Chapter 8
I
That Buck MacGinnis was not the man to let the grass grow underhis feet in a situation like the present one, I would havegathered from White's remarks if I had not already done so frompersonal observation. The world is divided into dreamers and menof action. From what little I had seen of him I placed BuckMacGinnis in the latter class. Every day I expected him to act,and was agreeably surprised as each twenty-four hours passed andleft me still unfixed. But I knew the hour would come, and it did.
I looked for frontal attack from Buck, not subtlety; but, when theattack came, it was so excessively frontal that my chief emotionwas a sort of paralysed amazement. It seemed incredible that suchpeculiarly Wild Western events could happen in peaceful England,even in so isolated a spot as Sanstead House.
It had been one of those interminable days which occur only atschools. A school, more than any other institution, is dependenton the weather. Every small boy rises from his bed of a morningcharged with a definite quantity of devilry; and this, if he is tosleep the sound sleep of health, he has got to work off somehowbefore bedtime. That is why the summer term is the one a masterlongs for, when the intervals between classes can be spent in theopen. There is no pleasanter sight for an assistant-master at aprivate school than that of a number of boys expending their venomharmlessly in the sunshine.
On this particular day, snow had begun to fall early in themorning, and, while his pupils would have been only too delightedto go out and roll in it by the hour, they were prevented fromdoing so by Mr Abney's strict orders. No schoolmaster enjoysseeing his pupils running risks of catching cold, and just then MrAbney was especially definite on the subject. The Saturnalia whichhad followed Mr MacGinnis' nocturnal visit to the school had hadthe effect of giving violent colds to three lords, a baronet, andthe younger son of an honourable. And, in addition to that, MrAbney himself, his penetrating tenor changed to a guttural croak,was in his bed looking on the world with watering eyes. His views,therefore, on playing in the snow as an occupation for boys werenaturally prejudiced.
The result was that Glossop and I had to try and keep order amonga mob of small boys, none of whom had had any chance of workingoff his superfluous energy. How Glossop fared I can only imagine.Judging by the fact that I, who usually kept fair order withoutexcessive effort, was almost overwhelmed, I should fancy he faredbadly. His classroom was on the opposite side of the hall frommine, and at frequent intervals his voice would penetrate my door,raised to a frenzied fortissimo.
Little by little, however, we had won through the day, and theboys had subsided into comparative quiet over their eveningpreparation, when from outside the front door there sounded thepurring of the engine of a large automobile. The bell rang.
I did not, I remember, pay much attention to this at the moment. Isupposed that somebody from one of the big houses in theneighbourhood had called, or, taking the lateness of the hour intoconsideration, that a motoring party had come, as they didsometimes--Sanstead House standing some miles from anywhere in themiddle of an intricate system of by-roads--to inquire the way toPortsmouth or London. If my class had allowed me, I would haveignored the sound. But for them it supplied just that break in themonotony of things which they had needed. They welcomed itvociferously.
A voice: 'Sir, please, sir, there's a motor outside.'
Myself (austerely): I know there's a motor outside. Get on withyour work.'
Various voices: 'Sir, have you ever ridden in a motor?'
'Sir, my father let me help drive our motor last Easter, sir.'
'Sir, who do you think it is?'
An isolated genius (imitating the engine): 'Pr-prr! Pr-prr! Pr-prr!'
I was on the point of distributing bad marks (the schoolmaster'sstand-by) broadcast, when a curious sound checked me. It followeddirectly upon the opening of the front door. I heard White'sfootsteps crossing the hall, then the click of the latch, andthen--a sound that I could not define. The closed door of theclassroom deadened it, but for all that it was audible. Itresembled the thud of a falling body, but I knew it could not bethat, for in peaceful England butlers opening front doors did notfall with thuds.
My class, eager listeners, found fresh material in the sound forfriendly conversation.
'Sir, what was that, sir?'
'Did you hear that, sir?'
'What do you think's happened, sir?'
'Be quiet,' I shouted. 'Will you be--'
There was a quick footstep outside, the door flew open, and on thethreshold stood a short, sturdy man in a motoring coat and cap.The upper part of his face was covered by a strip of white linen,with holes for the eyes, and there was a Browning pistol in hishand.
It is my belief that, if assistant-masters were allowed to wearwhite masks and carry automatic pistols, keeping order in a schoolwould become child's play. A silence such as no threat of badmarks had ever been able to produce fell instantaneously upon theclassroom. Out of the corner of my eye, as I turned to face ourvisitor, I could see small boys goggling rapturously at thismiraculous realization of all the dreams induced by juvenileadventure fiction. As far as I could ascertain, on subsequentinquiry, not one of them felt a tremor of fear. It was all tootremendously exciting for that. For their exclusive benefit anillustration from a weekly paper for boys had come to life, andthey had no time to waste in being frightened.
As for me, I was dazed. Motor bandits may terrorize France, anddesperadoes hold up trains in America, but this was peacefulEngland. The fact that Buck MacGinnis was at large in theneighbourhood did not make the thing any the less incredible. Ihad looked on my affair with Buck as a thing of the open air andthe darkness. I had figured him lying in wait in lonely roads,possibly, even, lurking about the grounds; but in my mostapprehensive moments I had not imagined him calling at the frontdoor and holding me up with a revolver in my own classroom.
And yet it was the simple, even the obvious, thing for him to do.Given an automobile, success was certain. Sanstead House stoodabsolutely alone. There was not even a cottage within half a mile.A train broken down in the middle of the Bad Lands was not morecut off.
Consider, too, the peculiar helplessness of a school in such acase. A school lives on the confidence of parents, a nebulousfoundation which the slightest breath can destroy. Everythingconnected with it must be done with exaggerated discretion. I donot suppose Mr MacGinnis had thought the thing out in all itsbearings, but he could not have made a sounder move if he had beena Napoleon. Where the owner of an ordinary country-house raided bymasked men can raise the countryside in pursuit, a schoolmastermust do precisely the opposite. From his point of view, the fewerpeople that know of the affair the better. Parents are a jumpyrace. A man may be the ideal schoolmaster, yet will a connectionwith melodrama damn him in the eyes of parents. They do notinquire. They are too panic-stricken for that. Golden-hairedWillie may be receiving the finest education conceivable, yet ifmen with Browning pistols are familiar objects at his shrine oflearning they will remove him. Fortunately for schoolmasters it isseldom that such visitors call upon them. Indeed, I imagine MrMacGinnis's effort to have been the first of its kind.
I do not, as I say, suppose that Buck, whose forte was actionrather than brain-work, had thought all this out. He had trustedto luck, and luck had stood by him. There would be no raising ofthe countryside in his case. On the contrary, I could see Mr Abneybecoming one of the busiest persons on record in his endeavour tohush the thing up and prevent it getting into the papers. The manwith the pistol spoke. He sighted me--I was standing with my backto the mantelpiece, parallel with the door--made a sharp turn, andraised his weapon.
'Put 'em up, sport,' he said.
It was not the voice of Buck MacGinnis. I put my hands up.
'Say, which of dese is de Nugget?'
He half turned his head to the class.
'Which of youse kids is Ogden Ford?'
The class was beyond speech. The silence continued.
'Ogden Ford is not here,' I said.
> Our visitor had not that simple faith which is so much better thanNorman blood. He did not believe me. Without moving his head hegave a long whistle. Steps sounded outside. Another, short, sturdyform, entered the room.
'He ain't in de odder room,' observed the newcomer. 'I beenrubberin'!'
This was friend Buck beyond question. I could have recognized hisvoice anywhere!
'Well dis guy,' said the man with the pistol, indicating me, 'sayshe ain't here. What's de answer?'
'Why, it's Sam!' said Buck. 'Howdy, Sam? Pleased to see us, huh?We're in on de ground floor, too, dis time, all right, all right.'
His words had a marked effect on his colleague.
'Is dat Sam? Hell! Let me blow de head off'n him!' he said, withsimple fervour; and, advancing a step nearer, he waved hisdisengaged fist truculently. In my role of Sam I had plainly mademyself very unpopular. I have never heard so much emotion packedinto a few words.
Buck, to my relief, opposed the motion. I thought this decent ofBuck.
'Cheese it,' he said curtly.
The other cheesed it. The operation took the form of lowering thefist. The pistol he kept in position.
Mr MacGinnis resumed the conduct of affairs.
'Now den, Sam,' he said, 'come across! Where's de Nugget?'
'My name is not Sam,' I said. 'May I put my hands down?'
'Yep, if you want the top of your damn head blown off.'
Such was not my desire. I kept them up.
'Now den, you Sam,' said Mr MacGinnis again, 'we ain't got time toburn. Out with it. Where's dat Nugget?'
Some reply was obviously required. It was useless to keepprotesting that I was not Sam.
'At this time in the evening he is generally working with MrGlossop.'
'Who's Glossop? Dat dough-faced dub in de room over dere?'
'Exactly. You have described him perfectly.'
'Well, he ain't dere. I bin rubberin.' Aw, quit yer foolin', Sam,where is he?'
'I couldn't tell you just where he is at the present moment,' Isaid precisely.
'Ahr chee! Let me swot him one!' begged the man with the pistol; amost unlovable person. I could never have made a friend of him.
'Cheese it, you!' said Mr MacGinnis.
The other cheesed it once more, regretfully.
'You got him hidden away somewheres, Sam,' said Mr MacGinnis. 'Youcan't fool me. I'm com' t'roo dis joint wit a fine-tooth comb tillI find him.'
'By all means,' I said. 'Don't let me stop you.'
'You? You're coming wit me.'
'If you wish it. I shall be delighted.'
'An' cut out dat dam' sissy way of talking, you rummy,' bellowedBuck, with a sudden lapse into ferocity. 'Spiel like a regularguy! Standin' dere, pullin' dat dude stuff on me! Cut it out!'
'Say, why _mayn't_ I hand him one?' demanded the pistol-bearerpathetically. 'What's your kick against pushin' his face in?'
I thought the question in poor taste. Buck ignored it.
'Gimme dat canister,' he said, taking the Browning pistol fromhim. 'Now den, Sam, are youse goin' to be good, and come across,or ain't you--which?'
'I'd be delighted to do anything you wished, Mr MacGinnis,' Isaid, 'but--'
'Aw, hire a hall!' said Buck disgustedly. 'Step lively, den, an'we'll go t'roo de joint. I t'ought youse 'ud have had more sense,Sam, dan to play dis fool game when you know you're beat. You--'
Shooting pains in my shoulders caused me to interrupt him.
'One moment,' I said. 'I'm going to put my hands down. I'm gettingcramp.'
'I'll blow a hole in you if you do!'
'Just as you please. But I'm not armed.'
'Lefty,' he said to the other man, 'feel around to see if he'scarryin' anyt'ing.'
Lefty advanced and began to tap me scientifically in theneighbourhood of my pockets. He grunted morosely the while. Isuppose, at this close range, the temptation to 'hand me one' wasalmost more than he could bear.
'He ain't got no gun,' he announced gloomily.
'Den youse can put 'em down,' said Mr MacGinnis.
'Thanks,' I said.
'Lefty, youse stay here and look after dese kids. Get a move on,Sam.'
We left the room, a little procession of two, myself leading, Buckin my immediate rear administering occasional cautionary prodswith the faithful 'canister'.
II
The first thing that met my eyes as we entered the hall was thebody of a man lying by the front door. The light of the lamp fellon his face and I saw that it was White. His hands and feet weretied. As I looked at him, he moved, as if straining against hisbonds, and I was conscious of a feeling of relief. That sound thathad reached me in the classroom, that thud of a falling body, hadbecome, in the light of what had happened later, very sinister. Itwas good to know that he was still alive. I gathered--correctly,as I discovered subsequently--that in his case the sand-bag hadbeen utilized. He had been struck down and stunned the instant heopened the door.
There was a masked man leaning against the wall by Glossop'sclassroom. He was short and sturdy. The Buck MacGinnis gang seemedto have been turned out on a pattern. Externally, they might allhave been twins. This man, to give him a semblance of individuality,had a ragged red moustache. He was smoking a cigar with the air ofthe warrior taking his rest.
'Hello!' he said, as we appeared. He jerked a thumb towards theclassroom. 'I've locked dem in. What's doin', Buck?' he asked,indicating me with a languid nod.
'We're going t'roo de joint,' explained Mr MacGinnis. 'De kidain't in dere. Hump yourself, Sam!'
His colleague's languor disappeared with magic swiftness.
'Sam! Is dat Sam? Here, let me beat de block off'n him!'
Few points in this episode struck me as more remarkable than thesimilarity of taste which prevailed, as concerned myself, amongthe members of Mr MacGinnis's gang. Men, doubtless of varyingopinions on other subjects, on this one point they were unanimous.They all wanted to assault me.
Buck, however, had other uses for me. For the present, I wasnecessary as a guide, and my value as such would be impaired werethe block to be beaten off me. Though feeling no friendliertowards me than did his assistants, he declined to allow sentimentto interfere with business. He concentrated his attention on theupward journey with all the earnestness of the young gentleman whocarried the banner with the strange device in the poem.
Briefly requesting his ally to cheese it--which he did--he urgedme on with the nozzle of the pistol. The red-moustached man sankback against the wall again with an air of dejection, sucking hiscigar now like one who has had disappointments in life, while wepassed on up the stairs and began to draw the rooms on the firstfloor.
These consisted of Mr Abney's study and two dormitories. The studywas empty, and the only occupants of the dormitories were thethree boys who had been stricken down with colds on the occasionof Mr MacGinnis's last visit. They squeaked with surprise at thesight of the assistant-master in such questionable company.
Buck eyed them disappointedly. I waited with something of thefeelings of a drummer taking a buyer round the sample room.
'Get on,' said Buck.
'Won't one of those do?'
'Hump yourself, Sam.'
'Call me Sammy,' I urged. 'We're old friends now.'
'Don't get fresh,' he said austerely. And we moved on.
The top floor was even more deserted than the first. There was noone in the dormitories. The only other room was Mr Abney's; and,as we came opposite it, a sneeze from within told of thesufferings of its occupant.
The sound stirred Buck to his depths. He 'pointed' at the doorlike a smell-dog.
'Who's in dere?' he demanded.
'Only Mr Abney. Better not disturb him. He has a bad cold.'
He placed a wrong construction on my solicitude for my employer.His manner became excited.
'Open dat door, you,' he cried.
'It'll give him a nasty shock.'
'G'wan! Open it!'
No one who is digging a Bro
wning pistol into the small of my backwill ever find me disobliging. I opened the door--knocking first,as a mild concession to the conventions--and the procession passedin.
My stricken employer was lying on his back, staring at theceiling, and our entrance did not at first cause him to changethis position.
'Yes?' he said thickly, and disappeared beneath a hugepocket-handkerchief. Muffled sounds, as of distant explosions ofdynamite, together with earthquake shudderings of the bedclothes,told of another sneezing-fit.
'I'm sorry to disturb you,' I began, when Buck, ever the man ofaction, with a scorn of palaver, strode past me, and, havingprodded with the pistol that part of the bedclothes beneath whicha rough calculation suggested that Mr Abney's lower ribs wereconcealed, uttered the one word, 'Sa-a-ay!'
Mr Abney sat up like a Jack-in-the-box. One might almost say thathe shot up. And then he saw Buck.
I cannot even faintly imagine what were Mr Abney's emotions atthat moment. He was a man who, from boyhood up, had led a quietand regular life. Things like Buck had appeared to him hitherto,if they appeared at all, only in dreams after injudicious suppers.Even in the ordinary costume of the Bowery gentleman, without suchadventitious extras as masks and pistols, Buck was no beauty. Withthat hideous strip of dingy white linen on his face, he was awalking nightmare.
Mr Abney's eyebrows had risen and his jaw had fallen to theiruttermost limits. His hair, disturbed by contact with the pillow,gave the impression of standing on end. His eyes seemed to bulgelike a snail's. He stared at Buck, fascinated.
'Say, you, quit rubberin'. Youse ain't in a dime museum. Where'sdat Ford kid, huh?'
I have set down all Mr MacGinnis's remarks as if they had beenuttered in a bell-like voice with a clear and crisp enunciation;but, in doing so, I have flattered him. In reality, his mode ofspeech suggested that he had something large and unwieldypermanently stuck in his mouth; and it was not easy for a strangerto follow him. Mr Abney signally failed to do so. He continued togape helplessly till the tension was broken by a sneeze.
One cannot interrogate a sneezing man with any satisfaction tooneself. Buck stood by the bedside in moody silence, waiting forthe paroxysm to spend itself.
I, meanwhile, had remained where I stood, close to the door. And,as I waited for Mr Abney to finish sneezing, for the first timesince Buck's colleague Lefty had entered the classroom the idea ofaction occurred to me. Until this moment, I suppose, thestrangeness and unexpectedness of these happenings had numbed mybrain. To precede Buck meekly upstairs and to wait with equalmeekness while he interviewed Mr Abney had seemed the only courseopen to me. To one whose life has lain apart from such things, thehypnotic influence of a Browning pistol is irresistible.
But now, freed temporarily from this influence, I began to think;and, my mind making up for its previous inaction by working withunwonted swiftness, I formed a plan of action at once.
It was simple, but I had an idea that it would be effective. Mystrength lay in my acquaintance with the geography of SansteadHouse and Buck's ignorance of it. Let me but get an adequatestart, and he might find pursuit vain. It was this start which Isaw my way to achieving.
To Buck it had not yet occurred that it was a tactical error toleave me between the door and himself. I supposed he relied tooimplicitly on the mesmeric pistol. He was not even looking at me.
The next moment my fingers were on the switch of the electriclight, and the room was in darkness.
There was a chair by the door. I seized it and swung it into thespace between us. Then, springing back, I banged the door and ran.
I did not run without a goal in view. My objective was the study.This, as I have explained, was on the first floor. Its windowlooked out on to a strip of lawn at the side of the house endingin a shrubbery. The drop would not be pleasant, but I seemed toremember a waterspout that ran up the wall close to the window,and, in any case, I was not in a position to be deterred by theprospect of a bruise or two. I had not failed to realize that myposition was one of extreme peril. When Buck, concluding the tourof the house, found that the Little Nugget was not there--as I hadreason to know that he would--there was no room for doubt that hewould withdraw the protection which he had extended to me up tothe present in my capacity of guide. On me the disappointed furyof the raiders would fall. No prudent consideration for their ownsafety would restrain them. If ever the future was revealed toman, I saw mine. My only chance was to get out into the grounds,where the darkness would make pursuit an impossibility.
It was an affair which must be settled one way or the other in afew seconds, and I calculated that it would take Buck just thosefew seconds to win his way past the chair and find the door-handle.
I was right. Just as I reached the study, the door of the bedroomflew open, and the house rang with shouts and the noise of feet onthe uncarpeted landing. From the hall below came answering shouts,but with an interrogatory note in them. The assistants werewilling, but puzzled. They did not like to leave their postswithout specific instructions, and Buck, shouting as he clatteredover the bare boards, was unintelligible.
I was in the study, the door locked behind me, before they couldarrive at an understanding. I sprang to the window.
The handle rattled. Voices shouted. A panel splintered beneath akick, and the door shook on its hinges.
And then, for the first time, I think, in my life, panic grippedme, the sheer, blind fear which destroys the reason. It swept overme in a wave, that numbing terror which comes to one in dreams.Indeed, the thing had become dream-like. I seemed to be standingoutside myself, looking on at myself, watching myself heave andstrain with bruised fingers at a window that would not open.
III
The arm-chair critic, reviewing a situation calmly and at hisease, is apt to make too small allowances for the effect of hurryand excitement on the human mind. He is cool and detached. He seesexactly what ought to have been done, and by what simple meanscatastrophe might have been averted.
He would have made short work of my present difficulty, I feelcertain. It was ridiculously simple. But I had lost my head, andhad ceased for the moment to be a reasoning creature. In the end,indeed, it was no presence of mind but pure good luck which savedme. Just as the door, which had held out gallantly, gave waybeneath the attack from outside, my fingers, slipping, struckagainst the catch of the window, and I understood why I had failedto raise it.
I snapped the catch back, and flung up the sash. An icy wind sweptinto the room, bearing particles of snow. I scrambled on to thewindow-sill, and a crash from behind me told of the falling of thedoor.
The packed snow on the sill was drenching my knees as I worked myway out and prepared to drop. There was a deafening explosioninside the room, and simultaneously something seared my shoulderlike a hot iron. I cried out with the pain of it, and, losing mybalance, fell from the sill.
There was, fortunately for me, a laurel bush immediately below thewindow, or I should have been undone. I fell into it, all arms andlegs, in a way which would have meant broken bones if I had struckthe hard turf. I was on my feet in an instant, shaken andscratched and, incidentally, in a worse temper than ever in mylife before. The idea of flight, which had obsessed me a momentbefore, to the exclusion of all other mundane affairs, hadvanished absolutely. I was full of fight, I might say overflowingwith it. I remember standing there, with the snow trickling inchilly rivulets down my face and neck, and shaking my fist at thewindow. Two of my pursuers were leaning out of it, while a thirddodged behind them, like a small man on the outskirts of a crowd.So far from being thankful for my escape, I was conscious only ofa feeling of regret that there was no immediate way of getting atthem.
They made no move towards travelling the quick but trying routewhich had commended itself to me. They seemed to be waiting forsomething to happen. It was not long before I was made aware ofwhat this something was. From the direction of the front door camethe sound of one running. A sudden diminution of the noise of hisfeet told me that he had left the gravel and was on
the turf. Idrew back a pace or two and waited.
It was pitch dark, and I had no fear that I should be seen. I wasstanding well outside the light from the window.
The man stopped just in front of me. A short parley followed.
'Can'tja see him?'
The voice was not Buck's. It was Buck who answered. And when Irealized that this man in front of me, within easy reach, on whoseback I was shortly about to spring, and whose neck I proposed,under Providence, to twist into the shape of a corkscrew, was nomere underling, but Mr MacGinnis himself, I was filled with a joywhich I found it hard to contain in silence.
Looking back, I am a little sorry for Mr MacGinnis. He was not agood man. His mode of speech was not pleasant, and his mannerswere worse than his speech. But, though he undoubtedly deservedall that was coming to him, it was nevertheless bad luck for himto be standing just there at just that moment. The reactions aftermy panic, added to the pain of my shoulder, the scratches on myface, and the general misery of being wet and cold, had given me areckless fury and a determination to do somebody, whoever happenedto come along, grievous bodily hurt, such as seldom invades thebosoms of the normally peaceful. To put it crisply, I was fightingmad, and I looked on Buck as something sent by Heaven.
He had got as far, in his reply, as 'Naw, I can't--' when Isprang.
I have read of the spring of the jaguar, and I have seen some verycreditable flying-tackles made on the football field. My leapcombined the outstanding qualities of both. I connected with MrMacGinnis in the region of the waist, and the howl he gave as wecrashed to the ground was music to my ears.
But how true is the old Roman saying, _'Surgit amari aliquid'_.Our pleasures are never perfect. There is always something. In theprogramme which I had hastily mapped out, the upsetting of MrMacGinnis was but a small item, a mere preliminary. There were anumber of things which I had wished to do to him, once upset. Butit was not to be. Even as I reached for his throat I perceived thatthe light of the window was undergoing an eclipse. A compact formhad wriggled out on to the sill, as I had done, and I heard thegrating of his shoes on the wall as he lowered himself for the drop.
There is a moment when the pleasantest functions must come toan end. I was loath to part from Mr MacGinnis just when I wasbeginning, as it were, to do myself justice; but it was unavoidable.In another moment his ally would descend upon us, like some Homericgod swooping from a cloud, and I was not prepared to continue thebattle against odds.
I disengaged myself--Mr MacGinnis strangely quiescent during theprocess--and was on my feet in the safety of the darkness just asthe reinforcement touched earth. This time I did not wait. Myhunger for fight had been appeased to some extent by my brush withBuck, and I was satisfied to have achieved safety with honour.
Making a wide detour I crossed the drive and worked my way throughthe bushes to within a few yards of where the automobile stood,filling the night with the soft purring of its engines. I wasinterested to see what would be the enemy's next move. It wasimprobable that they would attempt to draw the grounds in searchof me. I imagined that they would recognize failure and retirewhence they had come.
I was right. I had not been watching long, before a little groupadvanced into the light of the automobile's lamps. There were fourof them. Three were walking, the fourth, cursing with the vigourand breadth that marks the expert, lying on their arms, of whichthey had made something resembling a stretcher.
The driver of the car, who had been sitting woodenly in his seat,turned at the sound.
'Ja get him?' he inquired.
'Get nothing!' replied one of the three moodily. 'De Nugget ain'tdere, an' we was chasin' Sam to fix him, an' he laid for us, an'what he did to Buck was plenty.'
They placed their valuable burden in the tonneau, where he layrepeating himself, and two of them climbed in after him. The thirdseated himself beside the driver.
'Buck's leg's broke,' he announced.
'Hell!' said the chauffeur.
No young actor, receiving his first round of applause, could havefelt a keener thrill of gratification than I did at those words.Life may have nobler triumphs than the breaking of a kidnapper'sleg, but I did not think so then. It was with an effort that Istopped myself from cheering.
'Let her go,' said the man in the front seat.
The purring rose to a roar. The car turned and began to move withincreasing speed down the drive. Its drone grew fainter, andceased. I brushed the snow from my coat and walked to the frontdoor.
My first act on entering the house, was to release White. He wasstill lying where I had seen him last. He appeared to have made noheadway with the cords on his wrists and ankles. I came to hishelp with a rather blunt pocket-knife, and he rose stiffly andbegan to chafe the injured arms in silence.
'They've gone,' I said.
He nodded.
'Did they hit you with a sand-bag?'
He nodded again.
'I broke Buck's leg,' I said, with modest pride.
He looked up incredulously. I related my experiences as brieflyas possible, and when I came to the part where I made my flyingtackle, the gloom was swept from his face by a joyful smile. Buck'sinjury may have given its recipient pain, but it was certainly thecause of pleasure to others. White's manner was one of the utmostenthusiasm as I described the scene.
'That'll hold Buck for a while,' was his comment. 'I guess weshan't hear from _him_ for a week or two. That's the best curefor the headache I've ever struck.'
He rubbed the lump that just showed beneath his hair. I did notwonder at his emotion. Whoever had wielded the sand-bag had donehis work well, in a manner to cause hard feelings on the part ofthe victim.
I had been vaguely conscious during this conversation of anintermittent noise like distant thunder. I now perceived that itcame from Glossop's classroom, and was caused by the beating ofhands on the door-panels. I remembered that the red-moustached manhad locked Glossop and his young charges in. It seemed to me thathe had done well. There would be plenty of confusion without theirassistance.
I was turning towards my own classroom when I saw Audrey on thestairs and went to meet her.
'It's all right,' I said. 'They've gone.'
'Who was it? What did they want?'
'It was a gentleman named MacGinnis and some friends. They cameafter Ogden Ford, but they didn't get him.'
'Where is he? Where is Ogden?'
Before I could reply, babel broke loose. While we had beentalking, White had injudiciously turned the key of Glossop'sclassroom which now disgorged its occupants, headed by mycolleague, in a turbulent stream. At the same moment my ownclassroom began to empty itself. The hall was packed with boys,and the din became deafening. Every one had something to say, andthey all said it at once.
Glossop was at my side, semaphoring violently.
'We must telephone,' he bellowed in my ear, 'for the police.'
Somebody tugged at my arm. It was Audrey. She was saying somethingwhich was drowned in the uproar. I drew her towards the stairs,and we found comparative quiet on the first landing.
'What were you saying?' I asked.
'He isn't there.'
'Who?'
'Ogden Ford. Where is he? He is not in his room. They must havetaken him.'
Glossop came up at a gallop, springing from stair to stair likethe chamois of the Alps.
'We must telephone for the police!' he cried.
'I have telephoned,' said Audrey, 'ten minutes ago. They aresending some men at once. Mr Glossop, was Ogden Ford in yourclassroom?'
'No, Mrs Sheridan. I thought he was with you, Burns.'
I shook my head.
'Those men came to kidnap him, Mr Glossop,' said Audrey.
'Undoubtedly the gang of scoundrels to which that man the othernight belonged! This is preposterous. My nerves will not standthese repeated outrages. We must have police protection. Thevillains must be brought to justice. I never heard of such athing! In an English school!'
Glossop's eyes gleamed agit
atedly behind their spectacles.Macbeth's deportment when confronted with Banquo's ghost wasstolid by comparison. There was no doubt that Buck's visit hadupset the smooth peace of our happy little community to quite aconsiderable extent.
The noise in the hall had increased rather than subsided. Abelated sense of professional duty returned to Glossop and myself.We descended the stairs and began to do our best, in ourrespective styles, to produce order. It was not an easy task.Small boys are always prone to make a noise, even withoutprovocation. When they get a genuine excuse like the incursion ofmen in white masks, who prod assistant-masters in the small of theback with Browning pistols, they tend to eclipse themselves. Idoubt whether we should ever have quieted them, had it not beenthat the hour of Buck's visit had chanced to fall within a shorttime of that set apart for the boys' tea, and that the kitchen hadlain outside the sphere of our visitors' operations. As in manyEnglish country houses, the kitchen at Sanstead House was at theend of a long corridor, shut off by doors through which evenpistol-shots penetrated but faintly. Our excellent cook had,moreover, the misfortune to be somewhat deaf, with the resultthat, throughout all the storm and stress in our part of thehouse, she, like the lady in Goethe's poem, had gone on cuttingbread and butter; till now, when it seemed that nothing couldquell the uproar, there rose above it the ringing of the bell.
If there is anything exciting enough to keep the Englishman or theEnglish boy from his tea, it has yet to be discovered. Theshouting ceased on the instant. The general feeling seemed to bethat inquiries could be postponed till a more suitable occasion,but not tea. There was a general movement in the direction of thedining-room.
Glossop had already gone with the crowd, and I was about tofollow, when there was another ring at the front-door bell.
I gathered that this must be the police, and waited. In theimpending inquiry I was by way of being a star witness. If any onehad been in the thick of things from the beginning it was myself.
White opened the door. I caught a glimpse of blue uniforms, andcame forward to do the honours.
There were two of them, no more. In response to our urgent appealfor assistance against armed bandits, the Majesty of the Law hadmaterialized itself in the shape of a stout inspector and a long,lean constable. I thought, as I came to meet them, that they werefortunate to have arrived late. I could see Lefty and thered-moustached man, thwarted in their designs on me, makingdreadful havoc among the official force, as here represented.
White, the simple butler once more, introduced us.
'This is Mr Burns, one of the masters at the school,' he said, andremoved himself from the scene. There never was a man like Whitefor knowing his place when he played the butler.
The inspector looked at me sharply. The constable gazed intospace.
'H'm!' said the inspector.
Mentally I had named them Bones and Johnson. I do not know why,except that they seemed to deserve it.
'You telephoned for us,' said Bones accusingly.
'We did.'
'What's the trouble? What--got your notebook?--has beenhappening?'
Johnson removed his gaze from the middle distance and produced anotebook.
'At about half past five--' I began.
Johnson moistened his pencil.
'At about half past five an automobile drove up to the front door.In it were five masked men with revolvers.'
I interested them. There was no doubt of that. Bones's healthycolour deepened, and his eyes grew round. Johnson's pencil racedover the page, wobbling with emotion.
'Masked men?' echoed Bones.
'With revolvers,' I said. 'Now aren't you glad you didn't go tothe circus? They rang the front-door bell; when White opened it,they stunned him with a sand-bag. Then--'
Bones held up a large hand.
'Wait!'
I waited.
'Who is White?'
'The butler.'
'I will take his statement. Fetch the butler.'
Johnson trotted off obediently.
Left alone with me, Bones became friendlier and less official.
'This is as queer a start as ever I heard of, Mr Burns,' he said.'Twenty years I've been in the force, and nothing like this hastranspired. It beats cock-fighting. What in the world do yousuppose men with masks and revolvers was after? First idea I hadwas that you were making fun of me.'
I was shocked at the idea. I hastened to give further details.
'They were a gang of American crooks who had come over to kidnapMr Elmer Ford's son, who is a pupil at the school. You have heardof Mr Ford? He is an American millionaire, and there have beenseveral attempts during the past few years to kidnap Ogden.'
At this point Johnson returned with White. White told his storybriefly, exhibited his bruise, showed the marks of the cords on hiswrists, and was dismissed. I suggested that further conversationhad better take place in the presence of Mr Abney, who, I imagined,would have something to say on the subject of hushing the thing up.
We went upstairs. The broken door of the study delayed us a whileand led to a fresh spasm of activity on the part of Johnson'spencil. Having disposed of this, we proceeded to Mr Abney's room.
Bones's authoritative rap upon the door produced an agitated'Who's that?' from the occupant. I explained the nature of thevisitation through the keyhole and there came from within thesound of moving furniture. His one brief interview with Buck hadevidently caused my employer to ensure against a second bybarricading himself in with everything he could find suitable forthe purpose. It was some moments before the way was clear for ourentrance.
'Cub id,' said a voice at last.
Mr Abney was sitting up in bed, the blankets wrapped tightly abouthim. His appearance was still disordered. The furniture of theroom was in great confusion, and a poker on the floor by thedressing-table showed that he had been prepared to sell his lifedearly.
'I ab glad to see you, Idspector,' he said. 'Bister Burds, what isthe expladation of this extraordinary affair?'
It took some time to explain matters to Mr Abney, and more toconvince Bones and his colleague that, so far from wanting a hueand cry raised over the countryside and columns about the affairin the papers, publicity was the thing we were anxious to avoid.They were visibly disappointed when they grasped the position ofaffairs. The thing, properly advertised, would have been thebiggest that had ever happened to the neighbourhood, and theireager eyes could see glory within easy reach. Mention of a coldsnack and a drop of beer, however, to be found in the kitchen,served to cast a gleam of brightness on their gloom, and theyvanished in search of it with something approaching cheeriness,Johnson taking notes to the last.
They had hardly gone when Glossop whirled into the room in a stateof effervescing agitation.
'Mr Abney, Ogden Ford is nowhere to be found!'
Mr Abney greeted the information with a prodigious sneeze.
'What do you bead?' he demanded, when the paroxysm was over. Heturned to me. 'Bister Burds, I understood you to--ah--say thatthe scou'drels took their departure without the boy Ford.'
'They certainly did. I watched them go.'
'I have searched the house thoroughly,' said Glossop, 'and thereare no signs of him. And not only that, the Boy Beckford cannot befound.'
Mr Abney clasped his head in his hands. Poor man, he was in nocondition to bear up with easy fortitude against this successionof shocks. He was like one who, having survived an earthquake, ishit by an automobile. He had partly adjusted his mind to the quietcontemplation of Mr MacGinnis and friends when he was called uponto face this fresh disaster. And he had a cold in the head, whichunmans the stoutest. Napoleon would have won Waterloo ifWellington had had a cold in the head.
'Augustus Beckford caddot be fou'd?' he echoed feebly.
'They must have run away together,' said Glossop.
Mr Abney sat up, galvanized.
'Such a thing has never happened id the school before!' he cried.'It has aldways beed my--ah--codstant endeavour to make my boyslook upod Sadstea
d House as a happy hobe. I have systebaticallyedcouraged a spirit of cheerful codtedment. I caddot seriouslycredit the fact that Augustus Beckford, one of the bost charbigboys it has ever beed by good fortude to have id by charge, hasdeliberately rud away.'
'He must have been persuaded by that boy Ford,' said Glossop,'who,' he added morosely, 'I believe, is the devil in disguise.'
Mr Abney did not rebuke the strength of his language. Probably thetheory struck him as eminently sound. To me there certainly seemedsomething in it.
'Subbthig bust be done at once!' Mr Abney exclaimed. 'Itis--ah--ibperative that we take ibbediate steps. They busthave gone to Londod. Bister Burds, you bust go to Londod by thenext traid. I caddot go byself with this cold.'
It was the irony of fate that, on the one occasion when dutyreally summoned that champion popper-up-to-London to theMetropolis, he should be unable to answer the call.
'Very well,' I said. 'I'll go and look out a train.'
'Bister Glossop, you will be in charge of the school. Perhaps youhad better go back to the boys dow.'
White was in the hall when I got there.
'White,' I said, 'do you know anything about the trains toLondon?'
'Are you going to London?' he asked, in his more conversationalmanner. I thought he looked at me curiously as he spoke.
'Yes. Ogden Ford and Lord Beckford cannot be found. Mr Abneythinks they must have run away to London.'
'I shouldn't wonder,' said White dryly, it seemed to me. There wassomething distinctly odd in his manner. 'And you're going afterthem.'
'Yes. I must look up a train.'
'There is a fast train in an hour. You will have plenty of time.'
'Will you tell Mr Abney that, while I go and pack my bag? Andtelephone for a cab.'
'Sure,' said White, nodding.
I went up to my room and began to put a few things together in asuit-case. I felt happy, for several reasons. A visit to London,after my arduous weeks at Sanstead, was in the nature of anunexpected treat. My tastes are metropolitan, and the vision of anhour at a music-hall--I should be too late for the theatres--withsupper to follow in some restaurant where there was an orchestra,appealed to me.
When I returned to the hall, carrying my bag, I found Audreythere.
'I'm being sent to London,' I announced.
'I know. White told me. Peter, bring him back.'
'That's why I'm being sent.'
'It means everything to me.'
I looked at her in surprise. There was a strained, anxiousexpression on her face, for which I could not account. I declinedto believe that anybody could care what happened to the LittleNugget purely for that amiable youth's own sake. Besides, as hehad gone to London willingly, the assumption was that he wasenjoying himself.
'I don't understand,' I said. 'What do you mean?'
'I'll tell you. Mr Ford sent me here to be near Ogden, to guardhim. He knew that there was always a danger of attempts being madeto kidnap him, even though he was brought over to England veryquietly. That is how I come to be here. I go wherever Ogden goes.I am responsible for him. And I have failed. If Ogden is notbrought back, Mr Ford will have nothing more to do with me. Henever forgives failures. It will mean going back to the old workagain--the dressmaking, or the waiting, or whatever I can manageto find.' She gave a little shiver. 'Peter, I can't. All the pluckhas gone out of me. I'm afraid. I couldn't face all that again.Bring him back. You must. You will. Say you will.'
I did not answer. I could find nothing to say; for it was I whowas responsible for all her trouble. I had planned everything. Ihad given Ogden Ford the money that had taken him to London. Andsoon, unless I could reach London before it happened, and preventhim, he, with my valet Smith, would be in the Dover boat-train onhis way to Monaco.
The Little Nugget Page 10
