boxes o’ books to him for years now, and I never see a glass o’ ale yet.”“Stingy old hunks! I say, we ain’t ’bliged to carry ’em farther then the front door. That’s delivering.”“Yes, that’s delivering, mate, but you’re allus in such a hurry. I was going to say you get no beer, but he’ll be as civil as treacle, and stand rubbing his hands and telling yer to mind and not break the glass in the book-cases as you passes; and when you’ve done he twinkles at you through them Chinee-looking specs of his, and crooks his finger, and beckons you to follow him into the front room, as is full of books. Then he brings out a little glass and a bottle of the most heavenly old sperrets you ever tasted. Tlat! I can taste it yet. Talk about cordial—why, it’s enough to make you say you’ll never have a glass in a pub. again.”“Well, lay hold,” said Tom, sharply; “look alive! Can’t you see the gentleman’s a-waiting?”The head van-man chuckled, and together they lifted in chest Number 1, the professor smiling and looking deeply interested.“On the mat, if you please,” he said, “and when you have carried in the other, I should be very much obliged if you would take them both downstairs, where I can open them without making a mess.”“Suttunly, sir,” said Tom, and they set down Number 1 and went after Number 2, upon which the boy sat, drumming the side with his heels.“Right, Tommy?”“Right you are, mate.” And the men went on with their task muttering—“Don’t see how it would make a mess if they were opened in the front passage. Long time since there’s been a broom there.”“See the spiders too?”“No, but I saw the webs.”“But what does he do with all these books? He can’t read ’em all.”“Collects ’em, I should say. Steady! Got it?”“Right!” and the second chest was carried in. “One moment while I shut the door,” said the professor, rubbing his hands; “then I’ll show you the way. Now then, please; mind the book-cases as you pass. It is rather dark. Very heavy, I suppose?”“Oh, tidy, sir. Nothing to signify. Books is heavy things.”“Yes, very heavy, my good man. That’s right, through this door, and down these stone stairs. I’m afraid you find it very heavy.”“Oh, we’re all right, sir. Used to it,” grunted Tom. “We’re always lifting things in or out; but we has a good rest between, sir, and rides about in the company’s carriage.”“Down there, please, under that window, where I can see to unpack them. Thank you.”The two men went up the stone staircase again, noting the empty chests and book-cases with which the walls were lined, and above all the dust of years collected thickly. Then the second chest was carried down, and the quaint-looking old gentleman smiled and made his round-glassed spectacles twinkle as they reached the hall.“I must sign the paper and pay you, my men,” he said; and then in a drily comical way he crooked his right index finger, and beckoned to them to follow him into the gloomy book-lined dining-room, where he signed the delivery book, paid the carriage, and then took a bottle from a cellarette and a glass from a closet under a book-case, and poured out for the men, while they tossed off the rich spirit in turn.“That’s prime, sir,” said the first man.“’Eavenly,” sighed Tom.“Old and good, my men. I’m glad you like it. It’s soft and mellow, and will not hurt you. Have another glass?”“Hurt yer, sir!” said the second man, with a sigh; “that stuff wouldn’t hurt a babby.”It did not hurt him when it came to his turn. To use his own figurative way of speaking, he only made one bite at it, and then glanced at the black bottle as if it were a little idol which ought to be worshipped, before following his leader out into the hall, the old professor closing the door after them and immediately after, drawing himself up straight, taking off his goggle glasses and thrusting them into his pocket, looking now a keen-eyed, elderly man, with the sharp, yellow-tinged face of a New Englander.Going back with a firm step into the dining-room, and with the weak old stooping manner entirely wanting, he took a fresh glass from the closet, filled it and tossed off the contents.“Hah! yes, that is a good glass of brandy,” he muttered; and taking a cigar from the same receptacle he lit up and began to smoke, as he seated himself at a table, drew forward a blotter, and spent some time reading and writing letters, before throwing himself upon an old well-worn couch and going off into sleep which lasted a couple of hours.He woke and in the most business-like way went downstairs into the basement, where from a cupboard he took a large screw-driver, walked to the chests, cut the ropes, and carefully examined the seals attached to the lesser cords before disturbing them. Then, apparently satisfied, he cut these in turn, and began to take out the screws from the lid of the first chest.He had reached the last screw when he suddenly stopped short and stood listening. The next minute he had walked to the end of the passage, to stand listening again, till apparently satisfied, he went into a dark corner and pulled at a knob as if ringing a bell. Then he went sharply back to the chests, laid down the screw-driver, and hurried up the stairs to the dining-room with all the activity of a man of forty.Here he went to a book-case and took down an ancient-looking massive tome, laid it upon the table, lifted the cover, and showed that it was only an imitation book, the cover proving to be the lid of a box in which lay a mahogany case, from which he drew out a small revolver, and after examining its six chambers to see if they were loaded, he carefully concealed it in the breast of the vest he wore beneath the old dressing-gown.Then the spectacles were resumed, and the slow, stooping, aged aspect came over him, as he went into the hall, threw off his dressing-gown and took an old-fashioned coat from a peg, donned it, and then completed his old-world aspect with a quaint broad-brimmed hat.He looked the most peaceable of elderly gentlemen as he took a baggy umbrella from the stand, went out, closed the door after him, walked slowly along by the area railings for a few steps, and then turned up the steps to the Clareboroughs’ door, passing into the hall so quickly that it seemed as if the door was opened from the inside, though anyone who had watched would have seen that there was a very quick, clever application of a latch-key.His movements now were slow, deliberate and silent. He laid down umbrella and hat upon a table, and, apparently quite at home, went from room to room on the ground floor before ascending to the drawing-rooms; but finding no one, he went a floor higher and then descended to the hall, where from the top of the stairs he stood listening to the hammering going on below.For some time he seemed undecided how to act, but at last he was in the act of descending, when steps below made him retreat, and he stepped back, listening, and hearing Roach go into the pantry. The next minute the man began to ascend, and as actively as a cat, and with as silent a step, the professor ran to the foot of the grand staircase and bounded up to the drawing-room floor, ensconced himself behind a heavy curtain which draped one of the doors, and made out that whoever it was reached the hall and went into dining-room, library, study, lobby and morning-room, before he went back to the stairs and descended once more to the basement.The professor was after him directly, and at the head of the stairs in time to hear Roach come out of the pantry again, and the chink of a glass against a bottle.He descended the gloomy stairs by slow degrees, listening the while to the work going on, and hearing the sound of tools, the whisperings, and after a long period of waiting and another forced retreat when Roach went again to the pantry to make sure the housekeeper was safe, he finally stood thinking.“Someone who knows the place well,” he said to himself. “Quite at home. Where can the old woman be? They can’t have killed her.”He raised one hand quickly to his breast, as the thought sent a thrill through him, and taking advantage of a busy time when tools clinked and voices whispering were heard, he stole right down, stepped cautiously along the passage, and then darted into the first open doorway, for there was an impatient utterance from somewhere ahead, and he felt that he was on the point of being discovered. But the work went on again, and he glanced round, found that he was in the butler’s pantry, and saw at the same instant more—the tightly-bound woman upon the table.He was at her side in an instant, and as he bent over her the wild eyes were opened and gazed intently in his.There was no occasion for him to raise his finger to his lips, for the old housekeeper, as the tapping went on, gave him a meaning look and jerked her head side-wise, before lying perfectly still again.The professor nodded sharply, tapped his breast, and then drew a pen-knife from his pocket, with whose keen blade he quickly divided the rope which bound hands and feet. Then, pressing his finger to his lips once more, he went silently out of the pantry, followed by the housekeeper’s eyes, as breathing hard she watched him and then lay perfectly still with her face contracted by pain and dread, waiting for the dénouement.It was long in coming, for the professor’s movements were slow and cautious in the extreme. But there was to be no more retreat. He did not know who were there for some time, but he was ready to meet the enemy, whoever it might be.At last he was in a position from which he could peer round the angle where the passage turned sharply, and as he gazed into the lobby a few yards off, where Roach directed the light of the bull’s-eye lantern with quivering hand, his own trembled and the revolver he held shook when it was raised again and again to take aim.At last a grim smile of satisfaction tightened his lips into a line, for he saw his opportunity.In the very nick of time, after stealing close up, he threw himself forward, and with one heavy thrust drove the butler forward over his companion, banged to the door and locked it, bringing out the key, before he retreated and turned the corner to listen for the explosion which did not come.“Light went out, I suppose,” he muttered. “Pity too. Pleasanter for others, and it would have been accidental.”He thrust back the revolver, placed the key in his pocket, and without stopping hurried into the pantry.“Got them—safe,” he said, and ran upstairs to the handsome library, where he unlocked a cabinet, touched a button and waited for a minute, before a little weird voice answered—“Who is it?”He gave his number to the questioner, and asked to be switched on to X987654321.In a few minutes, in obedience to the modern magic of the telephone, there came another signal and question and satisfactory proof of identity, before the professor said sharply—“Krakatoa. Come quick.”“Hah!” sighed the operator, as he closed the little cabinet; “now for the old lady. Is the danger scotched or killed?”He hurried down to the pantry, to find that the housekeeper had not moved; and as soon as he reached her side, he took her in his arms, while hers feebly clasped his neck.“My poor old darling!” he whispered tenderly. “In much pain?”“A good deal. My ankles are numbed. Is there any danger now?”“Not for us, I think,” he said grimly. “There, hold still, and I’ll carry you up to the library;” and lifting her from the table as easily as if she had been a mere girl, he bore her up the stairs and laid her upon a couch, kneeling afterwards by her side to chafe her ankles and wrists in turn, while she told him all that he did not know.“What will you do now?” she said anxiously at last.“Go on chafing my poor old darling’s ankles,” he said quietly.“No, no; you know what I mean—those two men.”“Did anyone see them come, dear?”“Not that I am aware of,” she replied.“Humph!”“Well, you do not speak.”“Why should I? It is not your business—not entirely mine. We must see what they say.”“You have sent for them?”“Of course; directly. It is a vital question.”“For us?”“For them, I fear.”The old woman shuddered.“Why that?” he said quietly. “Ought we to sympathise so much with burglars who stand at nothing?”“But it is so horrible,” she whispered.“It would be as horrible for us,” he said sharply; “and we are of more consequence than they.”“But surely they will not—”“Kill them? Possibly. Something must be done to silence them. It is their own doing, the scoundrels! We cannot go to the wall.”The old woman closed her eyes and sighed.“God help us!” she said softly. “Harry, I am getting very weary of my life now; it is so near the end.”“Hush!” said the professor, gently. “There are things which you ought not to see or know. You are weak from the shock and injuries you have received.”“But listen, dear.”“My dear old wifie,” he said tenderly, “it is of no use to look in that imploring way at me. You know what Jem is, and I am too old now to set myself in antagonism with him. There, be at rest; I will do all I can. Don’t think me so bloodthirsty as to desire their end. Still, so many interests are at stake. It is a case of burglar against housekeeper. The scoundrels came armed.”“Armed?”“Yes, I saw a revolver in the trunk with their burgling tools. If I had come upon them suddenly, and they had had time, they would have fired at me.”“Oh, surely not!”“Humph! You are a woman, my dear, with a woman’s gentle heart, ready to defend and palliate. After the way in which I found you, I do not feel so merciful. Let me ask you one question; If there was nothing to fear from them, why did they come armed?”The old housekeeper made no reply, but lay back upon the couch weak and trembling, while the professor slowly paced the room, till she opened her eyes wildly, and signed to him to come to her side.“I am more upset than I thought for,” she said feebly. “Help me up to my room; I think I can walk now.”The professor’s brow lightened, for it was a relief to him to hear the old woman’s words; but she noted the change and sighed as she rose painfully.“You will wait until they come?” she said, trembling at the thought of that which she dreaded.“Need you ask?” said the professor, gravely. “Come, you will be better after lying down for a few hours. Try to forget everything in the remembrance that I am doing all for you that I can.”“Yes, Harry,” she said softly; “I have never had cause to complain of your want of love for me in these forty years; but for my sake, dear, let there be no more crime.”“For your sake I will do everything I can,” said the professor, gravely, as he bent down and kissed her while leading her to the door and then slowly up to a bedroom on the third floor, where he left her at the end of a few minutes, apparently sinking into a doze.As he stole out softly he silently removed the key, replaced it on the other side, and locked her in, before descending quickly to the hall, where he stood listening for a few minutes, and then went down into the basement and stepped softly forward to listen at the outer door of the plate vault.A faint muttering of voices could be heard as he placed his ear to the key-hole, but all else was still; there was no sound of an effort being made to escape, and he went back to the hall, where he took out and re-examined his revolver.“I wonder,” he said to himself, “whether a shot or two could be heard in the street. Pish! Absurd! No one heard the reports when poor Bob went down. Ah, here they are. They haven’t been long.”For there was a faint rattle of a latch-key in the door, and Robert Clareborough entered, in company with the brothers, the former looking excited and anxious, the two latter stern and as if prepared for the worst.
Professor Westcott, next door, had another consignment that morning. The London and North Western Railway Company’s men called with their van and a way-bill to deliver two chests from Birmingham, weighing over two hundredweight each, both strongly screwed up and roped, and a smaller line round them, carefully-sealed:—“Books; with great care. To be kept dry.”
There were two men with the van, and a boy, the former making very light of the heavy chests as they lifted them off the tail-board of the vehicle, while the professor stood blinking on the steps in his big spectacles, his grey hair hanging down long from beneath a black velvet skull-cap, and his rusty dressing-gown, tied on anyhow, reaching nearly to his heels.
“Rum old owl, Joe,” said one of the men. “This makes six chesties I’ve delivered since Christmas.”
“Books?” said the other. “Yes, books. The old buffer’s got his house chock-full of ’em from top to bottom, I should say. You’ll see when we get in; he’ll ask us to carry ’em downstairs.”
“All right, mate; I don’t mind if its anywheres near the beer cellar.”
“Well, it ain’t, Tom, and so I tell you. I’ve delivered boxes o’ books to him for years now, and I never see a glass o’ ale yet.”
“Stingy old hunks! I say, we ain’t ’bliged to carry ’em farther then the front door. That’s delivering.”
“Yes, that’s delivering, mate, but you’re allus in such a hurry. I was going to say you get no beer, but he’ll be as civil as treacle, and stand rubbing his hands and telling yer to mind and not break the glass in the book-cases as you passes; and when you’ve done he twinkles at you through them Chinee-looking specs of his, and crooks his finger, and beckons you to follow him into the front room, as is full of books. Then he brings out a little glass and a bottle of the most heavenly old sperrets you ever tasted. Tlat! I can taste it yet. Talk about cordial—why, it’s enough to make you say you’ll never have a glass in a pub. again.”
“Well, lay hold,” said Tom, sharply; “look alive! Can’t you see the gentleman’s a-waiting?”
The head van-man chuckled, and together they lifted in chest Number 1, the professor smiling and looking deeply interested.
“On the mat, if you please,” he said, “and when you have carried in the other, I should be very much obliged if you would take them both downstairs, where I can open them without making a mess.”
“Suttunly, sir,” said Tom, and they set down Number 1 and went after Number 2, upon which the boy sat, drumming the side with his heels.
“Right, Tommy?”
“Right you are, mate.” And the men went on with their task muttering—
“Don’t see how it would make a mess if they were opened in the front passage. Long time since there’s been a broom there.”
“See the spiders too?”
“No, but I saw the webs.”
“But what does he do with all these books? He can’t read ’em all.”
“Collects ’em, I should say. Steady! Got it?”
“Right!” and the second chest was carried in. “One moment while I shut the door,” said the professor, rubbing his hands; “then I’ll show you the way. Now then, please; mind the book-cases as you pass. It is rather dark. Very heavy, I suppose?”
“Oh, tidy, sir. Nothing to signify. Books is heavy things.”
“Yes, very heavy, my good man. That’s right, through this door, and down these stone stairs. I’m afraid you find it very heavy.”
“Oh, we’re all right, sir. Used to it,” grunted Tom. “We’re always lifting things in or out; but we has a good rest between, sir, and rides about in the company’s carriage.”
“Down there, please, under that window, where I can see to unpack them. Thank you.”
The two men went up the stone staircase again, noting the empty chests and book-cases with which the walls were lined, and above all the dust of years collected thickly. Then the second chest was carried down, and the quaint-looking old gentleman smiled and made his round-glassed spectacles twinkle as they reached the hall.
“I must sign the paper and pay you, my men,” he said; and then in a drily comical way he crooked his right index finger, and beckoned to them to follow him into the gloomy book-lined dining-room, where he signed the delivery book, paid the carriage, and then took a bottle from a cellarette and a glass from a closet under a book-case, and poured out for the men, while they tossed off the rich spirit in turn.
“That’s prime, sir,” said the first man.
“’Eavenly,” sighed Tom.
“Old and good, my men. I’m glad you like it. It’s soft and mellow, and will not hurt you. Have another glass?”
“Hurt yer, sir!” said the second man, with a sigh; “that stuff wouldn’t hurt a babby.”
It did not hurt him when it came to his turn. To use his own figurative way of speaking, he only made one bite at it, and then glanced at the black bottle as if it were a little idol which ought to be worshipped, before following his leader out into the hall, the old professor closing the door after them and immediately after, drawing himself up straight, taking off his goggle glasses and thrusting them into his pocket, looking now a keen-eyed, elderly man, with the sharp, yellow-tinged face of a New Englander.
Going back with a firm step into the dining-room, and with the weak old stooping manner entirely wanting, he took a fresh glass from the closet, filled it and tossed off the contents.
“Hah! yes, that is a good glass of brandy,” he muttered; and taking a cigar from the same receptacle he lit up and began to smoke, as he seated himself at a table, drew forward a blotter, and spent some time reading and writing letters, before throwing himself upon an old well-worn couch and going off into sleep which lasted a couple of hours.
He woke and in the most business-like way went downstairs into the basement, where from a cupboard he took a large screw-driver, walked to the chests, cut the ropes, and carefully examined the seals attached to the lesser cords before disturbing them. Then, apparently satisfied, he cut these in turn, and began to take out the screws from the lid of the first chest.
He had reached the last screw when he suddenly stopped short and stood listening. The next minute he had walked to the end of the passage, to stand listening again, till apparently satisfied, he went into a dark corner and pulled at a knob as if ringing a bell. Then he went sharply back to the chests, laid down the screw-driver, and hurried up the stairs to the dining-room with all the activity of a man of forty.
Here he went to a book-case and took down an ancient-looking massive tome, laid it upon the table, lifted the cover, and showed that it was only an imitation book, the cover proving to be the lid of a box in which lay a mahogany case, from which he drew out a small revolver, and after examining its six chambers to see if they were loaded, he carefully concealed it in the breast of the vest he wore beneath the old dressing-gown.
Then the spectacles were resumed, and the slow, stooping, aged aspect came over him, as he went into the hall, threw off his dressing-gown and took an old-fashioned coat from a peg, donned it, and then completed his old-world aspect with a quaint broad-brimmed hat.
He looked the most peaceable of elderly gentlemen as he took a baggy umbrella from the stand, went out, closed the door after him, walked slowly along by the area railings for a few steps, and then turned up the steps to the Clareboroughs’ door, passing into the hall so quickly that it seemed as if the door was opened from the inside, though anyone who had watched would have seen that there was a very quick, clever application of a latch-key.
His movements now were slow, deliberate and silent. He laid down umbrella and hat upon a table, and, apparently quite at home, went from room to room on the ground floor before ascending to the drawing-rooms; but finding no one, he went a floor higher and then descended to the hall, where from the top of the stairs he stood listening to the hammering going on below.
For some time he seemed undecided how to act, but at last he was in the act of descending, when steps below made him retreat, and he stepped back, listening, and hearing Roach go into the pantry. The next minute the man began to ascend, and as actively as a cat, and with as silent a step, the professor ran to the foot of the grand staircase and bounded up to the drawing-room floor, ensconced himself behind a heavy curtain which draped one of the doors, and made out that whoever it was reached the hall and went into dining-room, library, study, lobby and morning-room, before he went back to the stairs and descended once more to the basement.
The professor was after him directly, and at the head of the stairs in time to hear Roach come out of the pantry again, and the chink of a glass against a bottle.
He descended the gloomy stairs by slow degrees, listening the while to the work going on, and hearing the sound of tools, the whisperings, and after a long period of waiting and another forced retreat when Roach went again to the pantry to make sure the housekeeper was safe, he finally stood thinking.
“Someone who knows the place well,” he said to himself. “Quite at home. Where can the old woman be? They can’t have killed her.”
He raised one hand quickly to his breast, as the thought sent a thrill through him, and taking advantage of a busy time when tools clinked and voices whispering were heard, he stole right down, stepped cautiously along the passage, and then darted into the first open doorway, for there was an impatient utterance from somewhere ahead, and he felt that he was on the point of being discovered. But the work went on again, and he glanced round, found that he was in the butler’s pantry, and saw at the same instant more—the tightly-bound woman upon the table.
He was at her side in an instant, and as he bent over her the wild eyes were opened and gazed intently in his.
There was no occasion for him to raise his finger to his lips, for the old housekeeper, as the tapping went on, gave him a meaning look and jerked her head side-wise, before lying perfectly still again.
The professor nodded sharply, tapped his breast, and then drew a pen-knife from his pocket, with whose keen blade he quickly divided the rope which bound hands and feet. Then, pressing his finger to his lips once more, he went silently out of the pantry, followed by the housekeeper’s eyes, as breathing hard she watched him and then lay perfectly still with her face contracted by pain and dread, waiting for the dénouement.
It was long in coming, for the professor’s movements were slow and cautious in the extreme. But there was to be no more retreat. He did not know who were there for some time, but he was ready to meet the enemy, whoever it might be.
At last he was in a position from which he could peer round the angle where the passage turned sharply, and as he gazed into the lobby a few yards off, where Roach directed the light of the bull’s-eye lantern with quivering hand, his own trembled and the revolver he held shook when it was raised again and again to take aim.
At last a grim smile of satisfaction tightened his lips into a line, for he saw his opportunity.
In the very nick of time, after stealing close up, he threw himself forward, and with one heavy thrust drove the butler forward over his companion, banged to the door and locked it, bringing out the key, before he retreated and turned the corner to listen for the explosion which did not come.
“Light went out, I suppose,” he muttered. “Pity too. Pleasanter for others, and it would have been accidental.”
He thrust back the revolver, placed the key in his pocket, and without stopping hurried into the pantry.
“Got them—safe,” he said, and ran upstairs to the handsome library, where he unlocked a cabinet, touched a button and waited for a minute, before a little weird voice answered—
“Who is it?”
He gave his number to the questioner, and asked to be switched on to X987654321.
In a few minutes, in obedience to the modern magic of the telephone, there came another signal and question and satisfactory proof of identity, before the professor said sharply—
“Krakatoa. Come quick.”
“Hah!” sighed the operator, as he closed the little cabinet; “now for the old lady. Is the danger scotched or killed?”
He hurried down to the pantry, to find that the housekeeper had not moved; and as soon as he reached her side, he took her in his arms, while hers feebly clasped his neck.
“My poor old darling!” he whispered tenderly. “In much pain?”
“A good deal. My ankles are numbed. Is there any danger now?”
“Not for us, I think,” he said grimly. “There, hold still, and I’ll carry you up to the library;” and lifting her from the table as easily as if she had been a mere girl, he bore her up the stairs and laid her upon a couch, kneeling afterwards by her side to chafe her ankles and wrists in turn, while she told him all that he did not know.
“What will you do now?” she said anxiously at last.
“Go on chafing my poor old darling’s ankles,” he said quietly.
“No, no; you know what I mean—those two men.”
“Did anyone see them come, dear?”
“Not that I am aware of,” she replied.
“Humph!”
“Well, you do not speak.”
“Why should I? It is not your business—not entirely mine. We must see what they say.”
“You have sent for them?”
“Of course; directly. It is a vital question.”
“For us?”
“For them, I fear.”
The old woman shuddered.
“Why that?” he said quietly. “Ought we to sympathise so much with burglars who stand at nothing?”
“But it is so horrible,” she whispered.
“It would be as horrible for us,” he said sharply; “and we are of more consequence than they.”
“But surely they will not—”
“Kill them? Possibly. Something must be done to silence them. It is their own doing, the scoundrels! We cannot go to the wall.”
The old woman closed her eyes and sighed.
“God help us!” she said softly. “Harry, I am getting very weary of my life now; it is so near the end.”
“Hush!” said the professor, gently. “There are things which you ought not to see or know. You are weak from the shock and injuries you have received.”
“But listen, dear.”
“My dear old wifie,” he said tenderly, “it is of no use to look in that imploring way at me. You know what Jem is, and I am too old now to set myself in antagonism with him. There, be at rest; I will do all I can. Don’t think me so bloodthirsty as to desire their end. Still, so many interests are at stake. It is a case of burglar against housekeeper. The scoundrels came armed.”
“Armed?”
“Yes, I saw a revolver in the trunk with their burgling tools. If I had come upon them suddenly, and they had had time, they would have fired at me.”
“Oh, surely not!”
“Humph! You are a woman, my dear, with a woman’s gentle heart, ready to defend and palliate. After the way in which I found you, I do not feel so merciful. Let me ask you one question; If there was nothing to fear from them, why did they come armed?”
The old housekeeper made no reply, but lay back upon the couch weak and trembling, while the professor slowly paced the room, till she opened her eyes wildly, and signed to him to come to her side.
“I am more upset than I thought for,” she said feebly. “Help me up to my room; I think I can walk now.”
The professor’s brow lightened, for it was a relief to him to hear the old woman’s words; but she noted the change and sighed as she rose painfully.
“You will wait until they come?” she said, trembling at the thought of that which she dreaded.
“Need you ask?” said the professor, gravely. “Come, you will be better after lying down for a few hours. Try to forget everything in the remembrance that I am doing all for you that I can.”
“Yes, Harry,” she said softly; “I have never had cause to complain of your want of love for me in these forty years; but for my sake, dear, let there be no more crime.”
“For your sake I will do everything I can,” said the professor, gravely, as he bent down and kissed her while leading her to the door and then slowly up to a bedroom on the third floor, where he left her at the end of a few minutes, apparently sinking into a doze.
As he stole out softly he silently removed the key, replaced it on the other side, and locked her in, before descending quickly to the hall, where he stood listening for a few minutes, and then went down into the basement and stepped softly forward to listen at the outer door of the plate vault.
A faint muttering of voices could be heard as he placed his ear to the key-hole, but all else was still; there was no sound of an effort being made to escape, and he went back to the hall, where he took out and re-examined his revolver.
“I wonder,” he said to himself, “whether a shot or two could be heard in the street. Pish! Absurd! No one heard the reports when poor Bob went down. Ah, here they are. They haven’t been long.”
For there was a faint rattle of a latch-key in the door, and Robert Clareborough entered, in company with the brothers, the former looking excited and anxious, the two latter stern and as if prepared for the worst.