Chapter 13
I evacuated Sanstead House unostentatiously, setting off on footdown the long drive. My luggage, I gathered, was to follow me tothe station in a cart. I was thankful to Providence for the smallmercy that the boys were in their classrooms and consequentlyunable to ask me questions. Augustus Beckford alone would havehandled the subject of my premature exit in a manner calculated tobleach my hair.
It was a wonderful morning. The sky was an unclouded blue, and afresh breeze was blowing in from the sea. I think that somethingof the exhilaration of approaching spring must have stirred me,for quite suddenly the dull depression with which I had started mywalk left me, and I found myself alert and full of schemes.
Why should I feebly withdraw from the struggle? Why should I givein to Smooth Sam in this tame way? The memory of that wink cameback to me with a tonic effect. I would show him that I was stilla factor in the game. If the house was closed to me, was there notthe 'Feathers'? I could lie in hiding there, and observe hismovements unseen.
I stopped on reaching the inn, and was on the point of enteringand taking up my position at once, when it occurred to me thatthis would be a false move. It was possible that Sam would nottake my departure for granted so readily as I assumed. It wasSam's way to do a thing thoroughly, and the probability was that,if he did not actually come to see me off, he would at least makeinquiries at the station to find out if I had gone. I walked on.
He was not at the station. Nor did he arrive in the cart with mytrunk. But I was resolved to risk nothing. I bought a ticket forLondon, and boarded the London train. It had been my intention toleave it at Guildford and catch an afternoon train back toStanstead; but it seemed to me, on reflection, that this wasunnecessary. There was no likelihood of Sam making any move in thematter of the Nugget until the following day. I could take my timeabout returning.
I spent the night in London, and arrived at Sanstead by an earlymorning train with a suit-case containing, among other things, aBrowning pistol. I was a little ashamed of this purchase. To theBuck MacGinnis type of man, I suppose, a pistol is as commonplacea possession as a pair of shoes, but I blushed as I entered thegun-shop. If it had been Buck with whom I was about to deal, Ishould have felt less self-conscious. But there was somethingabout Sam which made pistols ridiculous.
My first act, after engaging a room at the inn and leaving mysuit-case, was to walk to the school. Before doing anything else,I felt I must see Audrey and tell her the facts in the case ofSmooth Sam. If she were on her guard, my assistance might not beneeded. But her present state of trust in him was fatal.
A school, when the boys are away, is a lonely place. The desertedair of the grounds, as I slipped cautiously through the trees, wasalmost eerie. A stillness brooded over everything, as if the placehad been laid under a spell. Never before had I been so impressedwith the isolation of Sanstead House. Anything might happen inthis lonely spot, and the world would go on its way in ignorance.It was with quite distinct relief that, as I drew nearer thehouse, I caught sight of the wire of the telephone among the treesabove my head. It had a practical, comforting look.
A tradesman's cart rattled up the drive and disappeared round theside of the house. This reminder, also, of the outside world waspleasant. But I could not rid myself of the feeling that theatmosphere of the place was sinister. I attributed it to the factthat I was a spy in an enemy's country. I had to see without beingseen. I did not imagine that Johnson, grocer, who had just passedin his cart, found anything wrong with the atmosphere. It wascreated for me by my own furtive attitude.
Of Audrey and Ogden there were no signs. That they were outsomewhere in the grounds this mellow spring morning I took forgranted; but I could not make an extended search. Already I hadcome nearer to the house than was prudent.
My eye caught the telephone wire again and an idea came to me. Iwould call her up from the inn and ask her to meet me. There wasthe risk that the call would be answered by Smooth Sam, but it wasnot great. Sam, unless he had thrown off his role of butlercompletely--which would be unlike the artist that he was--would bein the housekeeper's room, and the ringing of the telephone, whichwas in the study, would not penetrate to him.
I chose a moment when dinner was likely to be over and Audreymight be expected to be in the drawing-room.
I had deduced her movements correctly. It was her voice thatanswered the call.
'This is Peter Burns speaking.'
There was a perceptible pause before she replied. When she did,her voice was cold.
'Yes?'
'I want to speak to you on a matter of urgent importance.'
'Well?'
'I can't do it through the telephone. Will you meet me in half anhour's time at the gate?'
'Where are you speaking from?'
'The "Feathers". I am staying there.'
'I thought you were in London.'
'I came back. Will you meet me?'
She hesitated.
'Why?'
'Because I have something important to say to you--important toyou.'
There was another pause.
'Very well.'
'In half an hour, then. Is Ogden Ford in bed?'
'Yes.'
'Is his door locked?'
'No.'
'Then lock it and bring the key with you.'
'Why?'
'I will tell you when we meet.'
'I will bring it.'
'Thank you. Good-bye.'
I hung up the receiver and set out at once for the school.
She was waiting in the road, a small, indistinct figure in thedarkness.
'Is that you--Peter?'
Her voice had hesitated at the name, as if at some obstacle. Itwas a trivial thing, but, in my present mood, it stung me.
'I'm afraid I'm late. I won't keep you long. Shall we walk downthe road? You may not have been followed, but it is as well to beon the safe side.'
'Followed? I don't understand.'
We walked a few paces and halted.
'Who would follow me?'
'A very eminent person of the name of Smooth Sam Fisher.'
'Smooth Sam Fisher?'
'Better known to you as White.'
'I don't understand.'
'I should be surprised if you did. I asked you to meet me here sothat I could make you understand. The man who poses as aPinkerton's detective, and is staying in the house to help youtake care of Ogden Ford, is Smooth Sam Fisher, a professionalkidnapper.'
'But--but--'
'But what proof have I? Was that what you were going to say? None.But I had the information from the man himself. He told me in thetrain that night going to London.'
She spoke quickly. I knew from her tone that she thought she haddetected a flaw in my story.
'Why did he tell you?'
'Because he needed me as an accomplice. He wanted my help. It wasI who got Ogden away that day. Sam overheard me giving money anddirections to him, telling him how to get away from the school andwhere to go, and he gathered--correctly--that I was in the sameline of business as himself. He suggested a partnership which Iwas unable to accept.'
'Why?'
'Our objects were different. My motive in kidnapping Ogden was notto extract a ransom.'
She blazed out at me in an absolutely unexpected manner. Till nowshe had listened so calmly and asked her questions with such anotable absence of emotion that the outburst overwhelmed me.
'Oh, I know what your motive was. There is no need to explainthat. Isn't there any depth to which a man who thinks himself inlove won't stoop? I suppose you told yourself you were doingsomething noble and chivalrous? A woman of her sort can trick aman into whatever meanness she pleases, and, just because she askshim, he thinks himself a kind of knight-errant. I suppose shetold you that he had ill-treated her and didn't appreciate herhigher self, and all that sort of thing? She looked at you withthose big brown eyes of hers--I can see her--and drooped, andcried, till you were ready to do anything she asked you.'
'Whom do you mean?'
'Mrs Ford, of course. The woman who sent you here to steal Ogden.The woman who wrote you that letter.'
'She did not write that letter. But never mind that. The reasonwhy I wanted you to come here was to warn you against Sam Fisher.That was all. If there is any way in which I can help you, sendfor me. If you like, I will come and stay at the house till MrAbney returns.'
Before the words were out of my mouth, I saw that I had made amistake. The balance of her mind was poised between suspicion andbelief, and my offer turned the scale.
'No, thank you,' she said curtly.
'You don't trust me?'
'Why should I? White may or may not be Sam Fisher. I shall be onmy guard, and I thank you for telling me. But why should I trustyou? It all hangs together. You told me you were engaged to bemarried. You come here on an errand which no man would undertakeexcept for a woman, and a woman with whom he was very much inlove. There is that letter, imploring you to steal the boy. I knowwhat a man will do for a woman he is fond of. Why should I trustyou?'
'There is this. You forget that I had the opportunity to stealOgden if I had wanted to. I had got him away to London. But Ibrought him back. I did it because you had told me what it meantto you.'
She hesitated, but only for an instant. Suspicion was too strongfor her.
'I don't believe you. You brought him back because this man whomyou call Fisher got to know of your plans. Why should you havedone it because of me? Why should you have put my interests beforeMrs Ford's? I am nothing to you.'
For a moment a mad impulse seized me to cast away all restraint,to pour out the unspoken words that danced like imps in my brain,to make her understand, whatever the cost, my feelings towardsher. But the thought of my letter to Cynthia checked me. Thatletter had been the irrevocable step. If I was to preserve a shredof self-respect I must be silent.
'Very well,' I said, 'good night.' And I turned to go.
'Peter!'
There was something in her voice which whirled me round,thrilling, despite my resolution.
'Are you going?'
Weakness would now be my undoing. I steadied myself and answeredabruptly.
'I have said all I came to say. Good night.'
I turned once more and walked quickly off towards the village. Icame near to running. I was in the mood when flight alone can savea man. She did not speak again, and soon I was out of danger,hurrying on through the friendly darkness, beyond the reach of hervoice.
The bright light from the doorway of the 'Feathers', was the onlyillumination that relieved the blackness of the Market Square. AsI approached, a man came out and stopped in the entrance to lighta cigar. His back was turned towards me as he crouched to protectthe match from the breeze, but something in his appearance seemedfamiliar.
I had only a glimpse of him as he straightened himself and walkedout of the pool of light into the Square, but it was enough.
It was my much-enduring acquaintance, Mr Buck MacGinnis.
The Little Nugget Page 15
