Part 1 Chapter 1
I
　　If the management of the Hotel Guelph, that London landmark, couldhave been present at three o'clock one afternoon in early Januaryin the sitting-room of the suite which they had assigned to MrsElmer Ford, late of New York, they might well have felt a littleaggrieved. Philosophers among them would possibly have meditatedon the limitations of human effort; for they had done their bestfor Mrs Ford. They had housed her well. They had fed her well.
　　They had caused inspired servants to anticipate her every need.
　　Yet here she was, in the midst of all these aids to a contentedmind, exhibiting a restlessness and impatience of her surroundingsthat would have been noticeable in a caged tigress or a prisonerof the Bastille. She paced the room. She sat down, picked up anovel, dropped it, and, rising, resumed her patrol. The clockstriking, she compared it with her watch, which she had consultedtwo minutes before. She opened the locket that hung by a goldchain from her neck, looked at its contents, and sighed. Finally,going quickly into the bedroom, she took from a suit-case a framedoil-painting, and returning with it to the sitting-room, placed iton a chair, and stepped back, gazing at it hungrily. Her largebrown eyes, normally hard and imperious, were strangely softened.
　　Her mouth quivered.
　　'Ogden!' she whispered.
　　The picture which had inspired this exhibition of feeling wouldprobably not have affected the casual spectator to quite the samedegree. He would have seen merely a very faulty and amateurishportrait of a singularly repellent little boy of about eleven, whostared out from the canvas with an expression half stolid, halfquerulous; a bulgy, overfed little boy; a little boy who lookedexactly what he was, the spoiled child of parents who had far moremoney than was good for them.
　　As Mrs Ford gazed at the picture, and the picture stared back ather, the telephone bell rang. She ran to it eagerly. It was theoffice of the hotel, announcing a caller.
　　'Yes? Yes? Who?' Her voice fell, as if the name was not the oneshe had expected. 'Oh, yes,' she said. 'Yes, ask Lord Mountry tocome to me here, please.'
　　She returned to the portrait. The look of impatience, which hadleft her face as the bell sounded, was back now. She suppressed itwith an effort as her visitor entered.
　　Lord Mountry was a blond, pink-faced, fair-moustached young man ofabout twenty-eight--a thick-set, solemn young man. He winced as hecaught sight of the picture, which fixed him with a stony eyeimmediately on his entry, and quickly looked away.
　　'I say, it's all right, Mrs Ford.' He was of the type which wastesno time on preliminary greetings. 'I've got him.'
　　'Got him!'
　　Mrs Ford's voice was startled.
　　'Stanborough, you know.'
　　'Oh! I--I was thinking of something else. Won't you sit down?'
　　Lord Mountry sat down.
　　'The artist, you know. You remember you said at lunch the otherday you wanted your little boy's portrait painted, as you only hadone of him, aged eleven--'
　　'This is Ogden, Lord Mountry. I painted this myself.'
　　His lordship, who had selected a chair that enabled him to presenta shoulder to the painting, and was wearing a slightly dogged looksuggestive of one who 'turns no more his head, because he knows afrightful fiend doth close behind him tread', forced himselfround, and met his gaze with as much nonchalance as he couldsummon up.
　　'Er, yes,' he said.
　　He paused.
　　'Fine manly little fellow--what?' he continued.
　　'Yes, isn't he?'
　　His lordship stealthily resumed his former position.
　　'I recommended this fellow, Stanborough, if you remember. He's agreat pal of mine, and I'd like to give him a leg up if I could.
　　They tell me he's a topping artist. Don't know much about itmyself. You told me to bring him round here this afternoon, youremember, to talk things over. He's waiting downstairs.'
　　'Oh yes, yes. Of course, I've not forgotten. Thank you so much,Lord Mountry.'
　　'Rather a good scheme occurred to me, that is, if you haven'tthought over the idea of that trip on my yacht and decided itwould bore you to death. You still feel like making one of theparty--what?'
　　Mrs Ford shot a swift glance at the clock.
　　'I'm looking forward to it,' she said.
　　'Well, then, why shouldn't we kill two birds with one stone?
　　Combine the voyage and the portrait, don't you know. You couldbring your little boy along--he'd love the trip--and I'd bringStanborough--what?'
　　This offer was not the outcome of a sudden spasm of warm-heartednesson his lordship's part. He had pondered the matter deeply, and hadcome to the conclusion that, though it had flaws, it was the bestplan. He was alive to the fact that a small boy was not an absoluteessential to the success of a yachting trip, and, since seeingOgden's portrait, he had realized still more clearly that thescheme had draw-backs. But he badly wanted Stanborough to makeone of the party. Whatever Ogden might be, there was no doubt thatBilly Stanborough, that fellow of infinite jest, was the idealcompanion for a voyage. It would make just all the difference havinghim. The trouble was that Stanborough flatly refused to take anindefinite holiday, on the plea that he could not afford the time.
　　Upon which his lordship, seldom blessed with great ideas, had surprisedhimself by producing the scheme he had just sketched out to Mrs Ford.
　　He looked at her expectantly, as he finished speaking, and wassurprised to see a swift cloud of distress pass over her face. Herapidly reviewed his last speech. No, nothing to upset anyone inthat. He was puzzled.
　　She looked past him at the portrait. There was pain in her eyes.
　　'I'm afraid you don't quite understand the position of affairs,'
　　she said. Her voice was harsh and strained.
　　'Eh?'
　　'You see--I have not--' She stopped. 'My little boy is not--Ogdenis not living with me just now.'
　　'At school, eh?'
　　'No, not at school. Let me tell you the whole position. Mr Fordand I did not get on very well together, and a year ago we weredivorced in Washington, on the ground of incompatibility,and--and--'
　　She choked. His lordship, a young man with a shrinking horror ofthe deeper emotions, whether exhibited in woman or man, writhedsilently. That was the worst of these Americans! Always gettingdivorced and causing unpleasantness. How was a fellow to know? Whyhadn't whoever it was who first introduced them--he couldn'tremember who the dickens it was--told him about this? He hadsupposed she was just the ordinary American woman doing Europewith an affectionate dollar-dispensing husband in the backgroundsomewhere.
　　'Er--' he said. It was all he could find to say.
　　'And--and the court,' said Mrs Ford, between her teeth, 'gave himthe custody of Ogden.'
　　Lord Mountry, pink with embarrassment, gurgled sympathetically.
　　'Since then I have not seen Ogden. That was why I was interestedwhen you mentioned your friend Mr Stanborough. It struck me thatMr Ford could hardly object to my having a portrait of my sonpainted at my own expense. Nor do I suppose that he will, when--ifthe matter is put to him. But, well, you see it would be prematureto make any arrangements at present for having the picture paintedon our yacht trip.'
　　'I'm afraid it knocks that scheme on the head,' said Lord Mountrymournfully.
　　'Not necessarily.'
　　'Eh?'
　　'I don't want to make plans yet, but--it is possible that Ogdenmay be with us after all. Something may be--arranged.'
　　'You think you may be able to bring him along on the yacht afterall?'
　　'I am hoping so.'
　　Lord Mountry, however willing to emit sympathetic gurgles, was tooplain and straightforward a young man to approve of wilfulblindness to obvious facts.
　　'I don't see how you are going to override the decision of thecourt. It holds good in England, I suppose?'
　　'I am hoping something may be--arranged.'
　　'Oh, same here, same here. Certainly.' Having done his duty by notallowing plain facts to be ignored, his lordship was ready tobecome sympathetic again. 'By the way, where is Ogden?'
　　'He is down at Mr Ford's house in the country. But--'
　　She was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone bell. She wasout of her seat and across the room at the receiver with whatappeared to Lord Mountry's startled gaze one bound. As she put theinstrument to her ear a wave of joy swept over her face. She gavea little cry of delight and excitement.
　　'Send them right up at once,' she said, and turned to Lord Mountrytransformed.
　　'Lord Mountry,' she said quickly, 'please don't think meimpossibly rude if I turn you out. Some--some people are coming tosee me. I must--'
　　His lordship rose hurriedly.
　　'Of course. Of course. Certainly. Where did I put my--ah, here.'
　　He seized his hat, and by way of economizing effort, knocked hisstick on to the floor with the same movement. Mrs Ford watched hisbendings and gropings with growing impatience, till finally herose, a little flushed but with a full hand--stick, gloves, andhat, all present and correct.
　　'Good-bye, then, Mrs Ford, for the present. You'll let me know ifyour little boy will be able to make one of our party on theyacht?'
　　'Yes, yes. Thank you ever so much. Good-bye.'
　　'Good-bye.'
　　He reached the door and opened it.
　　'By Jove,' he said, springing round--'Stanborough! What aboutStanborough? Shall I tell him to wait? He's down below, you know!'
　　'Yes, yes. Tell Mr Stanborough I'm dreadfully sorry to have tokeep him waiting, and ask him if he won't stay for a few minutesin the Palm Room.'
　　Inspiration came to Lord Mountry.
　　'I'll give him a drink,' he said.
　　'Yes, yes, anything. Lord Mountry, you really must go. I know I'mrude. I don't know what I'm saying. But--my boy is returning tome.'
　　The accumulated chivalry of generations of chivalrous ancestorsacted like a spur on his lordship. He understood but dimly, yetenough to enable him to realize that a scene was about to takeplace in which he was most emphatically not 'on'. A mother'smeeting with her long-lost child, this is a sacred thing. This wasquite clear to him, so, turning like a flash, he bounded throughthe doorway, and, as somebody happened to be coming in at the sametime, there was a collision, which left him breathing apologies inhis familiar attitude of stooping to pick up his hat.
　　The new-comers were a tall, strikingly handsome girl, with arather hard and cynical cast of countenance. She was leading bythe hand a small, fat boy of about fourteen years of age, whoselikeness to the portrait on the chair proclaimed his identity. Hehad escaped the collision, but seemed offended by it; for, eyeingthe bending peer with cold distaste, he summed up his opinion ofhim in the one word 'Chump!'
　　Lord Mountry rose.
　　'I beg your pardon,' he said for perhaps the seventh time. He wasthoroughly unstrung. Always excessively shy, he was embarrassednow by quite a variety of causes. The world was full of eyes--MrsFord's saying 'Go!' Ogden's saying 'Fool!' the portrait saying'Idiot!' and, finally, the eyes of this wonderfully handsome girl,large, grey, cool, amused, and contemptuous saying--so it seemedto him in that feverish moment--'Who is this curious pink personwho cumbers the ground before me?'
　　'I--I beg your pardon.' he repeated.
　　'Ought to look where you're going,' said Ogden severely.
　　'Not at all,' said the girl. 'Won't you introduce me, Nesta?'
　　'Lord Mountry--Miss Drassilis,' said Mrs Ford.
　　'I'm afraid we're driving Lord Mountry away,' said the girl. Hereyes seemed to his lordship larger, greyer, cooler, more amused,and more contemptuous than ever. He floundered in them like anunskilful swimmer in deep waters.
　　'No, no,' he stammered. 'Give you my word. Just going. Good-bye.
　　You won't forget to let me know about the yacht, Mrs Ford--what?
　　It'll be an awfully jolly party. Good-bye, good-bye, MissDrassilis.'
　　He looked at Ogden for an instant, as if undecided whether to takethe liberty of addressing him too, and then, his heart apparentlyfailing him, turned and bolted. From down the corridor came theclatter of a dropped stick.
　　Cynthia Drassilis closed the door and smiled.
　　'A nervous young person!' she said. 'What was he saying about ayacht, Nesta?'
　　Mrs Ford roused herself from her fascinated contemplation ofOgden.
　　'Oh, nothing. Some of us are going to the south of France in hisyacht next week.'
　　'What a delightful idea!'
　　There was a certain pensive note in Cynthia's voice.
　　'A splendid idea!' she murmured.
　　Mrs Ford swooped. She descended on Ogden in a swirl and rustle ofexpensive millinery, and clasped him to her.
　　'My boy!'
　　It is not given to everybody to glide neatly into a scene of tenseemotion. Ogden failed to do so. He wriggled roughly from theembrace.
　　'Got a cigarette?' he said.
　　He was an extraordinarily unpleasant little boy. Physically theportrait standing on the chair did him more than justice. Paintedby a mother's loving hand, it flattered him. It was bulgy. He wasmore bulgy. It was sullen. He scowled. And, art having itslimitations, particularly amateur art, the portrait gave no hintof his very repellent manner. He was an intensely sophisticatedchild. He had the air of one who has seen all life has to offer,and is now permanently bored. His speech and bearing were those ofa young man, and a distinctly unlovable young man.
　　Even Mrs Ford was momentarily chilled. She laughed shakily.
　　'How very matter-of-fact you are, darling!' she said.
　　Cynthia was regarding the heir to the Ford millions with her usualsteady, half-contemptuous gaze.
　　'He has been that all day,' she said. 'You have no notion what ahelp it was to me.'
　　Mrs Ford turned to her effusively.
　　'Oh, Cynthia, dear, I haven't thanked you.'
　　'No,' interpolated the girl dryly.
　　'You're a wonder, darling. You really are. I've been repeatingthat ever since I got your telegram from Eastnor.' She broke off.
　　'Ogden, come near me, my little son.'
　　He lurched towards her sullenly.
　　'Don't muss a fellow now,' he stipulated, before allowing himselfto be enfolded in the outstretched arms.
　　'Tell me, Cynthia,' resumed Mrs Ford, 'how did you do it? I wastelling Lord Mountry that I _hoped_ I might see my Ogden againsoon, but I never really hoped. It seemed too impossible that youshould succeed.'
　　'This Lord Mountry of yours,' said Cynthia. 'How did you get toknow him? Why have I not seen him before?'
　　'I met him in Paris in the fall. He has been out of London for along time, looking after his father, who was ill.'
　　'I see.'
　　'He has been most kind, making arrangements about getting Ogden'sportrait painted. But, bother Lord Mountry. How did we getsidetracked on to him? Tell me how you got Ogden away.'
　　Cynthia yawned.
　　'It was extraordinarily easy, as it turned out, you see.'
　　'Ogden, darling,' observed Mrs Ford, 'don't go away. I want younear me.'
　　'Oh, all right.'
　　'Then stay by me, angel-face.'
　　'Oh, slush!' muttered angel-face beneath his breath. 'Say, I'mdarned hungry,' he added.
　　It was if an electric shock had been applied to Mrs Ford. Shesprang to her feet.
　　'My poor child! Of course you must have some lunch. Ring the bell,Cynthia. I'll have them send up some here.'
　　'I'll have _mine_ here,' said Cynthia.
　　'Oh, you've had no lunch either! I was forgetting that.'
　　'I thought you were.'
　　'You must both lunch here.'
　　'Really,' said Cynthia, 'I think it would be better if Ogden hadhis downstairs in the restaurant.'
　　'Want to talk scandal, eh?'
　　'Ogden, _dearest!_' said Mrs Ford. 'Very well, Cynthia. Go,Ogden. You will order yourself something substantial, marvel-child?'
　　'Bet your life,' said the son and heir tersely.
　　There was a brief silence as the door closed. Cynthia gazed at herfriend with a peculiar expression.
　　'Well, I did it, dear,' she said.
　　'Yes. It's splendid. You're a wonder, darling.'
　　'Yes,' said Cynthia.
　　There was another silence.
　　'By the way,' said Mrs Ford, 'didn't you say there was a littlething, a small bill, that was worrying you?'
　　'Did I mention it? Yes, there is. It's rather pressing. In fact,it's taking up most of the horizon at present. Here it is.'
　　'Is it a large sum?' Mrs Ford took the slip of paper and gave a slightgasp. Then, coming to the bureau, she took out her cheque-book.
　　'It's very kind of you, Nesta,' said Cynthia. 'They were beginningto show quite a vindictive spirit about it.'
　　She folded the cheque calmly and put it in her purse.
　　'And now tell me how you did it,' said Mrs Ford.
　　She dropped into a chair and leaned back, her hands behind herhead. For the first time, she seemed to enjoy perfect peace ofmind. Her eyes half closed, as if she had been making ready tolisten to some favourite music.
　　'Tell me from the very beginning,' she said softly.
　　Cynthia checked a yawn.
　　'Very well, dear,' she said. 'I caught the 10.20 to Eastnor, whichisn't a bad train, if you ever want to go down there. I arrived ata quarter past twelve, and went straight up to the house--you'venever seen the house, of course? It's quite charming--and told thebutler that I wanted to see Mr Ford on business. I had taken theprecaution to find out that he was not there. He is at Droitwich.'
　　'Rheumatism,' murmured Mrs Ford. 'He has it sometimes.'
　　'The man told me he was away, and then he seemed to think that Iought to go. I stuck like a limpet. I sent him to fetch Ogden'stutor. His name is Broster--Reggie Broster. He is a very niceyoung man. Big, broad shoulders, and such a kind face.'
　　'Yes, dear, yes?'
　　'I told him I was doing a series of drawings for a magazine of theinteriors of well-known country houses.'
　　'He believed you?'
　　'He believed everything. He's that kind of man. He believed mewhen I told him that my editor particularly wanted me to sketchthe staircase. They had told me about the staircase at the inn. Iforget what it is exactly, but it's something rather special instaircases.'
　　'So you got in?'
　　'So I got in.'
　　'And saw Ogden?'
　　'Only for a moment--then Reggie--'
　　'Who?'
　　'Mr Broster. I always think of him as Reggie. He's one of Nature'sReggies. _Such_ a kind, honest face. Well, as I was saying,Reggie discovered that it was time for lessons, and sent Ogdenupstairs.'
　　'By himself?'
　　'By himself! Reggie and I chatted for a while.'
　　Mrs Ford's eyes opened, brown and bright and hard.
　　'Mr Broster is not a proper tutor for my boy,' she said coldly.
　　'I suppose it was wrong of Reggie,' said Cynthia. 'But--I waswearing this hat.'
　　'Go on.'
　　'Well, after a time, I said I must be starting my work. He wantedme to start with the room we were in. I said no, I was going outinto the grounds to sketch the house from the EAST. I chose theEAST because it happens to be nearest the railway station. I addedthat I supposed he sometimes took Ogden for a little walk in thegrounds. He said yes, he did, and it was just about due. He saidpossibly he might come round my way. He said Ogden would beinterested in my sketch. He seemed to think a lot of Ogden'sfondness for art.'
　　'Mr Broster is _not_ a proper tutor for my boy.'
　　'Well, he isn't your boy's tutor now, is he, dear?'
　　'What happened then?'
　　'I strolled off with my sketching things. After a while Reggie andOgden came up. I said I hadn't been able to work because I hadbeen frightened by a bull.'
　　'Did he believe _that_?'
　　'_Certainly_ he believed it. He was most kind and sympathetic.
　　We had a nice chat. He told me all about himself. He used to bevery good at football. He doesn't play now, but he often thinks ofthe past.'
　　'But he must have seen that you couldn't sketch. Then what becameof your magazine commission story?'
　　'Well, somehow the sketch seemed to get shelved. I didn't evenhave to start it. We were having our chat, you see. Reggie wastelling me how good he had been at football when he was at Oxford,and he wanted me to see a newspaper clipping of a Varsity match hehad played in. I said I'd love to see it. He said it was in hissuit-case in the house. So I promised to look after Ogden while hefetched it. I sent him off to get it just in time for us to catchthe train. Off he went, and here we are. And now, won't you orderthat lunch you mentioned? I'm starving.'
　　Mrs Ford rose. Half-way to the telephone she stopped suddenly.
　　'My dear child! It has only just struck me! We must leave here atonce. He will have followed you. He will guess that Ogden has beenkidnapped.'
　　Cynthia smiled.
　　'Believe me, it takes Reggie quite a long time to guess anything.
　　Besides, there are no trains for hours. We are quite safe.'
　　'Are you sure?'
　　'Absolutely. I made certain of that before I left.'
　　Mrs Ford kissed her impulsively.
　　'Oh, Cynthia, you really are wonderful!'
　　She started back with a cry as the bell rang sharply.
　　'For goodness' sake, Nesta,' said Cynthia, with irritation, 'dokeep control of yourself. There's nothing to be frightened about.
　　I tell you Mr Broster can't possibly have got here in the time,even if he knew where to go to, which I don't see how he could.
　　It's probably Ogden.'
　　The colour came back into Mrs Ford's cheeks.
　　'Why, of course.'
　　Cynthia opened the door.
　　'Come in, darling,' said Mrs Ford fondly. And a wiry little manwith grey hair and spectacles entered.
　　'Good afternoon, Mrs Ford,' he said. 'I have come to take Ogdenback.'
　　IIThere are some situations in life so unexpected, so trying, that,as far as concerns our opinion of those subjected to them, weagree, as it were, not to count them; we refuse to allow thevictim's behaviour in circumstances so exacting to weigh with usin our estimate of his or her character. We permit the greatgeneral, confronted suddenly with a mad bull, to turn and run,without forfeiting his reputation for courage. The bishop who,stepping on a concealed slide in winter, entertains passers-bywith momentary rag-time steps, loses none of his dignity once theperformance is concluded.
　　In the same way we must condone the behaviour of Cynthia Drassilison opening the door of Mrs Ford's sitting-room and admitting, notOgden, but this total stranger, who accompanied his entry with theremarkable speech recorded at the close of the last section.
　　She was a girl who prided herself on her carefully blase' andsupercilious attitude towards life; but this changeling was toomuch for her. She released the handle, tottered back, and, havinguttered a discordant squeak of amazement, stood staring, eyes andmouth wide open.
　　On Mrs Ford the apparition had a different effect. The ratherfoolish smile of welcome vanished from her face as if wiped awaywith a sponge. Her eyes, fixed and frightened like those of atrapped animal, glared at the intruder. She took a step forward,choking.
　　'What--what do you mean by daring to enter my room?' she cried.
　　The man held his ground, unmoved. His bearing was a curious blendof diffidence and aggressiveness. He was determined, butapologetic. A hired assassin of the Middle Ages, resolved to dohis job loyally, yet conscious of causing inconvenience to hisvictim, might have looked the same.
　　'I am sorry,' he said, 'but I must ask you to let me have the boy,Mrs Ford.'
　　Cynthia was herself again now. She raked the intruder with thecool stare which had so disconcerted Lord Mountry.
　　'Who is this gentleman?' she asked languidly.
　　The intruder was made of tougher stuff than his lordship. He mether eye with quiet firmness.
　　'My name is Mennick,' he said. 'I am Mr Elmer Ford's privatesecretary.'
　　'What do you want?' said Mrs Ford.
　　'I have already explained what I want, Mrs Ford. I want Ogden.'
　　Cynthia raised her eyebrows.
　　'What _does_ he mean, Nesta? Ogden is not here.'
　　Mr Mennick produced from his breast-pocket a telegraph form, andin his quiet, business-like way proceeded to straighten it out.
　　'I have here,' he said, 'a telegram from Mr Broster, Ogden'stutor. It was one of the conditions of his engagement that if everhe was not certain of Ogden's whereabouts he should let me know atonce. He tells me that early this afternoon he left Ogden in thecompany of a strange young lady'--Mr Mennick's spectacles flashedfor a moment at Cynthia--'and that, when he returned, both of themhad disappeared. He made inquiries and discovered that this younglady caught the 1.15 express to London, Ogden with her. On receiptof this information I at once wired to Mr Ford for instructions. Ihave his reply'--he fished for and produced a second telegram--'here.'
　　'I still fail to see what brings you here,' said Mrs Ford. 'Owingto the gross carelessness of his father's employees, my sonappears to have been kidnapped. That is no reason--'
　　'I will read Mr Ford's telegram,' proceeded Mr Mennick unmoved.
　　'It is rather long. I think Mr Ford is somewhat annoyed. "The boyhas obviously been stolen by some hireling of his mother's." I amreading Mr Ford's actual words,' he said, addressing Cynthia withthat touch of diffidence which had marked his manner since hisentrance.
　　'Don't apologize,' said Cynthia, with a short laugh. 'You're notresponsible for Mr Ford's rudeness.'
　　Mr Mennick bowed.
　　'He continued: "Remove him from her illegal restraint. Ifnecessary call in police and employ force."'
　　'Charming!' said Mrs Ford.
　　'Practical,' said Mr Mennick. 'There is more. "Before doinganything else sack that fool of a tutor, then go to Agency andhave them recommend good private school for boy. On no accountengage another tutor. They make me tired. Fix all this today. SendOgden back to Eastnor with Mrs Sheridan. She will stay there withhim till further notice." That is Mr Ford's message.'
　　Mr Mennick folded both documents carefully and replaced them inhis pocket.
　　Mrs Ford looked at the clock.
　　'And now, would you mind going, Mr Mennick?'
　　'I am sorry to appear discourteous, Mrs Ford, but I cannot gowithout Ogden.'
　　'I shall telephone to the office to send up a porter to removeyou.'
　　'I shall take advantage of his presence to ask him to fetch apoliceman.'
　　In the excitement of combat the veneer of apologetic diffidencewas beginning to wear off Mr Mennick. He spoke irritably. Cynthiaappealed to his reason with the air of a bored princess descendingto argument with a groom.
　　'Can't you see for yourself that he's not here?' she said. 'Do youthink we are hiding him?'
　　'Perhaps you would like to search my bedroom?' said Mrs Ford,flinging the door open.
　　Mr Mennick remained uncrushed.
　　'Quite unnecessary, Mrs Ford. I take it, from the fact that hedoes not appear to be in this suite, that he is downstairs makinga late luncheon in the restaurant.'
　　'I shall telephone--'
　　'And tell them to send him up. Believe me, Mrs Ford, it is theonly thing to do. You have my deepest sympathy, but I am employedby Mr Ford and must act solely in his interests. The law is on myside. I am here to fetch Ogden away, and I am going to have him.'
　　'You shan't!'
　　'I may add that, when I came up here, I left Mrs Sheridan--she isa fellow-secretary of mine. You may remember Mr Ford mentioningher in his telegram--I left her to search the restaurant andgrill-room, with instructions to bring Ogden, if found, to me inthis room.'
　　The door-bell rang. He went to the door and opened it.
　　'Come in, Mrs Sheridan. Ah!'
　　A girl in a plain, neat blue dress entered the room. She was asmall, graceful girl of about twenty-five, pretty and brisk, withthe air of one accustomed to look after herself in a difficultworld. Her eyes were clear and steady, her mouth sensitive butfirm, her chin the chin of one who has met trouble and faced itbravely. A little soldier.
　　She was shepherding Ogden before her, a gorged but still sullenOgden. He sighted Mr Mennick and stopped.
　　'Hello!' he said. 'What have you blown in for?'
　　'He was just in the middle of his lunch,' said the girl. 'Ithought you wouldn't mind if I let him finish.'
　　'Say, what's it all about, anyway?' demanded Ogden crossly. 'Can'ta fellow have a bit of grub in peace? You give me a pain.'
　　Mr Mennick explained.
　　'Your father wishes you to return to Eastnor, Ogden.'
　　'Oh, all right. I guess I'd better go, then. Good-bye, ma.'
　　Mrs Ford choked.
　　'Kiss me, Ogden.'
　　Ogden submitted to the embrace in sulky silence. The otherscomported themselves each after his or her own fashion. Mr Mennickfingered his chin uncomfortably. Cynthia turned to the table andpicked up an illustrated paper. Mrs Sheridan's eyes filled withtears. She took a half-step towards Mrs Ford, as if about tospeak, then drew back.
　　'Come, Ogden,' said Mr Mennick gruffly. Necessary, this HiredAssassin work, but painful--devilish painful. He breathed a sighof relief as he passed into the corridor with his prize.
　　At the door Mrs Sheridan hesitated, stopped, and turned.
　　'I'm sorry,' she said impulsively.
　　Mrs Ford turned away without speaking, and went into the bedroom.
　　Cynthia laid down her paper.
　　'One moment, Mrs Sheridan.'
　　The girl had turned to go. She stopped.
　　'Can you give me a minute? Come in and shut the door. Won't yousit down? Very well. You seemed sorry for Mrs Ford just now.'
　　'I am very sorry for Mrs Ford. Very sorry. I hate to see hersuffering. I wish Mr Mennick had not brought me into this.'
　　'Nesta's mad about that boy,' said Cynthia. 'Heaven knows why.
　　_I_ never saw such a repulsive child in my life. However,there it is. I am sorry for you. I gathered from what Mr Mennicksaid that you were to have a good deal of Ogden's society for sometime to come. How do you feel about it?'
　　Mrs Sheridan moved towards the door.
　　'I must be going,' she said. 'Mr Mennick will be waiting for me.'
　　'One moment. Tell me, don't you think, after what you saw justnow, that Mrs Ford is the proper person to have charge of Ogden?
　　You see how devoted she is to him?'
　　'May I be quite frank with you?'
　　'Please.'
　　'Well, then, I think that Mrs Ford's influence is the worstpossible for Ogden. I am sorry for her, but that does not alter myopinion. It is entirely owing to Mrs Ford that Ogden is what heis. She spoiled him, indulged him in every way, never checkedhim--till he has become--well, what you yourself called him,repulsive.'
　　Cynthia laughed.
　　'Oh well,' she said, 'I only talked that mother's love stuffbecause you looked the sort of girl who would like it. We can dropall that now, and come down to business.'
　　'I don't understand you.'
　　'You will. I don't know if you think that I kidnapped Ogden fromsheer affection for Mrs Ford. I like Nesta, but not as much asthat. No. I'm one of the Get-Rich-Quick-Wallingfords, and I'mlooking out for myself all the time. There's no one else to do itfor me. I've a beastly home. My father's dead. My mother's a cat.
　　So--'
　　'Please stop,' said Mrs Sheridan. I don't know why you are tellingme all this.'
　　'Yes, you do. I don't know what salary Mr Ford pays you, but Idon't suppose it's anything princely. Why don't you come over tous? Mrs Ford would give you the earth if you smuggled Ogden backto her.'
　　'You seem to be trying to bribe me,' said Mrs Sheridan.
　　'In this case,' said Cynthia, 'appearances aren't deceptive. Iam.'
　　'Good afternoon.'
　　'Don't be a little fool.'
　　The door slammed.
　　'Come back!' cried Cynthia. She took a step as if to follow, butgave up the idea with a laugh. She sat down and began to read herillustrated paper again. Presently the bedroom door opened. MrsFord came in. She touched her eyes with a handkerchief as sheentered. Cynthia looked up.
　　'I'm very sorry, Nesta,' she said.
　　Mrs Ford went to the window and looked out.
　　'I'm not going to break down, if that's what you mean,' she said.
　　'I don't care. And, anyhow, it shows that it _can_ be done.'
　　Cynthia turned a page of her paper.
　　'I've just been trying my hand at bribery and corruption.'
　　'What do you mean?'
　　'Oh, I promised and vowed many things in your name to thatsecretary person, the female one--not Mennick--if she would helpus. Nothing doing. I told her to let us have Ogden as soon aspossible, C.O.D., and she withered me with a glance and went.'
　　Mrs Ford shrugged her shoulders impatiently.
　　'Oh, let her go. I'm sick of amateurs.'
　　'Thank you, dear,' said Cynthia.
　　'Oh, I know you did your best. For an amateur you did wonderfullywell. But amateurs never really succeed. There were a dozen littleeasy precautions which we neglected to take. What we want is aprofessional; a man whose business is kidnapping; the sort of manwho kidnaps as a matter of course; someone like Smooth SamFisher.'
　　'My dear Nesta! Who? I don't think I know the gentleman.'
　　'He tried to kidnap Ogden in 1906, when we were in New York. Atleast, the police put it down to him, though they could provenothing. Then there was a horrible man, the police said he wascalled Buck MacGinnis. He tried in 1907. That was in Chicago.'
　　'Good gracious! Kidnapping Ogden seems to be as popular asfootball. And I thought I was a pioneer!'
　　Something approaching pride came into Mrs Ford's voice.
　　'I don't suppose there's a child in America,' she said, 'who hashad to be so carefully guarded. Why, the kidnappers had a specialname for him--they called him "The Little Nugget". For years wenever allowed him out of our sight without a detective to watchhim.'
　　'Well, Mr Ford seems to have changed all that now. I saw nodetectives. I suppose he thinks they aren't necessary in England.
　　Or perhaps he relied on Mr Broster. Poor Reggie!'
　　'It was criminally careless of him. This will be a lesson to him.
　　He will be more careful in future how he leaves Ogden at the mercyof anybody who cares to come along and snap him up.'
　　'Which, incidentally, does not make your chance of getting himaway any lighter.'
　　'Oh, I've given up hope now,' said Mrs Ford resignedly.
　　'_I_ haven't,' said Cynthia.
　　There was something in her voice which made her companion turnsharply and look at her. Mrs Ford might affect to be resigned, butshe was a woman of determination, and if the recent reverse hadleft her bruised, it had by no means crushed her.
　　'Cynthia! What do you mean? What are you hinting?'
　　'You despise amateurs, Nesta, but, for all that, it seems thatyour professionals who kidnap as a matter of course and all therest of it have not been a bit more successful. It was not my wantof experience that made me fail. It was my sex. This is man'swork. If I had been a man, I should at least have had brute forceto fall back upon when Mr Mennick arrived.'
　　Mrs Ford nodded.
　　'Yes, but--'
　　'And,' continued Cynthia, 'as all these Smooth Sam Fishers ofyours have failed too, it is obvious that the only way to kidnapOgden is from within. We must have some man working for us in theenemy's camp.'
　　'Which is impossible,' said Mrs Ford dejectedly.
　　'Not at all.'
　　'You know a man?'
　　'I know _the_ man.'
　　'Cynthia! What do you mean? Who is he?'
　　'His name is Peter Burns.'
　　Mrs Ford shook her head.
　　'I don't know him.'
　　'I'll introduce you. You'll like him.'
　　'But, Cynthia, how do you know he would be willing to help us?'
　　'He would do it for me,' Cynthia paused. 'You see,' she went on,'we are engaged to be married.'
　　'My dear Cynthia! Why did you not tell me? When did it happen?'
　　'Last night at the Fletchers' dance.'
　　Mrs Ford's eyes opened.
　　'Last night! Were you at a dance last night? And two railwayjourneys today! You must be tired to death.'
　　'Oh, I'm all right, thanks. I suppose I shall be a wreck and notfit to be seen tomorrow, but just at present I feel as if nothingcould tire me. It's the effect of being engaged, perhaps.'
　　'Tell me about him.'
　　'Well, he's rich, and good-looking, and amiable'--Cynthia tickedoff these qualities on her fingers--'and I think he's brave, andhe's certainly not so stupid as Mr Broster.'
　　'And you're very much in love with him?'
　　'I like him. There's no harm in Peter.'
　　'You certainly aren't wildly enthusiastic!'
　　'Oh, we shall hit it off quite well together. I needn't pose to_you_, Nesta, thank goodness! That's one reason why I'm fondof you. You know how I am situated. I've got to marry some onerich, and Peter's quite the nicest rich man I've ever met. He'sreally wonderfully unselfish. I can't understand it. With hismoney, you would expect him to be a perfect horror.'
　　A thought seemed to strike Mrs Ford.
　　'But, if he's so rich--' she began. 'I forget what I was going tosay,' she broke off.
　　'Dear Nesta, I know what you were going to say. If he's so rich,why should he be marrying me, when he could take his pick of halfLondon? Well, I'll tell you. He's marrying me for one reason,because he's sorry for me: for another, because I had the sense tomake him. He didn't think he was going to marry anyone. A fewyears ago he had a disappointment. A girl jilted him. She musthave been a fool. He thought he was going to live the rest of hislife alone with his broken heart. I didn't mean to allow that.
　　It's taken a long time--over two years, from start to finish--butI've done it. He's a sentimentalist. I worked on his sympathy, andlast night I made him propose to me at the Fletchers' dance.'
　　Mrs Ford had not listened to these confidences unmoved. Severaltimes she had tried to interrupt, but had been brushed aside. Nowshe spoke sharply.
　　'You know I was not going to say anything of the kind. And I don'tthink you should speak in this horrible, cynical way of--of--'
　　She stopped, flushing. There were moments when she hated Cynthia.
　　These occurred for the most part when the latter, as now, stirredher to an exhibition of honest feeling which she looked on asrather unbecoming. Mrs Ford had spent twenty years trying toforget that her husband had married her from behind the counter ofa general store in an Illinois village, and these lapses into theuncultivated genuineness of her girlhood made her uncomfortable.
　　'I wasn't going to say anything of the kind,' she repeated.
　　Cynthia was all smiling good-humour.
　　'I know. I was only teasing you. "Stringing", they call it in yourcountry, don't they?'
　　Mrs Ford was mollified.
　　'I'm sorry, Cynthia. I didn't mean to snap at you. All thesame ...' She hesitated. What she wanted to ask smacked sodreadfully of Mechanicsville, Illinois. Yet she put the questionbravely, for she was somehow feeling quite troubled about thisunknown Mr Burns. 'Aren't you really fond of him at all, Cynthia?'
　　Cynthia beamed.
　　'Of course I am! He's a dear. Nothing would make me give him up.
　　I'm devoted to old Peter. I only told you all that about himbecause it shows you how kind-hearted he is. He'll do anything forme. Well, shall I sound him about Ogden?'
　　The magic word took Mrs Ford's mind off the matrimonial future ofMr Burns, and brought him into prominence in his capacity ofknight-errant. She laughed happily. The contemplation of Mr Burnsas knight-errant healed the sting of defeat. The affair of MrMennick began to appear in the light of a mere skirmish.
　　'You take my breath away!' she said. 'How do you propose that MrBurns shall help us?'
　　'It's perfectly simple. You heard Mr Mennick read that telegram.
　　Ogden is to be sent to a private school. Peter shall go theretoo.'
　　'But how? I don't understand. We don't know which school MrMennick will choose.'
　　'We can very soon find out.'
　　'But how can Mr Burns go there?'
　　'Nothing easier. He will be a young man who has been left a littlemoney and wants to start a school of his own. He goes to Ogden'sman and suggests that he pay a small premium to come to him for aterm as an extra-assistant-master, to learn the business. Mr Manwill jump at him. He will be getting the bargain of his life.
　　Peter didn't get much of a degree at Oxford, but I believe he waswonderful at games. From a private-school point of view he's atreasure.'
　　'But--would he do it?'
　　'I think I can persuade him.'
　　Mrs Ford kissed her with an enthusiasm which hitherto she hadreserved for Ogden.
　　'My darling girl,' she cried, 'if you knew how happy you have mademe!'
　　'I do,' said Cynthia definitely. 'And now you can do the same forme.'
　　'Anything, anything! You must have some more hats.'
　　'I don't want any more hats. I want to go with you on LordMountry's yacht to the Riviera.'
　　'Of course,' said Mrs Ford after a slight pause, 'it isn't myparty, you know, dear.'
　　'No. But you can work me in, darling.'
　　'It's quite a small party. Very quiet.'
　　'Crowds bore me. I enjoy quiet.'
　　Mrs Ford capitulated.
　　'I fancy you are doing me a very good turn,' she said. 'You mustcertainly come on the yacht.'
　　'I'll tell Peter to come straight round here now,' said Cynthiasimply. She went to the telephone.
Part 2 Chapter 1
I
I am strongly of the opinion that, after the age of twenty-one, aman ought not to be out of bed and awake at four in the morning.
　　The hour breeds thought. At twenty-one, life being all future, itmay be examined with impunity. But, at thirty, having become anuncomfortable mixture of future and past, it is a thing to belooked at only when the sun is high and the world full of warmthand optimism.
　　This thought came to me as I returned to my rooms after theFletchers' ball. The dawn was breaking as I let myself in. The airwas heavy with the peculiar desolation of a London winter morning.
　　The houses looked dead and untenanted. A cart rumbled past, andacross the grey street a dingy black cat, moving furtively alongthe pavement, gave an additional touch of forlornness to thescene.
　　I shivered. I was tired and hungry, and the reaction after theemotions of the night had left me dispirited.
　　I was engaged to be married. An hour back I had proposed toCynthia Drassilis. And I can honestly say that it had come as agreat surprise to me.
　　Why had I done it? Did I love her? It was so difficult to analyselove: and perhaps the mere fact that I was attempting the task wasan answer to the question. Certainly I had never tried to do sofive years ago when I had loved Audrey Blake. I had let myself becarried on from day to day in a sort of trance, content to beutterly happy, without dissecting my happiness. But I was fiveyears younger then, and Audrey was--Audrey.
　　I must explain Audrey, for she in her turn explains Cynthia.
　　I have no illusions regarding my character when I first met AudreyBlake. Nature had given me the soul of a pig, and circumstanceshad conspired to carry on Nature's work. I loved comfort, and Icould afford to have it. From the moment I came of age andrelieved my trustees of the care of my money, I wrapped myself incomfort as in a garment. I wallowed in egoism. In fact, if,between my twenty-first and my twenty-fifth birthdays, I had oneunselfish thought, or did one genuinely unselfish action, mymemory is a blank on the point.
　　It was at the height of this period that I became engaged toAudrey. Now that I can understand her better and see myself,impartially, as I was in those days, I can realize how indescribablyoffensive I must have been. My love was real, but that did notprevent its patronizing complacency being an insult. I was KingCophetua. If I did not actually say in so many words, 'Thisbeggar-maid shall be my queen', I said it plainly and often in mymanner. She was the daughter of a dissolute, evil-tempered artistwhom I had met at a Bohemian club. He made a living by paintingan occasional picture, illustrating an occasional magazine-story,but mainly by doing advertisement work. A proprietor of a patentInfants' Food, not satisfied with the bare statement that BabyCried For It, would feel it necessary to push the fact home to thepublic through the medium of Art, and Mr Blake would be commissionedto draw the picture. A good many specimens of his work in this veinwere to be found in the back pages of the magazines.
　　A man may make a living by these means, but it is one thatinclines him to jump at a wealthy son-in-law. Mr Blake jumped atme. It was one of his last acts on this earth. A week after hehad--as I now suspect--bullied Audrey into accepting me, he diedof pneumonia.
　　His death had several results. It postponed the wedding: itstirred me to a very crescendo of patronage, for with the removalof the bread-winner the only flaw in my Cophetua pose hadvanished: and it gave Audrey a great deal more scope than she hadhitherto been granted for the exercise of free will in the choiceof a husband.
　　This last aspect of the matter was speedily brought to my notice,which till then it had escaped, by a letter from her, handed to meone night at the club, where I was sipping coffee and musing onthe excellence of life in this best of all possible worlds.
　　It was brief and to the point. She had been married that morning.
　　To say that that moment was a turning point in my life would be touse a ridiculously inadequate phrase. It dynamited my life. In asense it killed me. The man I had been died that night, regretted,I imagine, by few. Whatever I am today, I am certainly not thecomplacent spectator of life that I had been before that night.
　　I crushed the letter in my hand, and sat staring at it, my pigstyin ruins about my ears, face to face with the fact that, even in abest of all possible worlds, money will not buy everything.
　　I remember, as I sat there, a man, a club acquaintance, a borefrom whom I had fled many a time, came and settled down beside meand began to talk. He was a small man, but he possessed a voice towhich one had to listen. He talked and talked and talked. How Iloathed him, as I sat trying to think through his stream of words.
　　I see now that he saved me. He forced me out of myself. But at thetime he oppressed me. I was raw and bleeding. I was struggling tograsp the incredible. I had taken Audrey's unalterable affectionfor granted. She was the natural complement to my scheme ofcomfort. I wanted her; I had chosen and was satisfied with her,therefore all was well. And now I had to adjust my mind to theimpossible fact that I had lost her.
　　Her letter was a mirror in which I saw myself. She said little,but I understood, and my self-satisfaction was in ribbons--andsomething deeper than self-satisfaction. I saw now that I lovedher as I had not dreamed myself capable of loving.
　　And all the while this man talked and talked.
　　I have a theory that speech, persevered in, is more efficacious intimes of trouble than silent sympathy. Up to a certain point itmaddens almost beyond endurance; but, that point past, it soothes.
　　At least, it was so in my case. Gradually I found myself hatinghim less. Soon I began to listen, then to answer. Before I leftthe club that night, the first mad frenzy, in which I could havebeen capable of anything, had gone from me, and I walked home,feeling curiously weak and helpless, but calm, to begin the newlife.
　　Three years passed before I met Cynthia. I spent those yearswandering in many countries. At last, as one is apt to do, Idrifted back to London, and settled down again to a life which,superficially, was much the same as the one I had led in the daysbefore I knew Audrey. My old circle in London had been wide, and Ifound it easy to pick up dropped threads. I made new friends,among them Cynthia Drassilis.
　　I liked Cynthia, and I was sorry for her. I think that, about thattime I met her, I was sorry for most people. The shock of Audrey'sdeparture had had that effect upon me. It is always the bad niggerwho gets religion most strongly at the camp-meeting, and in mycase 'getting religion' had taken the form of suppression of self.
　　I never have been able to do things by halves, or even with adecent moderation. As an egoist I had been thorough in my egoism;and now, fate having bludgeoned that vice out of me, I foundmyself possessed of an almost morbid sympathy with the troubles ofother people.
　　I was extremely sorry for Cynthia Drassilis. Meeting her motherfrequently, I could hardly fail to be. Mrs Drassilis was arepresentative of a type I disliked. She was a widow, who had beenleft with what she considered insufficient means, and her outlookon life was a compound of greed and querulousness. Sloane Squareand South Kensington are full of women in her situation. Theirposition resembles that of the Ancient Mariner. 'Water, watereverywhere, and not a drop to drink.' For 'water' in their casesubstitute 'money'. Mrs Drassilis was connected with money on allsides, but could only obtain it in rare and minute quantities. Anyone of a dozen relations-in-law could, if they had wished, havetrebled her annual income without feeling it. But they did not sowish. They disapproved of Mrs Drassilis. In their opinion the Hon.
　　Hugo Drassilis had married beneath him--not so far beneath him asto make the thing a horror to be avoided in conversation andthought, but far enough to render them coldly polite to his wifeduring his lifetime and almost icy to his widow after his death.
　　Hugo's eldest brother, the Earl of Westbourne, had never liked theobviously beautiful, but equally obviously second-rate, daughterof a provincial solicitor whom Hugo had suddenly presented to thefamily one memorable summer as his bride. He considered that, bydoubling the income derived from Hugo's life-insurance andinviting Cynthia to the family seat once a year during herchildhood, he had done all that could be expected of him in thematter.
　　He had not. Mrs Drassilis expected a great deal more of him, thenon-receipt of which had spoiled her temper, her looks, and thepeace of mind of all who had anything much to do with her.
　　It used to irritate me when I overheard people, as I occasionallyhave done, speak of Cynthia as hard. I never found her so myself,though heaven knows she had enough to make her so, to me she wasalways a sympathetic, charming friend.
　　Ours was a friendship almost untouched by sex. Our minds fitted sosmoothly into one another that I had no inclination to fall inlove. I knew her too well. I had no discoveries to make about her.
　　Her honest, simple soul had always been open to me to read. Therewas none of that curiosity, that sense of something beyond thatmakes for love. We had reached a point of comradeship beyond whichneither of us desired to pass.
　　Yet at the Fletchers' ball I asked Cynthia to marry me, and sheconsented.
　　* * * * *Looking back, I can see that, though the determining cause was MrTankerville Gifford, it was Audrey who was responsible. She hadmade me human, capable of sympathy, and it was sympathy,primarily, that led me to say what I said that night.
　　But the immediate cause was certainly young Mr Gifford.
　　I arrived at Marlow Square, where I was to pick up Cynthia and hermother, a little late, and found Mrs Drassilis, florid andoverdressed, in the drawing-room with a sleek-haired, pale youngman known to me as Tankerville Gifford--to his intimates, of whomI was not one, and in the personal paragraphs of the colouredsporting weeklies, as 'Tanky'. I had seen him frequently atrestaurants. Once, at the Empire, somebody had introduced me tohim; but, as he had not been sober at the moment, he had missedany intellectual pleasure my acquaintanceship might have affordedhim. Like everybody else who moves about in London, I knew allbout him. To sum him up, he was a most unspeakable little cad,and, if the drawing-room had not been Mrs Drassilis's, I shouldhave wondered at finding him in it.
　　Mrs Drassilis introduced us.
　　'I think we have already met,' I said.
　　He stared glassily.
　　'Don't remember.'
　　I was not surprised.
　　At this moment Cynthia came in. Out of the corner of my eye Iobserved a look of fuddled displeasure come into Tanky's face ather frank pleasure at seeing me.
　　I had never seen her looking better. She is a tall girl, whocarries herself magnificently. The simplicity of her dress gainedan added dignity from comparison with the rank glitter of hermother's. She wore unrelieved black, a colour which set off towonderful advantage the clear white of her skin and her pale-goldhair.
　　'You're late, Peter,' she said, looking at the clock.
　　'I know. I'm sorry.'
　　'Better be pushing, what?' suggested Tanky.
　　'My cab's waiting.'
　　'Will you ring the bell, Mr Gifford?' said Mrs Drassilis. 'I willtell Parker to whistle for another.'
　　'Take me in yours,' I heard a voice whisper in my ear.
　　I looked at Cynthia. Her expression had not changed. Then I lookedat Tanky Gifford, and I understood. I had seen that stuffed-fishlook on his face before--on the occasion when I had beenintroduced to him at the Empire.
　　'If you and Mr Gifford will take my cab,' I said to Mrs Drassilis,'we will follow.'
　　Mrs Drassilis blocked the motion. I imagine that the sharp note inher voice was lost on Tanky, but it rang out like a clarion to me.
　　'I am in no hurry,' she said. 'Mr Gifford, will you take Cynthia?
　　I will follow with Mr Burns. You will meet Parker on the stairs.
　　Tell him to call another cab.'
　　As the door closed behind them, she turned on me like a many-colouredsnake.
　　'How can you be so extraordinarily tactless, Peter?' she cried.
　　'You're a perfect fool. Have you no eyes?'
　　'I'm sorry,' I said.
　　'He's devoted to her.'
　　'I'm sorry.'
　　'What do you mean?'
　　'Sorry for her.'
　　She seemed to draw herself together inside her dress. Her eyesglittered. My mouth felt very dry, and my heart was beginning tothump. We were both furiously angry. It was a moment that had beencoming for years, and we both knew it. For my part I was glad thatit had come. On subjects on which one feels deeply it is a reliefto speak one's mind.
　　'Oh!' she said at last. Her voice quivered. She was clutching ather self-control as it slipped from her. 'Oh! And what is mydaughter to you, Mr Burns!'
　　'A great friend.'
　　'And I suppose you think it friendly to try to spoil her chances?'
　　'If Mr Gifford is a sample of them--yes.'
　　'What do you mean?'
　　She choked.
　　'I see. I understand. I am going to put a stop to this once andfor all. Do you hear? I have noticed it for a long time. Because Ihave given you the run of the house, and allowed you to come inand out as you pleased, like a tame cat, you presume--'
　　'Presume--' I prompted.
　　'You come here and stand in Cynthia's way. You trade on the factthat you have known us all this time to monopolize her attention.
　　You spoil her chances. You--'
　　The invaluable Parker entered to say that the cab was at the door.
　　We drove to the Fletchers' house in silence. The spell had beenbroken. Neither of us could recapture that first, fine, carelessrapture which had carried us through the opening stages of theconflict, and discussion of the subject on a less exalted planewas impossible. It was that blessed period of calm, the restbetween rounds, and we observed it to the full.
　　When I reached the ballroom a waltz was just finishing. Cynthia, astatue in black, was dancing with Tanky Gifford. They wereopposite me when the music stopped, and she caught sight of meover his shoulder.
　　She disengaged herself and moved quickly towards me.
　　'Take me away,' she said under her breath. 'Anywhere. Quick.'
　　It was no time to consider the etiquette of the ballroom. Tanky,startled at his sudden loneliness, seemed by his expression to beendeavouring to bring his mind to bear on the matter. A couplemaking for the door cut us off from him, and following them, wepassed out.
　　Neither of us spoke till we had reached the little room where Ihad meditated.
　　She sat down. She was looking pale and tired.
　　'Oh, dear!' she said.
　　I understood. I seemed to see that journey in the cab, thosedances, those terrible between-dances ...
　　It was very sudden.
　　I took her hand. She turned to me with a tired smile. There weretears in her eyes ...
　　I heard myself speaking ...
　　She was looking at me, her eyes shining. All the weariness seemedto have gone out of them.
　　I looked at her.
　　There was something missing. I had felt it when I was speaking. Tome my voice had had no ring of conviction. And then I saw what itwas. There was no mystery. We knew each other too well. Friendshipkills love.
　　She put my thought into words.
　　'We have always been brother and sister,' she said doubtfully.
　　'Till tonight.'
　　'You have changed tonight? You really want me?'
　　Did I? I tried to put the question to myself and answer ithonestly. Yes, in a sense, I had changed tonight. There was anadded appreciation of her fineness, a quickening of that blend ofadmiration and pity which I had always felt for her. I wanted withall my heart to help her, to take her away from her dreadfulsurroundings, to make her happy. But did I want her in the sensein which she had used the word? Did I want her as I had wantedAudrey Blake? I winced away from the question. Audrey belonged tothe dead past, but it hurt to think of her.
　　Was it merely because I was five years older now than when I hadwanted Audrey that the fire had gone out of me?
　　I shut my mind against my doubts.
　　'I have changed tonight,' I said.
　　And I bent down and kissed her.
　　I was conscious of being defiant against somebody. And then I knewthat the somebody was myself.
　　I poured myself out a cup of hot coffee from the flask whichSmith, my man, had filled against my return. It put life into me.
　　The oppression lifted.
　　And yet there remained something that made for uneasiness, a sortof foreboding at the back of my mind.
　　I had taken a step in the dark, and I was afraid for Cynthia. Ihad undertaken to give her happiness. Was I certain that I couldsucceed? The glow of chivalry had left me, and I began to doubt.
　　Audrey had taken from me something that I could not recover--poetrywas as near as I could get to a definition of it. Yes, poetry.
　　With Cynthia my feet would always be on the solid earth. To theend of the chapter we should be friends and nothing more.
　　I found myself pitying Cynthia intensely. I saw her future aseries of years of intolerable dullness. She was too good to betied for life to a battered hulk like myself.
　　I drank more coffee and my mood changed. Even in the grey of awinter morning a man of thirty, in excellent health, cannot poseto himself for long as a piece of human junk, especially if hecomforts himself with hot coffee.
　　My mind resumed its balance. I laughed at myself as a sentimentalfraud. Of course I could make her happy. No man and woman had everbeen more admirably suited to each other. As for that firstdisaster, which I had been magnifying into a life-tragedy, what ofit? An incident of my boyhood. A ridiculous episode which--I rosewith the intention of doing so at once--I should now proceed toeliminate from my life.
　　I went quickly to my desk, unlocked it, and took out a photograph.
　　And then--undoubtedly four o'clock in the morning is no time for aman to try to be single-minded and decisive--I wavered. I hadintended to tear the thing in pieces without a glance, and flingit into the wastepaper-basket. But I took the glance and Ihesitated.
　　The girl in the photograph was small and slight, and she lookedstraight out of the picture with large eyes that met andchallenged mine. How well I remembered them, those Irish-blue eyesunder their expressive, rather heavy brows. How exactly thephotographer had caught that half-wistful, half-impudent look, thechin tilted, the mouth curving into a smile.
　　In a wave all my doubts had surged back upon me. Was this meresentimentalism, a four-in-the-morning tribute to the pathos of theflying years, or did she really fill my soul and stand guard overit so that no successor could enter in and usurp her place?
　　I had no answer, unless the fact that I replaced the photograph inits drawer was one. I felt that this thing could not be decidednow. It was more difficult than I had thought.
　　All my gloom had returned by the time I was in bed. Hours seemedto pass while I tossed restlessly aching for sleep.
　　When I woke my last coherent thought was still clear in my mind.
　　It was a passionate vow that, come what might, if those Irish eyeswere to haunt me till my death, I would play the game loyally withCynthia.

II
    The telephone bell rang just as I was getting ready to call atMarlow Square and inform Mrs Drassilis of the position of affairs.
　　Cynthia, I imagined, would have broken the news already, whichwould mitigate the embarrassment of the interview to some extent;but the recollection of my last night's encounter with MrsDrassilis prevented me from looking forward with any joy to theprospect of meeting her again.
　　Cynthia's voice greeted me as I unhooked the receiver.
　　'Hullo, Peter! Is that you? I want you to come round here atonce.'
　　'I was just starting,' I said.
　　'I don't mean Marlow Square. I'm not there. I'm at the Guelph. Askfor Mrs Ford's suite. It's very important. I'll tell you all aboutit when you get here. Come as soon as you can.'
　　My rooms were conveniently situated for visits to the HotelGuelph. A walk of a couple of minutes took me there. Mrs Ford'ssuite was on the third floor. I rang the bell and Cynthia openedthe door to me.
　　'Come in,' she said. 'You're a dear to be so quick.'
　　'My rooms are only just round the corner.' She shut the door, andfor the first time we looked at one another. I could not say thatI was nervous, but there was certainly, to me, a something strangein the atmosphere. Last night seemed a long way off and somehow alittle unreal. I suppose I must have shown this in my manner, forshe suddenly broke what had amounted to a distinct pause by givinga little laugh. 'Peter,' she said, 'you're embarrassed.' I deniedthe charge warmly, but without real conviction. I was embarrassed.
　　'Then you ought to be,' she said. 'Last night, when I was lookingmy very best in a lovely dress, you asked me to marry you. Now yousee me again in cold blood, and you're wondering how you can backout of it without hurting my feelings.'
　　I smiled. She did not. I ceased to smile. She was looking at me ina very peculiar manner.
　　'Peter,' she said, 'are you sure?'
　　'My dear old Cynthia,' I said, 'what's the matter with you?'
　　'You are sure?' she persisted.
　　'Absolutely, entirely sure.' I had a vision of two large eyeslooking at me out of a photograph. It came and went in a flash.
　　I kissed Cynthia.
　　'What quantities of hair you have,' I said. 'It's a shame to coverit up.' She was not responsive. 'You're in a very queer moodtoday, Cynthia,' I went on. 'What's the matter?'
　　'I've been thinking.'
　　'Out with it. Something has gone wrong.' An idea flashed upon me.
　　'Er--has your mother--is your mother very angry about--'
　　'Mother's delighted. She always liked you, Peter.'
　　I had the self-restraint to check a grin.
　　'Then what is it?' I said. 'Tired after the dance?'
　　'Nothing as simple as that.'
　　'Tell me.'
　　'It's so difficult to put it into words.'
　　'Try.'
　　She was playing with the papers on the table, her face turnedaway. For a moment she did not speak.
　　'I've been worrying myself, Peter,' she said at last. 'You are sochivalrous and unselfish. You're quixotic. It's that that istroubling me. Are you marrying me just because you're sorry forme? Don't speak. I can tell you now if you will just let me saystraight out what's in my mind. We have known each other for twoyears now. You know all about me. You know how--how unhappy I amat home. Are you marrying me just because you pity me and want totake me out of all that?'
　　'My dear girl!'
　　'You haven't answered my question.'
　　'I answered it two minutes ago when you asked me if--'
　　'You do love me?'
　　'Yes.'
　　All this time she had been keeping her face averted, but now sheturned and looked into my eyes with an abrupt intensity which, Iconfess, startled me. Her words startled me more.
　　'Peter, do you love me as much as you loved Audrey Blake?'
　　In the instant which divided her words from my reply my mind flewhither and thither, trying to recall an occasion when I could havementioned Audrey to her. I was convinced that I had not done so. Inever mentioned Audrey to anyone.
　　There is a grain of superstition in the most level-headed man. Iam not particularly level-headed, and I have more than a grain inme. I was shaken. Ever since I had asked Cynthia to marry me, itseemed as if the ghost of Audrey had come back into my life.
　　'Good Lord!' I cried. 'What do you know of Audrey Blake?'
　　She turned her face away again.
　　'Her name seems to affect you very strongly,' she said quietly.
　　I recovered myself.
　　'If you ask an old soldier,' I said, 'he will tell you that awound, long after it has healed, is apt to give you an occasionaltwinge.'
　　'Not if it has really healed.'
　　'Yes, when it has really healed--when you can hardly remember howyou were fool enough to get it.'
　　She said nothing.
　　'How did you hear about--it?' I asked.
　　'When I first met you, or soon after, a friend of yours--wehappened to be talking about you--told me that you had been engagedto be married to a girl named Audrey Blake. He was to have beenyour best man, he said, but one day you wrote and told him therewould be no wedding, and then you disappeared; and nobody saw youagain for three years.'
　　'Yes,' I said: 'that is all quite true.'
　　'It seems to have been a serious affair, Peter. I mean--the sortof thing a man would find it hard to forget.'
　　I tried to smile, but I knew that I was not doing it well. It washurting me extraordinarily, this discussion of Audrey.
　　'A man would find it almost impossible,' I said, 'unless he had aremarkably poor memory.'
　　'I didn't mean that. You know what I mean by forget.'
　　'Yes,' I said, 'I do.'
　　She came quickly to me and took me by the shoulders, looking intomy face.
　　'Peter, can you honestly say you have forgotten her--in the senseI mean?'
　　'Yes,' I said.
　　Again that feeling swept over me--that curious sensation of beingdefiant against myself.
　　'She does not stand between us?'
　　'No,' I said.
　　I could feel the effort behind the word. It was as if somesubconscious part of me were working to keep it back.
　　'Peter!'
　　There was a soft smile on her face; as she raised it to mine I putmy arms around her.
　　She drew away with a little laugh. Her whole manner had changed.
　　She was a different being from the girl who had looked so gravelyinto my eyes a moment before.
　　'Oh, my dear boy, how terribly muscular you are! You've crushedme. I expect you used to be splendid at football, like MrBroster.'
　　I did not reply at once. I cannot wrap up the deeper emotions andput them back on their shelf directly I have no further immediateuse for them. I slowly adjusted myself to the new key of theconversation.
　　'Who's Broster?' I asked at length.
　　'He used to be tutor to'--she turned me round and pointed--'to_that_.'
　　I had seen a picture standing on one of the chairs when I enteredthe room but had taken no particular notice of it. I now gave it acloser glance. It was a portrait, very crudely done, of asingularly repulsive child of about ten or eleven years old.
　　_Was_ he, poor chap! Well, we all have our troubles, don'twe! Who _is_ this young thug! Not a friend of yours, I hope?'
　　'That is Ogden, Mrs Ford's son. It's a tragedy--'
　　'Perhaps it doesn't do him justice. Does he really squint likethat, or is it just the artist's imagination?'
　　'Don't make fun of it. It's the loss of that boy that is breakingNesta's heart.'
　　I was shocked.
　　'Is he dead? I'm awfully sorry. I wouldn't for the world--'
　　'No, no. He is alive and well. But he is dead to her. The courtgave him into the custody of his father.'
　　'The court?'
　　'Mrs Ford was the wife of Elmer Ford, the American millionaire.
　　They were divorced a year ago.'
　　'I see.'
　　Cynthia was gazing at the portrait.
　　'This boy is quite a celebrity in his way,' she said. 'They callhim "The Little Nugget" in America.'
　　'Oh! Why is that?'
　　'It's a nickname the kidnappers have for him. Ever so manyattempts have been made to steal him.'
　　She stopped and looked at me oddly.
　　'I made one today, Peter,' she said. I went down to the country,where the boy was, and kidnapped him.'
　　'Cynthia! What on earth do you mean?'
　　'Don't you understand? I did it for Nesta's sake. She was breakingher heart about not being able to see him, so I slipped down andstole him away, and brought him back here.'
　　I do not know if I was looking as amazed as I felt. I hope not,for I felt as if my brain were giving way. The perfect calmnesswith which she spoke of this extraordinary freak added to myconfusion.
　　'You're joking!'
　　'No; I stole him.'
　　'But, good heavens! The law! It's a penal offence, you know!'
　　'Well, I did it. Men like Elmer Ford aren't fit to have charge ofa child. You don't know him, but he's just an unscrupulousfinancier, without a thought above money. To think of a boygrowing up in that tainted atmosphere--at his most impressionableage. It means death to any good there is in him.'
　　My mind was still grappling feebly with the legal aspect of theaffair.
　　'But, Cynthia, kidnapping's kidnapping, you know! The law doesn'ttake any notice of motives. If you're caught--'
　　She cut through my babble.
　　'Would you have been afraid to do it, Peter?'
　　'Well--' I began. I had not considered the point before.
　　'I don't believe you would. If I asked you to do it for my sake--'
　　'But, Cynthia, kidnapping, you know! It's such an infernally low-downgame.'
　　'I played it. Do you despise _me_?'
　　I perspired. I could think of no other reply.
　　'Peter,' she said, 'I understand your scruples. I know exactly howyou feel. But can't you see that this is quite different from thesort of kidnapping you naturally look on as horrible? It's justtaking a boy away from surroundings that must harm him, back tohis mother, who worships him. It's not wrong. It's splendid.'
　　She paused.
　　'You _will_ do it for me, Peter?' she said.
　　'I don't understand,' I said feebly. 'It's done. You've kidnappedhim yourself.'
　　'They tracked him and took him back. And now I want _you_ totry.' She came closer to me. 'Peter, don't you see what it willmean to me if you agree to try? I'm only human, I can't help, atthe bottom of my heart, still being a little jealous of thisAudrey Blake. No, don't say anything. Words can't cure me; but ifyou do this thing for me, I shall be satisfied. I shall _know_.'
　　She was close beside me, holding my arm and looking into my face.
　　That sense of the unreality of things which had haunted me sincethat moment at the dance came over me with renewed intensity. Lifehad ceased to be a rather grey, orderly business in which daysucceeded day calmly and without event. Its steady stream hadbroken up into rapids, and I was being whirled away on them.
　　'Will you do it, Peter? Say you will.'
　　A voice, presumably mine, answered 'Yes'.
　　'My dear old boy!'
　　She pushed me into a chair, and, sitting on the arm of it, laidher hand on mine and became of a sudden wondrously business-like.
　　'Listen,' she said, 'I'll tell you what we have arranged.'
　　It was borne in upon me, as she began to do so, that she appearedfrom the very beginning to have been extremely confident that thatessential part of her plans, my consent to the scheme, could berelied upon as something of a certainty. Women have theseintuitions.
　　III
    Looking back, I think I can fix the point at which this insaneventure I had undertaken ceased to be a distorted dream, fromwhich I vaguely hoped that I might shortly waken, and took shapeas a reality of the immediate future. That moment came when I metMr Arnold Abney by appointment at his club.
　　Till then the whole enterprise had been visionary. I gathered fromCynthia that the boy Ogden was shortly to be sent to a preparatoryschool, and that I was to insinuate myself into this school and,watching my opportunity, to remove him; but it seemed to me thatthe obstacles to this comparatively lucid scheme were insuperable.
　　In the first place, how were we to discover which of England'smillion preparatory schools Mr Ford, or Mr Mennick for him, wouldchoose? Secondly, the plot which was to carry me triumphantly intothis school when--or if--found, struck me as extremely thin. Iwas to pose, Cynthia told me, as a young man of private means,anxious to learn the business, with a view to setting up a schoolof his own. The objection to that was, I held, that I obviouslydid not want to do anything of the sort. I had not the appearanceof a man with such an ambition. I had none of the conversation ofsuch a man.
　　I put it to Cynthia.
　　'They would find me out in a day,' I assured her. 'A man who wantsto set up a school has got to be a pretty brainy sort of fellow. Idon't know anything.'
　　'You got your degree.'
　　'A degree. At any rate, I've forgotten all I knew.'
　　'That doesn't matter. You have the money. Anybody with money canstart a school, even if he doesn't know a thing. Nobody wouldthink it strange.'
　　It struck me as a monstrous slur on our educational system, butreflection told me it was true. The proprietor of a preparatoryschool, if he is a man of wealth, need not be able to teach, anymore than an impresario need be able to write plays.
　　'Well, we'll pass that for the moment,' I said. 'Here's the realdifficulty. How are you going to find out the school Mr Ford haschosen?'
　　'I have found it out already--or Nesta has. She set a detective towork. It was perfectly easy. Ogden's going to Mr Abney's. SansteadHouse is the name of the place. It's in Hampshire somewhere. Quitea small school, but full of little dukes and earls and things.
　　Lord Mountry's younger brother, Augustus Beckford, is there.'
　　I had known Lord Mountry and his family well some years ago. Iremembered Augustus dimly.
　　'Mountry? Do you know him? He was up at Oxford with me.'
　　She seemed interested.
　　'What kind of a man is he?' she asked.
　　'Oh, quite a good sort. Rather an ass. I haven't seen him foryears.'
　　'He's a friend of Nesta's. I've only met him once. He is going tobe your reference.'
　　'My what?'
　　'You will need a reference. At least, I suppose you will. And,anyhow, if you say you know Lord Mountry it will make it simplerfor you with Mr Abney, the brother being at the school.'
　　'Does Mountry know about this business? Have you told him why Iwant to go to Abney's?'
　　'Nesta told him. He thought it was very sporting of you. He willtell Mr Abney anything we like. By the way, Peter, you will haveto pay a premium or something, I suppose. But Nesta will lookafter all expenses, of course.'
　　On this point I made my only stand of the afternoon.
　　'No,' I said; 'it's very kind of her, but this is going to beentirely an amateur performance. I'm doing this for you, and I'llstand the racket. Good heavens! Fancy taking money for a job ofthis kind!'
　　She looked at me rather oddly.
　　'That is very sweet of you, Peter,' she said, after a slightpause. 'Now let's get to work.'
　　And together we composed the letter which led to my sitting, twodays later, in stately conference at his club with Mr ArnoldAbney, M.A., of Sanstead House, Hampshire.
　　Mr Abney proved to be a long, suave, benevolent man with an Oxfordmanner, a high forehead, thin white hands, a cooing intonation,and a general air of hushed importance, as of one in constantcommunication with the Great. There was in his bearing somethingof the family solicitor in whom dukes confide, and something ofthe private chaplain at the Castle.
　　He gave me the key-note to his character in the first minute ofour acquaintanceship. We had seated ourselves at a table in thesmoking-room when an elderly gentleman shuffled past, giving a nodin transit. My companion sprang to his feet almost convulsively,returned the salutation, and subsided slowly into his chair again.
　　'The Duke of Devizes,' he said in an undertone. 'A most able man.
　　Most able. His nephew, Lord Ronald Stokeshaye, was one of mypupils. A charming boy.'
　　I gathered that the old feudal spirit still glowed to some extentin Mr Abney's bosom.
　　We came to business.
　　'So you wish to be one of us, Mr Burns, to enter the scholasticprofession?'
　　I tried to look as if I did.
　　'Well, in certain circumstances, the circumstances in whichI--ah--myself, I may say, am situated, there is no more delightfuloccupation. The work is interesting. There is the constantfascination of seeing these fresh young lives develop--and ofhelping them to develop--under one's eyes; in any case, I may say,there is the exceptional interest of being in a position to mouldthe growing minds of lads who will some day take their place amongthe country's hereditary legislators, that little knot of devotedmen who, despite the vulgar attacks of loudmouthed demagogues,still do their share, and more, in the guidance of England'sfortunes. Yes.'
　　He paused. I said I thought so, too.
　　'You are an Oxford man, Mr Burns, I think you told me? Ah, I haveyour letter here. Just so. You were at--ah, yes. A fine college.
　　The Dean is a lifelong friend of mine. Perhaps you knew my latepupil, Lord Rollo?--no, he would have been since your time. Adelightful boy. Quite delightful ... And you took your degree?
　　Exactly. _And_ represented the university at both cricket andRugby football? Excellent. _Mens sana in_--ah--_corpore_, in fact,_sano_, yes!'
　　He folded the letter carefully and replaced it in his pocket.
　　'Your primary object in coming to me, Mr Burns, is, I gather, tolearn the--ah--the ropes, the business? You have had little or noprevious experience of school-mastering?'
　　'None whatever.'
　　'Then your best plan would undoubtedly be to consider yourself andwork for a time simply as an ordinary assistant-master. You wouldthus get a sound knowledge of the intricacies of the professionwhich would stand you in good stead when you decide to set up yourown school. School-mastering is a profession, which cannot betaught adequately except in practice. "Only those who--ah--braveits dangers comprehend its mystery." Yes, I would certainlyrecommend you to begin at the foot of the ladder and go, at leastfor a time, through the mill.'
　　'Certainly,' I said. 'Of course.'
　　My ready acquiescence pleased him. I could see that he wasrelieved. I think he had expected me to jib at the prospect ofactual work.
　　'As it happens,' he said, 'my classical master left me at the endof last term. I was about to go to the Agency for a successor whenyour letter arrived. Would you consider--'
　　I had to think this over. Feeling kindly disposed towards MrArnold Abney, I wished to do him as little harm as possible. I wasgoing to rob him of a boy, who, while no moulding of his growingmind could make him into a hereditary legislator, did undoubtedlyrepresent a portion of Mr Abney's annual income; and I did notwant to increase my offence by being a useless assistant-master.
　　Then I reflected that, if I was no Jowett, at least I knew enoughLatin and Greek to teach the rudiments of those languages to smallboys. My conscience was satisfied.
　　'I should be delighted,' I said.
　　'Excellent. Then let us consider that as--ah--settled,' said MrAbney.
　　There was a pause. My companion began to fiddle a littleuncomfortably with an ash-tray. I wondered what was the matter,and then it came to me. We were about to become sordid. Thediscussion of terms was upon us.
　　And as I realized this, I saw simultaneously how I could throw onemore sop to my exigent conscience. After all, the whole thing wasreally a question of hard cash. By kidnapping Ogden I should betaking money from Mr Abney. By paying my premium I should begiving it back to him.
　　I considered the circumstances. Ogden was now about thirteen yearsold. The preparatory-school age limit may be estimated roughly atfourteen. That is to say, in any event Sanstead House could onlyharbour him for one year. Mr Abney's fees I had to guess at. To beon the safe side, I fixed my premium at an outside figure, and,getting to the point at once, I named it.
　　It was entirely satisfactory. My mental arithmetic had done mecredit. Mr Abney beamed upon me. Over tea and muffins we becamevery friendly. In half an hour I heard more of the theory ofschool-mastering than I had dreamed existed.
　　We said good-bye at the club front door. He smiled down at mebenevolently from the top of the steps.
　　'Good-bye, Mr Burns, good-bye,' he said. 'We shall meetat--ah--Philippi.'
　　When I reached my rooms, I rang for Smith.
　　'Smith,' I said, 'I want you to get some books for me first thingtomorrow. You had better take a note of them.'
　　He moistened his pencil.
　　'A Latin Grammar.'
　　'Yes, sir.'
　　'A Greek Grammar.'
　　'Yes, sir.'
　　'Brodley Arnold's Easy Prose Sentences.'
　　'Yes, sir.'
　　'And Caesar's Gallic Wars'
　　'What name, sir?'
　　'Caesar.'
　　'Thank you, sir. Anything else, sir?'
　　'No, that will be all.'
　　'Very good, sir.'
　　He shimmered from the room.
　　Thank goodness, Smith always has thought me mad, and is consequentlynever surprised at anything I ask him to do.
Part 2 Chapter 2
    Sanstead House was an imposing building in the Georgian style. Itstood, foursquare, in the midst of about nine acres of land. Forthe greater part of its existence, I learned later, it had beenthe private home of a family of the name of Boone, and in itsearly days the estate had been considerable. But the progress ofthe years had brought changes to the Boones. Money losses hadnecessitated the sale of land. New roads had come into being,cutting off portions of the estate from their centre. Newfacilities for travel had drawn members of the family away fromhome. The old fixed life of the country had changed, and in theend the latest Boone had come to the conclusion that to keep up solarge and expensive a house was not worth his while.
　　That the place should have become a school was the natural processof evolution. It was too large for the ordinary purchaser, and theestate had been so whittled down in the course of time that it wasinadequate for the wealthy. Colonel Boone had been glad to let itto Mr Abney, and the school had started its career.
　　It had all the necessary qualifications for a school. It wasisolated. The village was two miles from its gates. It was nearthe sea. There were fields for cricket and football, and insidethe house a number of rooms of every size, suitable for classroomsand dormitories.
　　The household, when I arrived, consisted, besides Mr Abney, myself,another master named Glossop, and the matron, of twenty-four boys,the butler, the cook, the odd-job-man, two housemaids, a scullery-maid,and a parlour-maid. It was a little colony, cut off from the outerworld.
　　With the exception of Mr Abney and Glossop, a dismal man of nervesand mannerisms, the only person with whom I exchanged speech on myfirst evening was White, the butler. There are some men one likesat sight. White was one of them. Even for a butler he was a man ofremarkably smooth manners, but he lacked that quality of austerealoofness which I have noticed in other butlers.
　　He helped me unpack my box, and we chatted during the process. Hewas a man of medium height, square and muscular, with something,some quality of springiness, as it were, that seemed unusual in abutler. From one or two things he said, I gathered that he hadtravelled a good deal. Altogether he interested me. He had humour,and the half-hour which I had spent with Glossop made me set apremium on humour. I found that he, like myself, was a new-comer.
　　His predecessor had left at short notice during the holidays, andhe had secured the vacancy at about the same time that I wassecuring mine. We agreed that it was a pretty place. White, Igathered, regarded its isolation as a merit. He was not fond ofvillage society.
　　On the following morning, at eight o'clock, my work began.
　　My first day had the effect of entirely revolutionizing what ideasI possessed of the lot of the private-school assistant-master.
　　My view, till then, had been that the assistant-master had an easytime. I had only studied him from the outside. My opinion wasbased on observations made as a boy at my own private school, whenmasters were an enviable race who went to bed when they liked, hadno preparation to do, and couldn't be caned. It seemed to me thenthat those three facts, especially the last, formed a pretty goodbasis on which to build up the Perfect Life.
　　I had not been at Sanstead House two days before doubts began tocreep in on this point. What the boy, observing the assistant-masterstanding about in apparently magnificent idleness, does not realizeis that the unfortunate is really putting in a spell of exceedinglyhard work. He is 'taking duty'. And 'taking duty' is a thing to beremembered, especially by a man who, like myself, has lived a lifeof fatted ease, protected from all the minor annoyances of life bya substantial income.
　　Sanstead House educated me. It startled me. It showed me a hundredways in which I had allowed myself to become soft and inefficient,without being aware of it. There may be other professions whichcall for a fiercer display of energy, but for the man with aprivate income who has loitered through life at his own pace, alittle school-mastering is brisk enough to be a wonderful tonic.
　　I needed it, and I got it.
　　It was almost as if Mr Abney had realized intuitively how excellentthe discipline of work was for my soul, for the kindly man allowedme to do not only my own, but most of his as well. I have talkedwith assistant-masters since, and I have gathered from them thatheadmasters of private schools are divided into two classes: theworkers and the runners-up-to-London. Mr Abney belonged to thelatter class. Indeed, I doubt if a finer representative of theclass could have been found in the length and breadth of southernEngland. London drew him like a magnet.
　　After breakfast he would take me aside. The formula was always thesame.
　　'Ah--Mr Burns.'
　　Myself (apprehensively, scenting disaster, 'like some wildcreature caught within a trap, who sees the trapper coming throughthe wood'). 'Yes? Er--yes?'
　　'I am afraid I shall be obliged to run up to London today. I havereceived an important letter from--' And then he would name someparent or some prospective parent. (By 'prospective' I mean onewho was thinking of sending his son to Sanstead House. You mayhave twenty children, but unless you send them to his school, aschoolmaster will refuse to dignify you with the name of parent.)Then, 'He wishes--ah--to see me,' or, in the case of titledparents, 'He wishes--ah--to talk things over with me.' Thedistinction is subtle, but he always made it.
　　And presently the cab would roll away down the long drive, and mywork would begin, and with it that soul-discipline to which I havealluded.
　　'Taking duty' makes certain definite calls upon a man. He has toanswer questions; break up fights; stop big boys bullying smallboys; prevent small boys bullying smaller boys; check stone-throwing,going-on-the-wet-grass, worrying-the-cook, teasing-the-dog,making-too-much-noise, and, in particular, discourage all formsof _hara-kiri_ such as tree-climbing, water-spout-scaling,leaning-too-far-out-of-the-window, sliding-down-the-banisters,pencil-swallowing, and ink-drinking-because-somebody-dared-me-to.
　　At intervals throughout the day there are further feats toperform. Carving the joint, helping the pudding, playing football,reading prayers, teaching, herding stragglers in for meals, andgoing round the dormitories to see that the lights are out, are afew of them.
　　I wanted to oblige Cynthia, if I could, but there were momentsduring the first day or so when I wondered how on earth I wasgoing to snatch the necessary time to combine kidnapping with myother duties. Of all the learned professions it seemed to me thatthat of the kidnapper most urgently demanded certain intervals forleisured thought, in which schemes and plots might be matured.
　　Schools vary. Sanstead House belonged to the more difficult class.
　　Mr Abney's constant flittings did much to add to the burdens ofhis assistants, and his peculiar reverence for the aristocracy dideven more. His endeavour to make Sanstead House a place where thedelicately nurtured scions of the governing class might feel aslittle as possible the temporary loss of titled mothers led himinto a benevolent tolerance which would have unsettled angels.
　　Success or failure for an assistant-master is, I consider, verymuch a matter of luck. My colleague, Glossop, had most of thequalities that make for success, but no luck. Properly backed upby Mr Abney, he might have kept order. As it was, his class-roomwas a bear-garden, and, when he took duty, chaos reigned.
　　I, on the other hand, had luck. For some reason the boys agreed toaccept me. Quite early in my sojourn I enjoyed that sweetest triumphof the assistant-master's life, the spectacle of one boy smackinganother boy's head because the latter persisted in making a noiseafter I had told him to stop. I doubt if a man can experience sokeenly in any other way that thrill which comes from the knowledgethat the populace is his friend. Political orators must have thesame sort of feeling when their audience clamours for the ejectionof a heckler, but it cannot be so keen. One is so helpless with boys,unless they decide that they like one.
　　It was a week from the beginning of the term before I made theacquaintance of the Little Nugget.
　　I had kept my eyes open for him from the beginning, and when Idiscovered that he was not at school, I had felt alarmed. HadCynthia sent me down here, to work as I had never worked before,on a wild-goose chase?
　　Then, one morning, Mr Abney drew me aside after breakfast.
　　'Ah--Mr Burns.'
　　It was the first time that I had heard those soon-to-be-familiarwords.
　　'I fear I shall be compelled to run up to London today. I have animportant appointment with the father of a boy who is coming tothe school. He wishes--ah--to see me.'
　　This might be the Little Nugget at last.
　　I was right. During the interval before school, Augustus Beckfordapproached me. Lord Mountry's brother was a stolid boy withfreckles. He had two claims to popular fame. He could hold hisbreath longer than any other boy in the school, and he always gothold of any piece of gossip first.
　　'There's a new kid coming tonight, sir,' he said--'an Americankid. I heard him talking about it to the matron. The kid's name'sFord, I believe the kid's father's awfully rich. Would you like tobe rich, sir? I wish I was rich. If I was rich, I'd buy all sortsof things. I believe I'm going to be rich when I grow up. I heardfather talking to a lawyer about it. There's a new parlour-maidcoming soon, sir. I heard cook telling Emily. I'm blowed if I'dlike to be a parlour-maid, would you, sir? I'd much rather be acook.'
　　He pondered the point for a moment. When he spoke again, it was totouch on a still more profound problem.
　　'If you wanted a halfpenny to make up twopence to buy a lizard,what would you do, sir?'
　　He got it.
　　Ogden Ford, the El Dorado of the kidnapping industry, enteredSanstead House at a quarter past nine that evening. He waspreceded by a Worried Look, Mr Arnold Abney, a cabman bearing alarge box, and the odd-job man carrying two suitcases. I havegiven precedence to the Worried Look because it was a thing byitself. To say that Mr Abney wore it would be to create a wrongimpression. Mr Abney simply followed in its wake. He was concealedbehind it much as Macbeth's army was concealed behind the woods ofDunsinane.
　　I only caught a glimpse of Ogden as Mr Abney showed him into hisstudy. He seemed a self-possessed boy, very like but, if anything,uglier than the portrait of him which I had seen at the HotelGuelph.
　　A moment later the door opened, and my employer came out. Heappeared relieved at seeing me.
　　'Ah, Mr Burns, I was about to go in search of you. Can you spareme a moment? Let us go into the dining-room.'
　　'That is a boy called Ford, Mr Burns,' he said, when he had closedthe door. 'A rather--er--remarkable boy. He is an American, theson of a Mr Elmer Ford. As he will be to a great extent in yourcharge, I should like to prepare you for his--ah--peculiarities.'
　　'Is he peculiar?'
　　A faint spasm disturbed Mr Abney's face. He applied a silkhandkerchief to his forehead before he replied.
　　'In many ways, judged by the standard of the lads who have passedthrough my hands--boys, of course, who, it is only fair to add,have enjoyed the advantages of a singularly refined home-life--hemay be said to be--ah--somewhat peculiar. While I have no doubtthat _au fond ... au fond_ he is a charming boy, quite charming,at present he is--shall I say?--peculiar. I am disposed to imaginethat he has been, from childhood up, systematically indulged.
　　There has been in his life, I suspect, little or no discipline.
　　The result has been to make him curiously unboylike. There is acomplete absence of that diffidence, that childish capacity forsurprise, which I for one find so charming in our English boys.
　　Little Ford appears to be completely blase'. He has tastes and ideaswhich are precocious, and--unusual in a boy of his age.... Heexpresses himself in a curious manner sometimes.... He seems to havelittle or no reverence for--ah--constituted authority.'
　　He paused while he passed his handkerchief once more over hisforehead.
　　'Mr Ford, the boy's father, who struck me as a man of greatability, a typical American merchant prince, was singularly frankwith me about his domestic affairs as they concerned his son. Icannot recall his exact words, but the gist of what he said wasthat, until now, Mrs Ford had had sole charge of the boy'supbringing, and--Mr Ford was singularly outspoken--was tooindulgent, in fact--ah--spoilt him. Indeed--you will, of course,respect my confidence--that was the real reason for the divorcewhich--ah--has unhappily come about. Mr Ford regards this schoolas in a measure--shall I say?--an antidote. He wishes there to beno lack of wholesome discipline. So that I shall expect you, MrBurns, to check firmly, though, of course, kindly, such habits ofhis as--ah--cigarette-smoking. On our journey down he smokedincessantly. I found it impossible--without physical violence--toinduce him to stop. But, of course, now that he is actually at theschool, and subject to the discipline of the school ...'
　　'Exactly,' I said.
　　'That was all I wished to say. Perhaps it would be as well if yousaw him now, Mr Burns. You will find him in the study.'
　　He drifted away, and I went to the study to introduce myself.
　　A cloud of tobacco-smoke rising above the back of an easy-chairgreeted me as I opened the door. Moving into the room, I perceiveda pair of boots resting on the grate. I stepped to the light, andthe remainder of the Little Nugget came into view.
　　He was lying almost at full length in the chair, his eyes fixed indreamy abstraction upon the ceiling. As I came towards him, hedrew at the cigarette between his fingers, glanced at me, lookedaway again, and expelled another mouthful of smoke. He was notinterested in me.
　　Perhaps this indifference piqued me, and I saw him with prejudicedeyes. At any rate, he seemed to me a singularly unprepossessingyouth. That portrait had flattered him. He had a stout body and around, unwholesome face. His eyes were dull, and his mouth droppeddiscontentedly. He had the air of one who is surfeited with life.
　　I am disposed to imagine, as Mr Abney would have said, that mymanner in addressing him was brisker and more incisive than MrAbney's own. I was irritated by his supercilious detachment.
　　'Throw away that cigarette,' I said.
　　To my amazement, he did, promptly. I was beginning to wonderwhether I had not been too abrupt--he gave me a curious sensationof being a man of my own age--when he produced a silver case fromhis pocket and opened it. I saw that the cigarette in the fenderwas a stump.
　　I took the case from his hand and threw it on to a table. For thefirst time he seemed really to notice my existence.
　　'You've got a hell of a nerve,' he said.
　　He was certainly exhibiting his various gifts in rapid order,This, I took it, was what Mr Abney had called 'expressing himselfin a curious manner'.
　　'And don't swear,' I said.
　　We eyed each other narrowly for the space of some seconds.
　　'Who are you?' he demanded.
　　I introduced myself.
　　'What do you want to come butting in for?'
　　'I am paid to butt in. It's the main duty of an assistant-master.'
　　'Oh, you're the assistant-master, are you?'
　　'One of them. And, in passing--it's a small technical point--you'resupposed to call me "sir" during these invigorating little chatsof ours.'
　　'Call you what? Up an alley!'
　　'I beg your pardon?'
　　'Fade away. Take a walk.'
　　I gathered that he was meaning to convey that he had considered myproposition, but regretted his inability to entertain it.
　　'Didn't you call your tutor "sir" when you were at home?'
　　'Me? Don't make me laugh. I've got a cracked lip.'
　　'I gather you haven't an overwhelming respect for those set inauthority over you.'
　　'If you mean my tutors, I should say nix.'
　　'You use the plural. Had you a tutor before Mr Broster?'
　　He laughed.
　　'Had I? Only about ten million.'
　　'Poor devils!' I said.
　　'Who's swearing now?'
　　The point was well taken. I corrected myself.
　　'Poor brutes! What happened to them? Did they commit suicide?'
　　'Oh, they quit. And I don't blame them. I'm a pretty toughproposition, and you don't want to forget it.'
　　He reached out for the cigarette-case. I pocketed it.
　　'You make me tired,' he said.
　　'The sensation's mutual.'
　　'Do you think you can swell around, stopping me doing things?'
　　'You've defined my job exactly.'
　　'Guess again. I know all about this joint. The hot-air merchantwas telling me about it on the train.'
　　I took the allusion to be to Mr Arnold Abney, and thought itrather a happy one.
　　'He's the boss, and nobody but him is allowed to hit the fellows.
　　If you tried it, you'd lose your job. And he ain't going to,because the Dad's paying double fees, and he's scared stiff he'lllose me if there's any trouble.'
　　'You seem to have a grasp of the position.'
　　'Bet your life I have.'
　　I looked at him as he sprawled in the chair.
　　'You're a funny kid,' I said.
　　He stiffened, outraged. His little eyes gleamed.
　　'Say, it looks to me as if you wanted making a head shorter.
　　You're a darned sight too fresh. Who do you think you are,anyway?'
　　'I'm your guardian angel,' I replied. 'I'm the fellow who's goingto take you in hand and make you a little ray of sunshine aboutthe home. I know your type backwards. I've been in America andstudied it on its native asphalt. You superfatted millionaire kidsare all the same. If Dad doesn't jerk you into the office beforeyou're out of knickerbockers, you just run to seed. You get tothink you're the only thing on earth, and you go on thinking ittill one day somebody comes along and shows you you're not, andthen you get what's coming to you--good and hard.'
　　He began to speak, but I was on my favourite theme, one I hadstudied and brooded upon since the evening when I had received acertain letter at my club.
　　'I knew a man,' I said, 'who started out just like you. He alwayshad all the money he wanted: never worked: grew to think himself asort of young prince. What happened?'
　　He yawned.
　　'I'm afraid I'm boring you,' I said.
　　'Go on. Enjoy yourself,' said the Little Nugget.
　　'Well, it's a long story, so I'll spare you it. But the moral ofit was that a boy who is going to have money needs to be taken inhand and taught sense while he's young.'
　　He stretched himself.
　　'You talk a lot. What do you reckon you're going to do?'
　　I eyed him thoughtfully.
　　'Well, everything's got to have a beginning,' I said. 'What youseem to me to want most is exercise. I'll take you for a run everyday. You won't know yourself at the end of a week.'
　　'Say, if you think you're going to get _me_ to run--'
　　'When I grab your little hand, and start running, you'll findyou'll soon be running too. And, years hence, when you win theMarathon at the Olympic Games, you'll come to me with tears inyour eyes, and you'll say--'
　　'Oh, slush!'
　　'I shouldn't wonder.' I looked at my watch. 'Meanwhile, you hadbetter go to bed. It's past your proper time.'
　　He stared at me in open-eyed amazement.
　　'Bed!'
　　'Bed.'
　　He seemed more amused than annoyed.
　　'Say, what time do you think I usually go to bed?'
　　'I know what time you go here. Nine o'clock.'
　　As if to support my words, the door opened, and Mrs Attwell, thematron, entered.
　　'I think it's time he came to bed, Mr Burns.'
　　'Just what I was saying, Mrs Attwell.'
　　'You're crazy,' observed the Little Nugget. 'Bed nothing!'
　　Mrs Attwell looked at me despairingly.
　　'I never saw such a boy!'
　　The whole machinery of the school was being held up by this legalinfant. Any vacillation now, and Authority would suffer a set-backfrom which it would be hard put to it to recover. It seemed to mea situation that called for action.
　　I bent down, scooped the Little Nugget out of his chair like anoyster, and made for the door. Outside he screamed incessantly. Hekicked me in the stomach and then on the knee. He continued toscream. He screamed all the way upstairs. He was screaming when wereached his room.
　　* * * * *Half an hour later I sat in the study, smoking thoughtfully.
　　Reports from the seat of war told of a sullen and probably onlytemporary acquiescence with Fate on the part of the enemy. He wasin bed, and seemed to have made up his mind to submit to theposition. An air of restrained jubilation prevailed among theelder members of the establishment. Mr Abney was friendly and MrsAttwell openly congratulatory. I was something like the hero ofthe hour.
　　But was I jubilant? No, I was inclined to moodiness. Unforeseendifficulties had arisen in my path. Till now, I had regarded thiskidnapping as something abstract. Personality had not entered intothe matter. If I had had any picture in my mind's eye, it was ofmyself stealing away softly into the night with a docile child,his little hand laid trustfully in mine. From what I had seen andheard of Ogden Ford in moments of emotion, it seemed to me thatwhoever wanted to kidnap him with any approach to stealth wouldneed to use chloroform.
　　Things were getting very complex.
Part 2 Chapter 3
    I have never kept a diary, and I have found it, in consequence,somewhat difficult, in telling this narrative, to arrange theminor incidents of my story in their proper sequence. I am writingby the light of an imperfect memory; and the work is complicatedby the fact that the early days of my sojourn at Sanstead Houseare a blur, a confused welter like a Futurist picture, from whichemerge haphazard the figures of boys--boys working, boys eating,boys playing football, boys whispering, shouting, askingquestions, banging doors, jumping on beds, and clattering upstairsand along passages, the whole picture faintly scented with acomposite aroma consisting of roast beef, ink, chalk, and thatcurious classroom smell which is like nothing else on earth.
　　I cannot arrange the incidents. I can see Mr Abney, furrowed as tothe brow and drooping at the jaw, trying to separate Ogden Fordfrom a half-smoked cigar-stump. I can hear Glossop, feverishlyangry, bellowing at an amused class. A dozen other pictures comeback to me, but I cannot place them in their order; and perhaps,after all, their sequence is unimportant. This story deals withaffairs which were outside the ordinary school life.
　　With the war between the Little Nugget and Authority, forinstance, the narrative has little to do. It is a subject for anepic, but it lies apart from the main channel of the story, andmust be avoided. To tell of his gradual taming, of the chaos hisadvent caused until we became able to cope with him, would be toturn this story into a treatise on education. It is enough to saythat the process of moulding his character and exorcising thedevil which seemed to possess him was slow.
　　It was Ogden who introduced tobacco-chewing into the school, withfearful effects one Saturday night on the aristocratic interiorsof Lords Gartridge and Windhall and Honourables Edwin Bellamy andHildebrand Kyne. It was the ingenious gambling-game imported byOgden which was rapidly undermining the moral sense of twenty-fourinnocent English boys when it was pounced upon by Glossop. It wasOgden who, on the one occasion when Mr Abney reluctantly resortedto the cane, and administered four mild taps with it, relieved hisfeelings by going upstairs and breaking all the windows in all thebedrooms.
　　We had some difficult young charges at Sanstead House. Abney'spolicy of benevolent toleration ensured that. But Ogden Ford stoodalone.
　　* * * * *I have said that it is difficult for me to place the lesser eventsof my narrative in their proper order. I except three, howeverwhich I will call the Affair of the Strange American, the Adventureof the Sprinting Butler, and the Episode of the Genial Visitor.
　　I will describe them singly, as they happened.
　　It was the custom at Sanstead House for each of the assistantmasters to take half of one day in every week as a holiday. Theallowance was not liberal, and in most schools, I believe, it isincreased; but Mr Abney was a man with peculiar views on otherpeople's holidays, and Glossop and I were accordingly restricted.
　　My day was Wednesday; and on the Wednesday of which I write Istrolled towards the village. I had in my mind a game of billiardsat the local inn. Sanstead House and its neighbourhood werelacking in the fiercer metropolitan excitements, and billiards atthe 'Feathers' constituted for the pleasure-seeker the beginningand end of the Gay Whirl.
　　There was a local etiquette governing the game of billiards at the'Feathers'. You played the marker a hundred up, then you took himinto the bar-parlour and bought him refreshment. He raised hisglass, said, 'To you, sir', and drained it at a gulp. After thatyou could, if you wished, play another game, or go home, as yourfancy dictated.
　　There was only one other occupant of the bar-parlour when weadjourned thither, and a glance at him told me that he was notostentatiously sober. He was lying back in a chair, with his feeton the side-table, and crooning slowly, in a melancholy voice, thefollowing words:
　　_'I don't care--if he wears--a crown,He--can't--keep kicking my--dawg aroun'.'_He was a tough, clean-shaven man, with a broken nose, over whichwas tilted a soft felt hat. His wiry limbs were clad in what I putdown as a mail-order suit. I could have placed him by hisappearance, if I had not already done so by his voice, as anEast-side New Yorker. And what an East-side New Yorker could bedoing in Sanstead it was beyond me to explain.
　　We had hardly seated ourselves when he rose and lurched out. I sawhim pass the window, and his assertion that no crowned head shouldmolest his dog came faintly to my ears as he went down the street.
　　'American!' said Miss Benjafield, the stately barmaid, with strongdisapproval. 'They're all alike.'
　　I never contradict Miss Benjafield--one would as soon contradictthe Statue of Liberty--so I merely breathed sympathetically.
　　'What's he here for I'd like to know?'
　　It occurred to me that I also should like to know. In anotherthirty hours I was to find out.
　　I shall lay myself open to a charge of denseness such as evenDoctor Watson would have scorned when I say that, though I thoughtof the matter a good deal on my way back to the school, I did notarrive at the obvious solution. Much teaching and taking of dutyhad dulled my wits, and the presence at Sanstead House of theLittle Nugget did not even occur to me as a reason why strangeAmericans should be prowling in the village.
　　We now come to the remarkable activity of White, the butler.
　　It happened that same evening.
　　It was not late when I started on my way back to the house, but theshort January day was over, and it was very dark as I turned in atthe big gate of the school and made my way up the drive. The driveat Sanstead House was a fine curving stretch of gravel, about twohundred yards in length, flanked on either side by fir trees andrhododendrons. I stepped out briskly, for it had begun to freeze.
　　Just as I caught sight through the trees of the lights of thewindows, there came to me the sound of running feet.
　　I stopped. The noise grew louder. There seemed to be two runners,one moving with short, quick steps, the other, the one in front,taking a longer stride.
　　I drew aside instinctively. In another moment, making a greatclatter on the frozen gravel, the first of the pair passed me; andas he did so, there was a sharp crack, and something sang throughthe darkness like a large mosquito.
　　The effect of the sound on the man who had been running wasimmediate. He stopped in his stride and dived into the bushes. Hisfootsteps thudded faintly on the turf.
　　The whole incident had lasted only a few seconds, and I was stillstanding there when I was aware of the other man approaching. Hehad apparently given up the pursuit, for he was walking quiteslowly. He stopped within a few feet of me and I heard himswearing softly to himself.
　　'Who's that?' I cried sharply. The crack of the pistol had given aflick to my nerves. Mine had been a sheltered life, into whichhitherto revolver-shots had not entered, and I was resenting thisabrupt introduction of them. I felt jumpy and irritated.
　　It gave me a malicious pleasure to see that I had startled theunknown dispenser of shocks quite as much as he had startled me.
　　The movement he made as he faced towards my direction was almost aleap; and it suddenly flashed upon me that I had better at onceestablish my identity as a non-combatant. I appeared to havewandered inadvertently into the midst of a private quarrel, oneparty to which--the one standing a couple of yards from me with aloaded revolver in his hand--was evidently a man of impulse, thesort of man who would shoot first and inquire afterwards.
　　'I'm Mr Burns,' I said. 'I'm one of the assistant-masters. Who areyou?'
　　'Mr Burns?'
　　Surely that rich voice was familiar.
　　'White?' I said.
　　'Yes, sir.'
　　'What on earth do you think you're doing? Have you gone mad? Whowas that man?'
　　'I wish I could tell you, sir. A very doubtful character. I foundhim prowling at the back of the house very suspiciously. He tookto his heels and I followed him.'
　　'But'--I spoke querulously, my orderly nature was shocked--'youcan't go shooting at people like that just because you find themat the back of the house. He might have been a tradesman.'
　　'I think not, sir.'
　　'Well, so do I, if it comes to that. He didn't behave like one. Butall the same--'
　　'I take your point, sir. But I was merely intending to frightenhim.'
　　'You succeeded all right. He went through those bushes like acannon-ball.'
　　I heard him chuckle.
　　'I think I may have scared him a little, sir.'
　　'We must phone to the police-station. Could you describe the man?'
　　'I think not, sir. It was very dark. And, if I may make thesuggestion, it would be better not to inform the police. I have avery poor opinion of these country constables.'
　　'But we can't have men prowling--'
　　'If you will permit me, sir. I say--let them prowl. It's the onlyway to catch them.'
　　'If you think this sort of thing is likely to happen again I musttell Mr Abney.'
　　'Pardon me, sir, I think it would be better not. He impresses meas a somewhat nervous gentleman, and it would only disturb him.'
　　At this moment it suddenly struck me that, in my interest in themysterious fugitive, I had omitted to notice what was really themost remarkable point in the whole affair. How did White happen tohave a revolver at all? I have met many butlers who behavedunexpectedly in their spare time. One I knew played the fiddle;another preached Socialism in Hyde Park. But I had never yet comeacross a butler who fired pistols.
　　'What were you doing with a revolver?' I asked.
　　He hesitated.
　　'May I ask you to keep it to yourself, sir, if I tell yousomething?' he said at last.
　　'What do you mean?'
　　'I'm a detective.'
　　'What!'
　　'A Pinkerton's man, Mr Burns.'
　　I felt like one who sees the 'danger' board over thin ice. But forthis information, who knew what rash move I might not have made,under the assumption that the Little Nugget was unguarded? At thesame time, I could not help reflecting that, if things had beencomplex before, they had become far more so in the light of thisdiscovery. To spirit Ogden away had never struck me, since hisarrival at the school, as an easy task. It seemed more difficultnow than ever.
　　I had the sense to affect astonishment. I made my imitation of aninnocent assistant-master astounded by the news that the butler isa detective in disguise as realistic as I was able. It appeared tobe satisfactory, for he began to explain.
　　'I am employed by Mr Elmer Ford to guard his son. There areseveral parties after that boy, Mr Burns. Naturally he is aconsiderable prize. Mr Ford would pay a large sum to get back hisonly son if he were kidnapped. So it stands to reason he takesprecautions.'
　　'Does Mr Abney know what you are?'
　　'No, sir. Mr Abney thinks I am an ordinary butler. You are theonly person who knows, and I have only told you because you havehappened to catch me in a rather queer position for a butler to bein. You will keep it to yourself, sir? It doesn't do for it to getabout. These things have to be done quietly. It would be bad forthe school if my presence here were advertised. The other parentswouldn't like it. They would think that their sons were in danger,you see. It would be disturbing for them. So if you will justforget what I've been telling you, Mr Burns--'
　　I assured him that I would. But I was very far from meaning it. Ifthere was one thing which I intended to bear in mind, it was thefact that watchful eyes besides mine were upon that Little Nugget.
　　The third and last of this chain of occurrences, the Episode ofthe Genial Visitor, took place on the following day, and may bepassed over briefly. All that happened was that a well-dressedman, who gave his name as Arthur Gordon, of Philadelphia, droppedin unexpectedly to inspect the school. He apologized for nothaving written to make an appointment, but explained that he wasleaving England almost immediately. He was looking for a schoolfor his sister's son, and, happening to meet his businessacquaintance, Mr Elmer Ford, in London, he had been recommended toMr Abney. He made himself exceedingly pleasant. He was a breezy,genial man, who joked with Mr Abney, chaffed the boys, prodded theLittle Nugget in the ribs, to that overfed youth's discomfort,made a rollicking tour of the house, in the course of which heinspected Ogden's bedroom--in order, he told Mr Abney, to be ableto report conscientiously to his friend Ford that the son and heirwas not being pampered too much, and departed in a whirl ofgood-humour, leaving every one enthusiastic over his charmingpersonality. His last words were that everything was thoroughlysatisfactory, and that he had learned all he wanted to know.
　　Which, as was proved that same night, was the simple truth.
Part 2 Chapter 4
I
    I owed it to my colleague Glossop that I was in the centre of thesurprising things that occurred that night. By sheer weight ofboredom, Glossop drove me from the house, so that it came aboutthat, at half past nine, the time at which the affair began, I waspatrolling the gravel in front of the porch.
　　It was the practice of the staff of Sanstead House School toassemble after dinner in Mr Abney's study for coffee. The room wascalled the study, but it was really more of a master's commonroom. Mr Abney had a smaller sanctum of his own, reservedexclusively for himself.
　　On this particular night he went there early, leaving me alonewith Glossop. It is one of the drawbacks of the desert-islandatmosphere of a private school that everybody is always meetingeverybody else. To avoid a man for long is impossible. I had beenavoiding Glossop as long as I could, for I knew that he wanted tocorner me with a view to a heart-to-heart talk on Life Insurance.
　　These amateur Life Insurance agents are a curious band. The worldis full of them. I have met them at country-houses, at seasidehotels, on ships, everywhere; and it has always amazed me thatthey should find the game worth the candle. What they add to theirincomes I do not know, but it cannot be very much, and the troublethey have to take is colossal. Nobody loves them, and they mustsee it; yet they persevere. Glossop, for instance, had been tryingto buttonhole me every time there was a five minutes' break in theday's work.
　　He had his chance now, and he did not mean to waste it. Mr Abneyhad scarcely left the room when he began to exude pamphlets andbooklets at every pocket.
　　I eyed him sourly, as he droned on about 'reactionable endowment','surrender-value', and 'interest accumulating on the tontinepolicy', and tried, as I did so, to analyse the loathing I feltfor him. I came to the conclusion that it was partly due to hispose of doing the whole thing from purely altruistic motives,entirely for my good, and partly because he forced me to face thefact that I was not always going to be young. In an abstractfashion I had already realized that I should in time cease to bethirty, but the way in which Glossop spoke of my sixty-fifthbirthday made me feel as if it was due tomorrow. He was a man witha manner suggestive of a funeral mute suffering from suppressedjaundice, and I had never before been so weighed down with a senseof the inevitability of decay and the remorseless passage of time.
　　I could feel my hair whitening.
　　A need for solitude became imperative; and, murmuring somethingabout thinking it over, I escaped from the room.
　　Except for my bedroom, whither he was quite capable of followingme, I had no refuge but the grounds. I unbolted the front door andwent out.
　　It was still freezing, and, though the stars shone, the trees grewso closely about the house that it was too dark for me to see morethan a few feet in front of me.
　　I began to stroll up and down. The night was wonderfully still. Icould hear somebody walking up the drive--one of the maids, Isupposed, returning from her evening out. I could even hear a birdrustling in the ivy on the walls of the stables.
　　I fell into a train of thought. I think my mind must still havebeen under Glossop's gloom-breeding spell, for I was filled with asense of the infinite pathos of Life. What was the good of it all?
　　Why was a man given chances of happiness without the sense torealize and use them? If Nature had made me so self-satisfied thatI had lost Audrey because of my self-satisfaction why had she notmade me so self-satisfied that I could lose her without a pang?
　　Audrey! It annoyed me that, whenever I was free for a moment fromactive work, my thoughts should keep turning to her. It frightenedme, too. Engaged to Cynthia, I had no right to have such thoughts.
　　Perhaps it was the mystery which hung about her that kept her inmy mind. I did not know where she was. I did not know how shefared. I did not know what sort of a man it was whom she hadpreferred to me. That, it struck me, was the crux of the matter.
　　She had vanished absolutely with another man whom I had never seenand whose very name I did not know. I had been beaten by an unseenfoe.
　　I was deep in a very slough of despond when suddenly things beganto happen. I might have known that Sanstead House would neverpermit solitary brooding on Life for long. It was a place ofincident, not of abstract speculation.
　　I had reached the end of my 'beat', and had stopped to relight mypipe, when drama broke loose with the swift unexpectedness whichwas characteristic of the place. The stillness of the night wassplit by a sound which I could have heard in a gale and recognizedamong a hundred conflicting noises. It was a scream, a shrill,piercing squeal that did not rise to a crescendo, but started atits maximum and held the note; a squeal which could only proceedfrom one throat: the deafening war-cry of the Little Nugget.
　　I had grown accustomed, since my arrival at Sanstead House, to acertain quickening of the pace of life, but tonight eventssucceeded one another with a rapidity which surprised me. A wholecinematograph-drama was enacted during the space of time it takesfor a wooden match to burn.
　　At the moment when the Little Nugget gave tongue, I had juststruck one, and I stood, startled into rigidity, holding it in theair as if I had decided to constitute myself a sort of limelightman to the performance.
　　It cannot have been more than a few seconds later before someperson unknown nearly destroyed me.
　　I was standing, holding my match and listening to the sounds ofconfusion indoors, when this person, rounding the angle of thehouse in a desperate hurry, emerged from the bushes and rammed mesquarely.
　　He was a short man, or he must have crouched as he ran, for hisshoulder--a hard, bony shoulder--was precisely the same distancefrom the ground as my solar plexus. In the brief impact whichensued between the two, the shoulder had the advantage of being inmotion, while the solar plexus was stationary, and there was noroom for any shadow of doubt as to which had the worst of it.
　　That the mysterious unknown was not unshaken by the encounter wasmade clear by a sharp yelp of surprise and pain. He staggered.
　　What happened to him after that was not a matter of interest tome. I gather that he escaped into the night. But I was toooccupied with my own affairs to follow his movements.
　　Of all cures for melancholy introspection a violent blow in thesolar plexus is the most immediate. If Mr Corbett had any abstractworries that day at Carson City, I fancy they ceased to occupy hismind from the moment when Mr Fitzsimmons administered that historicleft jab. In my case the cure was instantaneous. I can rememberreeling across the gravel and falling in a heap and trying tobreathe and knowing that I should never again be able to, andthen for some minutes all interest in the affairs of this worldleft me.
　　How long it was before my breath returned, hesitatingly, like sometimid Prodigal Son trying to muster up courage to enter the oldhome, I do not know; but it cannot have been many minutes, for thehouse was only just beginning to disgorge its occupants as I satup. Disconnected cries and questions filled the air. Dim formsmoved about in the darkness.
　　I had started to struggle to my feet, feeling very sick andboneless, when it was borne in upon me that the sensations of thisremarkable night were not yet over. As I reached a sittingposition, and paused before adventuring further, to allow a waveof nausea to pass, a hand was placed on my shoulder and a voicebehind me said, 'Don't move!'
II
    I was not in a condition to argue. Beyond a fleeting feeling thata liberty was being taken with me and that I was being treatedunjustly, I do not remember resenting the command. I had no notionwho the speaker might be, and no curiosity. Breathing just thenhad all the glamour of a difficult feat cleverly performed. Iconcentrated my whole attention upon it. I was pleased, andsurprised, to find myself getting on so well. I remember havingmuch the same sensation when I first learned to ride a bicycle--akind of dazed feeling that I seemed to be doing it, but Heavenalone knew how.
　　A minute or so later, when I had leisure to observe outsidematters, I perceived that among the other actors in the dramaconfusion still reigned. There was much scuttering about and muchmeaningless shouting. Mr Abney's reedy tenor voice was issuingdirections, each of which reached a dizzier height of futilitythan the last. Glossop was repeating over and over again thewords, 'Shall I telephone for the police?' to which nobodyappeared to pay the least attention. One or two boys were dartingabout like rabbits and squealing unintelligibly. A female voice--Ithink Mrs Attwell's--was saying, 'Can you see him?'
　　Up to this point, my match, long since extinguished, had been theonly illumination the affair had received; but now somebody, whoproved to be White, the butler, came from the direction of thestable-yard with a carriage-lamp. Every one seemed calmer andhappier for it. The boys stopped squealing, Mrs Attwell andGlossop subsided, and Mr Abney said 'Ah!' in a self-satisfiedvoice, as if he had directed this move and was congratulatinghimself on the success with which it had been carried out.
　　The whole strength of the company gathered round the light.
　　'Thank you, White,' said Mr Abney. 'Excellent. I fear thescoundrel has escaped.'
　　'I suspect so, sir.'
　　'This is a very remarkable occurrence, White.'
　　'Yes, sir.'
　　'The man was actually in Master Ford's bedroom.'
　　'Indeed, sir?'
　　A shrill voice spoke. I recognized it as that of AugustusBeckford, always to be counted upon to be in the centre of thingsgathering information.
　　'Sir, please, sir, what was up? Who was it, sir? Sir, was it aburglar, sir? Have you ever met a burglar, sir? My father took meto see Raffles in the holidays, sir. Do you think this chap waslike Raffles, sir? Sir--'
　　'It was undoubtedly--' Mr Abney was beginning, when the identityof the questioner dawned upon him, and for the first time herealized that the drive was full of boys actively engaged incatching their deaths of cold. His all-friends-here-let-us-discuss-this-interesting-episode-fully manner changed. He becamethe outraged schoolmaster. Never before had I heard him speak sosharply to boys, many of whom, though breaking rules, were stilltitled.
　　'What are you boys doing out of bed? Go back to bed instantly. Ishall punish you most severely. I--'
　　'Shall I telephone for the police?' asked Glossop. Disregarded.
　　'I will not have this conduct. You will catch cold. This isdisgraceful. Ten bad marks! I shall punish you most severely ifyou do not instantly--'
　　A calm voice interrupted him.
　　'Say!'
　　The Little Nugget strolled easily into the circle of light. He waswearing a dressing-gown, and in his hand was a smoulderingcigarette, from which he proceeded, before continuing his remarks,to blow a cloud of smoke.
　　'Say, I guess you're wrong. That wasn't any ordinary porch-climber.'
　　The spectacle of his _bete noire_ wreathed in smoke, comingon top of the emotions of the night, was almost too much for MrAbney. He gesticulated for a moment in impassioned silence, hisarms throwing grotesque shadows on the gravel.
　　'How _dare_ you smoke, boy! How _dare_ you smoke that cigarette!'
　　'It's the only one I've got,' responded the Little Nugget amiably.
　　'I have spoken to you--I have warned you--Ten bad marks!--I willnot have--Fifteen bad marks!'
　　The Little Nugget ignored the painful scene. He was smilingquietly.
　　'If you ask _me_,' he said, 'that guy was after something betterthan plated spoons. Yes, sir! If you want my opinion, it was BuckMacGinnis, or Chicago Ed., or one of those guys, and what he wastrailing was me. They're always at it. Buck had a try for me in thefall of '07, and Ed.--'
　　'Do you hear me? Will you return instantly--'
　　'If you don't believe me I can show you the piece there was aboutit in the papers. I've got a press-clipping album in my box.
　　Whenever there's a piece about me in the papers, I cut it out andpaste it into my album. If you'll come right along, I'll show youthe story about Buck now. It happened in Chicago, and he'd havegot away with me if it hadn't been--'
　　'Twenty bad marks!'
　　'Mr Abney!'
　　It was the person standing behind me who spoke. Till now he or shehad remained a silent spectator, waiting, I suppose, for a lull inthe conversation.
　　They jumped, all together, like a well-trained chorus.
　　'Who is that?' cried Mr Abney. I could tell by the sound of hisvoice that his nerves were on wires. 'Who was that who spoke?'
　　'Shall I telephone for the police?' asked Glossop. Ignored.
　　'I am Mrs Sheridan, Mr Abney. You were expecting me to-night.'
　　'Mrs Sheridan? Mrs Sher--I expected you in a cab. I expected youin--ah--in fact, a cab.'
　　'I walked.'
　　I had a curious sensation of having heard the voice before. Whenshe had told me not to move, she had spoken in a whisper--or, tome, in my dazed state, it had sounded like a whisper--but now shewas raising her voice, and there was a note in it that seemedfamiliar. It stirred some chord in my memory, and I waited to hearit again.
　　When it came it brought the same sensation, but nothing moredefinite. It left me groping for the clue.
　　'Here is one of the men, Mr Abney.'
　　There was a profound sensation. Boys who had ceased to squeal,squealed with fresh vigour. Glossop made his suggestion about thetelephone with a new ring of hope in his voice. Mrs Attwellshrieked. They made for us in a body, boys and all, White leadingwith the lantern. I was almost sorry for being compelled toprovide an anticlimax.
　　Augustus Beckford was the first to recognize me, and I expect hewas about to ask me if I liked sitting on the gravel on a frostynight, or what gravel was made of, when Mr Abney spoke.
　　'Mr Burns! What--dear me!--_what_ are you doing there?'
　　'Perhaps Mr Burns can give us some information as to where the manwent, sir,' suggested White.
　　'On everything except that,' I said, 'I'm a mine of information. Ihaven't the least idea where he went. All I know about him is thathe has a shoulder like the ram of a battleship, and that hecharged me with it.'
　　As I was speaking, I thought I heard a little gasp behind me. Iturned. I wanted to see this woman who stirred my memory with hervoice. But the rays of the lantern did not fall on her, and shewas a shapeless blur in the darkness. Somehow I felt that she waslooking intently at me.
　　I resumed my narrative.
　　'I was lighting my pipe when I heard a scream--' A chuckle camefrom the group behind the lantern.
　　'I screamed,' said the Little Nugget. 'You bet I screamed! Whatwould _you_ do if you woke up in the dark and found a strong-armedroughneck prising you out of bed as if you were a clam? He tried toget his hand over my mouth, but he only connected with my forehead,and I'd got going before he could switch. I guess I threw a scareinto that gink!'
　　He chuckled again, reminiscently, and drew at his cigarette.
　　'How dare you smoke! Throw away that cigarette!' cried Mr Abney,roused afresh by the red glow.
　　'Forget it!' advised the Little Nugget tersely.
　　'And then,' I said, 'somebody whizzed out from nowhere and hit me.
　　And after that I didn't seem to care much about him or anythingelse.' I spoke in the direction of my captor. She was stillstanding outside the circle of light. 'I expect you can tell uswhat happened, Mrs Sheridan?'
　　I did not think that her information was likely to be of anypractical use, but I wanted to make her speak again.
　　Her first words were enough. I wondered how I could ever have beenin doubt. I knew the voice now. It was one which I had not heardfor five years, but one which I could never forget if I lived forever.
　　'Somebody ran past me.' I hardly heard her. My heart was pounding,and a curious dizziness had come over me. I was grappling with theincredible. 'I think he went into the bushes.'
　　I heard Glossop speak, and gathered from Mr Abney's reply; that hehad made his suggestion about the telephone once more.
　　'I think that will be--ah--unnecessary, Mr Glossop. The man hasundoubtedly--ah--made good his escape. I think we had all betterreturn to the house.' He turned to the dim figure beside me. 'Ah,Mrs Sheridan, you must be tired after your journey and the--ah unusualexcitement. Mrs Attwell will show you where you--in fact, your room.'
　　In the general movement White must have raised the lamp or steppedforward, for the rays shifted. The figure beside me was no longerdim, but stood out sharp and clear in the yellow light.
　　I was aware of two large eyes looking into mine as, in the greyLondon morning two weeks before, they had looked from a fadedphotograph.
Part 2 Chapter 5
   Of all the emotions which kept me awake that night, a vaguediscomfort and a feeling of resentment against Fate more thanagainst any individual, were the two that remained with me nextmorning. Astonishment does not last. The fact of Audrey and myselfbeing under the same roof after all these years had ceased toamaze me. It was a minor point, and my mind shelved it in order todeal with the one thing that really mattered, the fact that shehad come back into my life just when I had definitely, as Ithought, put her out of it.
　　My resentment deepened. Fate had played me a wanton trick. Cynthiatrusted me. If I were weak, I should not be the only one tosuffer. And something told me that I should be weak. How could Ihope to be strong, tortured by the thousand memories which thesight of her would bring back to me?
　　But I would fight, I told myself. I would not yield easily. Ipromised that to my self-respect, and was rewarded with a certainglow of excitement. I felt defiant. I wanted to test myself atonce.
　　My opportunity came after breakfast. She was standing on thegravel in front of the house, almost, in fact, on the spot wherewe had met the night before. She looked up as she heard my step,and I saw that her chin had that determined tilt which, in thedays of our engagement, I had noticed often without attaching anyparticular significance to it. Heavens, what a ghastly lump ofcomplacency I must have been in those days! A child, I thought, ifhe were not wrapped up in the contemplation of his own magnificence,could read its meaning.
　　It meant war, and I was glad of it. I wanted war.
　　'Good morning,' I said.
　　'Good morning.'
　　There was a pause. I took the opportunity to collect my thoughts.
　　I looked at her curiously. Five years had left their mark on her,but entirely for the good. She had an air of quiet strength whichI had never noticed in her before. It may have been there in theold days, but I did not think so. It was, I felt certain, a laterdevelopment. She gave the impression of having been through muchand of being sure of herself.
　　In appearance she had changed amazingly little. She looked assmall and slight and trim as ever she had done. She was a littlepaler, I thought, and the Irish eyes were older and a shadeharder; but that was all.
　　I awoke with a start to the fact that I was staring at her. Aslight flush had crept into her pale cheeks.
　　'Don't!' she said suddenly, with a little gesture of irritation.
　　The word and the gesture killed, as if they had been a blow, akind of sentimental tenderness which had been stealing over me.
　　'What are you doing here?' I asked.
　　She was silent.
　　'Please don't think I want to pry into your affairs,' I saidviciously. 'I was only interested in the coincidence that weshould meet here like this.'
　　She turned to me impulsively. Her face had lost its hard look.
　　'Oh, Peter,' she said, 'I'm sorry. I _am_ sorry.'
　　It was my chance, and I snatched at it with a lack of chivalrywhich I regretted almost immediately. But I was feeling bitter,and bitterness makes a man do cheap things.
　　'Sorry?' I said, politely puzzled. 'Why?'
　　She looked taken aback, as I hoped she would.
　　'For--for what happened.'
　　'My dear Audrey! Anybody would have made the same mistake. I don'twonder you took me for a burglar.'
　　'I didn't mean that. I meant--five years ago.'
　　I laughed. I was not feeling like laughter at the moment, but Idid my best, and had the satisfaction of seeing that it jarredupon her.
　　'Surely you're not worrying yourself about that?' I said. Ilaughed again. Very jovial and debonair I was that winter morning.
　　The brief moment in which we might have softened towards eachother was over. There was a glitter in her blue eyes which told methat it was once more war between us.
　　'I thought you would get over it,' she said.
　　'Well,' I said, 'I was only twenty-five. One's heart doesn't breakat twenty-five.'
　　'I don't think yours would ever be likely to break, Peter.'
　　'Is that a compliment, or otherwise?'
　　'You would probably think it a compliment. I meant that you werenot human enough to be heart-broken.'
　　'So that's your idea of a compliment!'
　　'I said I thought it was probably yours.'
　　'I must have been a curious sort of man five years ago, if I gaveyou that impression.'
　　'You were.'
　　She spoke in a meditative voice, as if, across the years, she wereidly inspecting some strange species of insect. The attitudeannoyed me. I could look, myself, with a detached eye at the man Ihad once been, but I still retained a sort of affection for him,and I felt piqued.
　　'I suppose you looked on me as a kind of ogre in those days?' Isaid.
　　'I suppose I did.'
　　There was a pause.
　　'I didn't mean to hurt your feelings,' she said. And that was themost galling part of it. Mine was an attitude of studiedoffensiveness. I did want to hurt her feelings. But hers, itseemed to me, was no pose. She really had had--and, I suppose,still retained--a genuine horror of me. The struggle was unequal.
　　'You were very kind,' she went on, 'sometimes--when you happenedto think of it.'
　　Considered as the best she could find to say of me, it was not aneulogy.
　　'Well,' I said, 'we needn't discuss what I was or did five yearsago. Whatever I was or did, you escaped. Let's think of thepresent. What are we going to do about this?'
　　'You think the situation's embarrassing?'
　　'I do.'
　　'One of us ought to go, I suppose,' she said doubtfully.
　　'Exactly.'
　　'Well, I can't go.'
　　'Nor can I.'
　　'I have business here.'
　　'Obviously, so have I.'
　　'It's absolutely necessary that I should be here.'
　　'And that I should.'
　　She considered me for a moment.
　　'Mrs Attwell told me that you were one of the assistant-mastersat the school.'
　　'I am acting as assistant-master. I am supposed to be learning thebusiness.'
　　She hesitated.
　　'Why?' she said.
　　'Why not?'
　　'But--but--you used to be very well off.'
　　'I'm better off now. I'm working.'
　　She was silent for a moment.
　　'Of course it's impossible for you to leave. You couldn't, couldyou?'
　　'No.'
　　'I can't either.'
　　'Then I suppose we must face the embarrassment.'
　　'But why must it be embarrassing? You said yourself you had--gotover it.'
　　'Absolutely. I am engaged to be married.'
　　She gave a little start. She drew a pattern on the gravel with herfoot before she spoke.
　　'I congratulate you,' she said at last.
　　'Thank you.'
　　'I hope you will be very happy.'
　　'I'm sure I shall.'
　　She relapsed into silence. It occurred to me that, having postedher thoroughly in my affairs, I was entitled to ask about hers.
　　'How in the world did you come to be here?' I said.
　　'It's rather a long story. After my husband died--'
　　'Oh!' I exclaimed, startled.
　　'Yes; he died three years ago.'
　　She spoke in a level voice, with a ring of hardness in it, forwhich I was to learn the true reason later. At the time it seemedto me due to resentment at having to speak of the man she hadloved to me, whom she disliked, and my bitterness increased.
　　'I have been looking after myself for a long time.'
　　'In England?'
　　'In America. We went to New York directly we--directly I hadwritten to you. I have been in America ever since. I only returnedto England a few weeks ago.'
　　'But what brought you to Sanstead?'
　　'Some years ago I got to know Mr Ford, the father of the littleboy who is at the school. He recommended me to Mr Abney, whowanted somebody to help with the school.'
　　'And you are dependent on your work? I mean--forgive me if I ampersonal--Mr Sheridan did not--'
　　'He left no money at all.'
　　'Who was he?' I burst out. I felt that the subject of the dead manwas one which it was painful for her to talk about, at any rate tome; but the Sheridan mystery had vexed me for five years, and Ithirsted to know something of this man who had dynamited my lifewithout ever appearing in it.
　　'He was an artist, a friend of my father.'
　　I wanted to hear more. I wanted to know what he looked like, howhe spoke, how he compared with me in a thousand ways; but it wasplain that she would not willingly be communicative about him;and, with a feeling of resentment, I gave her her way andsuppressed my curiosity.
　　'So your work here is all you have?' I said.
　　'Absolutely all. And, if it's the same with you, well, here weare!'
　　'Here we are!' I echoed. 'Exactly.'
　　'We must try and make it as easy for each other as we can,' shesaid.
　　'Of course.'
　　She looked at me in that curious, wide-eyed way of hers.
　　'You have got thinner, Peter,' she said.
　　'Have I?' I said. 'Suffering, I suppose, or exercise.'
　　Her eyes left my face. I saw her bite her lip.
　　'You hate me,' she said abruptly. 'You've been hating me all theseyears. Well, I don't wonder.'
　　She turned and began to walk slowly away, and as she did so asense of the littleness of the part I was playing came over me.
　　Ever since our talk had begun I had been trying to hurt her,trying to take a petty revenge on her--for what? All that hadhappened five years ago had been my fault. I could not let her golike this. I felt unutterably mean.
　　'Audrey!' I called.
　　She stopped. I went to her.
　　'Audrey!' I said, 'you're wrong. If there's anybody I hate, it'smyself. I just want to tell you I understand.'
　　Her lips parted, but she did not speak.
　　'I understand just what made you do it,' I went on. 'I can see nowthe sort of man I was in those days.'
　　'You're saying that to--to help me,' she said in a low voice.
　　'No. I have felt like that about it for years.'
　　'I treated you shamefully.'
　　'Nothing of the kind. There's a certain sort of man who badlyneeds a--jolt, and he has to get it sooner or later. It happenedthat you gave me mine, but that wasn't your fault. I was bound toget it--somehow.' I laughed. 'Fate was waiting for me round thecorner. Fate wanted something to hit me with. You happened to bethe nearest thing handy.'
　　'I'm sorry, Peter.'
　　'Nonsense. You knocked some sense into me. That's all you did.
　　Every man needs education. Most men get theirs in small doses, sothat they hardly know they are getting it at all. My money kept mefrom getting mine that way. By the time I met you there was agreat heap of back education due to me, and I got it in a lump.
　　That's all.'
　　'You're generous.'
　　'Nothing of the kind. It's only that I see things clearer than Idid. I was a pig in those days.'
　　'You weren't!'
　　'I was. Well, we won't quarrel about it.'
　　Inside the house the bell rang for breakfast. We turned. As I drewback to let her go in, she stopped.
　　'Peter,' she said.
　　She began to speak quickly.
　　'Peter, let's be sensible. Why should we let this embarrass us,this being together here? Can't we just pretend that we're two oldfriends who parted through a misunderstanding, and have cometogether again, with all the misunderstanding cleared away--friendsagain? Shall we?'
　　She held out her hand. She was smiling, but her eyes were grave.
　　'Old friends, Peter?'
　　I took her hand.
　　'Old friends,' I said.
　　And we went in to breakfast. On the table, beside my plate, waslying a letter from Cynthia.
Part 2 Chapter 6
I
    I give the letter in full. It was written from the s.y. _Mermaid_,lying in Monaco Harbour.
　　MY DEAR PETER, Where is Ogden? We have been expecting him everyday. Mrs Ford is worrying herself to death. She keeps asking me ifI have any news, and it is very tiresome to have to keep tellingher that I have not heard from you. Surely, with the opportunitiesyou must get every day, you can manage to kidnap him. Do be quick.
　　We are relying on you.--In haste,CYNTHIA.
　　I read this brief and business-like communication several timesduring the day; and after dinner that night, in order to meditateupon it in solitude, I left the house and wandered off in thedirection of the village.
　　I was midway between house and village when I became aware that Iwas being followed. The night was dark, and the wind moving in thetree-tops emphasized the loneliness of the country road. Both timeand place were such as made it peculiarly unpleasant to hearstealthy footsteps on the road behind me.
　　Uncertainty in such cases is the unnerving thing. I turnedsharply, and began to walk back on tiptoe in the direction fromwhich I had come.
　　I had not been mistaken. A moment later a dark figure loomed upout of the darkness, and the exclamation which greeted me, as Imade my presence known, showed that I had taken him by surprise.
　　There was a momentary pause. I expected the man, whoever he mightbe, to run, but he held his ground. Indeed, he edged forward.
　　'Get back!' I said, and allowed my stick to rasp suggestively onthe road before raising it in readiness for any sudden development.
　　It was as well that he should know it was there.
　　The hint seemed to wound rather than frighten him.
　　'Aw, cut out the rough stuff, bo,' he said reproachfully in acautious, husky undertone. 'I ain't goin' to start anything.'
　　I had an impression that I had heard the voice before, but I couldnot place it.
　　'What are you following me for?' I demanded. 'Who are you?'
　　'Say, I want a talk wit youse. I took a slant at youse under delamp-post back dere, an' I seen it was you, so I tagged along.
　　Say, I'm wise to your game, sport.'
　　I had identified him by this time. Unless there were two men inthe neighbourhood of Sanstead who hailed from the Bowery, thismust be the man I had seen at the 'Feathers' who had incurred thedisapproval of Miss Benjafield.
　　'I haven't the faintest idea what you mean,' I said. 'What is mygame?'
　　His voice became reproachful again.
　　'Ah chee!' he protested. 'Quit yer kiddin'! What was youserubberin' around de house for last night if you wasn't trailin' dekid?'
　　'Was it you who ran into me last night?' I asked.
　　'Gee! I fought it was a tree. I came near takin' de count.'
　　'I did take it. You seemed in a great hurry.'
　　'Hell!' said the man simply, and expectorated.
　　'Say,' he resumed, having delivered this criticism on thatstirring episode, dat's a great kid, dat Nugget. I fought it was aBlack Hand soup explosion when he cut loose. But, say, let's don'twaste time. We gotta get together about dat kid.'
　　'Certainly, if you wish it. What do you happen to mean?'
　　'Aw, quit yer kiddin'!' He expectorated again. He seemed to be aman who could express the whole gamut of emotions by this simplemeans. 'I know you!'
　　'Then you have the advantage of me, though I believe I rememberseeing you before. Weren't you at the "Feathers" one Wednesdayevening, singing something about a dog?'
　　'Sure. Dat was me.'
　　'What do you mean by saying that you know me?'
　　'Aw, quit yer kiddin', Sam!'
　　There was, it seemed to me, a reluctantly admiring note in hisvoice.
　　'Tell me, who do you think I am?' I asked patiently.
　　'Ahr ghee! You can't string me, sport. Smooth Sam Fisher, is whoyou are, bo. I know you.'
　　I was too surprised to speak. Verily, some have greatness thrustupon them.
　　'I hain't never seen youse, Sam,' he continued, 'but I know it'syou. And I'll tell youse how I doped it out. To begin with, thereain't but you and your bunch and me and my bunch dat knows deLittle Nugget's on dis side at all. Dey sneaked him out of NewYork mighty slick. And I heard that you had come here after him.
　　So when I runs into a guy dat's trailin' de kid down here, well,who's it going to be if it ain't youse? And when dat guy talkslike a dude, like they all say you do, well, who's it going to beif it ain't youse? So quit yer kiddin', Sam, and let's get down tobusiness.'
　　'Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr Buck MacGinnis?' I said. Ifelt convinced that this could be no other than that celebrity.
　　'Dat's right. Dere's no need to keep up anyt'ing wit me, Sam.
　　We're bote on de same trail, so let's get down to it.'
　　'One moment,' I said. 'Would it surprise you to hear that my nameis Burns, and that I am a master at the school?'
　　He expectorated admirably.
　　'Hell, no!' he said. 'Gee, it's just what you would be, Sam. Ialways heard youse had been one of dese rah-rah boys oncest. Say,it's mighty smart of youse to be a perfessor. You're right in onde ground floor.'
　　His voice became appealing.
　　'Say, Sam, don't be a hawg. Let's go fifty-fifty in dis deal. Mybunch and me has come a hell of a number of miles on disproposition, and dere ain't no need for us to fall scrappin' overit. Dere's plenty for all of us. Old man Ford'll cough up enoughfor every one, and dere won't be any fuss. Let's sit in togedderon dis nuggett'ing. It ain't like as if it was an ornery two-by-fourdeal. I wouldn't ask youse if it wasn't big enough fir de wholebunch of us.'
　　As I said nothing, he proceeded.
　　'It ain't square, Sam, to take advantage of your having education.
　　If it was a square fight, and us bote wit de same chance, Iwouldn't say; but you bein' a dude perfessor and gettin' rightinto de place like dat ain't right. Say, don't be a hawg, Sam.
　　Don't swipe it all. Fifty-fifty! Does dat go?'
　　'I don't know,' I said. 'You had better ask the real Sam. Goodnight.'
　　I walked past him and made for the school gates at my best pace.
　　He trotted after me, pleading.
　　'Sam, give us a quarter, then.'
　　I walked on.
　　'Sam, don't be a hawg!'
　　He broke into a run.
　　'Sam!' His voice lost its pleading tone and rasped menacingly.
　　'Gee, if I had me canister, youse wouldn't be so flip! Listenhere, you big cheese! You t'ink youse is de only t'ing in sight,huh? Well, we ain't done yet. You'll see yet. We'll fix you! Yousehad best watch out.'
　　I stopped and turned on him. 'Look here, you fool,' I cried. 'Itell you I am not Sam Fisher. Can't you understand that you havegot hold of the wrong man? My name is Burns--_Burns_.'
　　He expectorated--scornfully this time. He was a man slow by natureto receive ideas, but slower to rid himself of one that hadcontrived to force its way into what he probably called his brain.
　　He had decided on the evidence that I was Smooth Sam Fisher, andno denials on my part were going to shake his belief. He looked onthem merely as so many unsportsmanlike quibbles prompted by greed.
　　'Tell it to Sweeney!' was the form in which he crystallized hisscepticism.
　　'May be you'll say youse ain't trailin' de Nugget, huh?'
　　It was a home-thrust. If truth-telling has become a habit, onegets slowly off the mark when the moment arrives for the prudentlie. Quite against my will, I hesitated. Observant Mr MacGinnisperceived my hesitation and expectorated triumphantly.
　　'Ah ghee!' he remarked. And then with a sudden return to ferocity,'All right, you Sam, you wait! We'll fix you, and fix you good!
　　See? Dat goes. You t'ink youse kin put it across us, huh? Allright, you'll get yours. You wait!'
　　And with these words he slid off into the night. From somewhere inthe murky middle distance came a scornful 'Hawg!' and he was gone,leaving me with a settled conviction that, while I had frequentlyhad occasion, since my expedition to Sanstead began, to describeaffairs as complex, their complexity had now reached its height.
　　With a watchful Pinkerton's man within, and a vengeful gang ofrivals without, Sanstead House seemed likely to become anunrestful place for a young kidnapper with no previous experience.
　　The need for swift action had become imperative.
II
    White, the butler, looking singularly unlike a detective--which, Isuppose, is how a detective wants to look--was taking the air onthe football field when I left the house next morning for abefore-breakfast stroll. The sight of him filled me with a desirefor first-hand information on the subject of the man Mr MacGinnissupposed me to be and also of Mr MacGinnis himself. I wanted to beassured that my friend Buck, despite appearances, was a placidperson whose bark was worse than his bite.
　　White's manner, at our first conversational exchanges, wasentirely that of the butler. From what I came to know of himlater, I think he took an artistic pride in throwing himself intowhatever role he had to assume.
　　At the mention of Smooth Sam Fisher, however, his manner peeledoff him like a skin, and he began to talk as himself, a racy andvigorous self vastly different from the episcopal person hethought it necessary to be when on duty.
　　'White,' I said, 'do you know anything of Smooth Sam Fisher?'
　　He stared at me. I suppose the question, led up to by no previousremark, was unusual.
　　'I met a gentleman of the name of Buck MacGinnis--he was ourvisitor that night, by the way--and he was full of Sam. Do youknow him?'
　　'Buck?'
　　'Either of them.'
　　'Well, I've never seen Buck, but I know all about him. There'spepper to Buck.'
　　'So I should imagine. And Sam?'
　　'You may take it from me that there's more pepper to Sam's littlefinger than there is to Buck's whole body. Sam could make Bucklook like the last run of shad, if it came to a showdown. Buck'sjust a common roughneck. Sam's an educated man. He's got brains.'
　　'So I gathered. Well, I'm glad to hear you speak so well of him,because that's who I'm supposed to be.'
　　'How's that?'
　　'Buck MacGinnis insists that I am Smooth Sam Fisher. Nothing I cansay will shift him.'
　　White stared. He had very bright humorous brown eyes. Then hebegan to laugh.
　　'Well, what do you know about that?' he exclaimed. 'Wouldn't thatjar you!'
　　'It would. I may say it did. He called me a hog for wanting tokeep the Little Nugget to myself, and left threatening to "fixme". What would you say the verb "to fix" signified in MrMacGinnis's vocabulary?'
　　White was still chuckling quietly to himself.
　　'He's a wonder!' he observed. 'Can you beat it? Taking you forSmooth Sam!'
　　'He said he had never seen Smooth Sam. Have you?'
　　'Lord, yes.'
　　'Does he look like me?'
　　'Not a bit.'
　　'Do you think he's over here in England?'
　　'Sam? I know he is.'
　　'Then Buck MacGinnis was right?'
　　'Dead right, as far as Sam being on the trail goes. Sam's afterthe Nugget to get him this time. He's tried often enough before,but we've been too smart for him. This time he allows he's goingto bring it off.'
　　'Then why haven't we seen anything of him? Buck MacGinnis seems tobe monopolizing the kidnapping industry in these parts.'
　　'Oh, Sam'll show up when he feels good and ready. You can take itfrom me that Sam knows what he is doing. Sam's a special pet ofmine. I don't give a flip for Buck MacGinnis.'
　　'I wish I had your cheery disposition! To me Buck MacGinnis seemsa pretty important citizen. I wonder what he meant by "fix"?'
　　White, however, declined to leave the subject of Buck's moregifted rival.
　　'Sam's a college man, you know. That gives him a pull. He hasbrains, and can use them.'
　　'That was one of the points on which Buck MacGinnis reproached me.
　　He said it was not fair to use my superior education.'
　　He laughed.
　　'Buck's got no sense. That's why you find him carrying on like aporch-climber. It's his only notion of how to behave when he wantsto do a job. And that's why there's only one man to keep your eyeon in this thing of the Little Nugget, and that's Sam. I wish youcould get to know Sam. You'd like him.'
　　'You seem to look on him as a personal friend. I certainly don'tlike Buck.'
　　'Oh, Buck!' said White scornfully.
　　We turned towards the house as the sound of the bell came to usacross the field.
　　'Then you think we may count on Sam's arrival, sooner or later, asa certainty?' I said.
　　'Surest thing you know.'
　　'You will have a busy time.'
　　'All in the day's work.'
　　'I suppose I ought to look at it in that way. But I do wish I knewexactly what Buck meant by "fix".'
　　White at last condescended to give his mind to the trivial point.
　　'I guess he'll try to put one over on you with a sand-bag,' hesaid carelessly. He seemed to face the prospect with calm.
　　'A sand-bag, eh?' I said. 'It sounds exciting.'
　　'And feels it. I know. I've had some.'
　　I parted from him at the door. As a comforter he had failed toqualify. He had not eased my mind to the slightest extent.
Part 2 Chapter 7
    Looking at it now I can see that the days which followed Audrey'sarrival at Sanstead marked the true beginning of our acquaintanceship.
　　Before, during our engagement, we had been strangers, artificiallytied together, and she had struggled against the chain. But now,for the first time, we were beginning to know each other, and werediscovering that, after all, we had much in common.
　　It did not alarm me, this growing feeling of comradeship. Keenlyon the alert as I was for the least sign that would show that Iwas in danger of weakening in my loyalty to Cynthia, I did notdetect one in my friendliness for Audrey. On the contrary, I washugely relieved, for it seemed to me that the danger was past. Ihad not imagined it possible that I could ever experience towardsher such a tranquil emotion as this easy friendliness. For thelast five years my imagination had been playing round her memory,until I suppose I had built up in my mind some almost superhumanimage, some goddess. What I was passing through now, of course,though I was unaware of it, was the natural reaction from thatstate of mind. Instead of the goddess, I had found a companionablehuman being, and I imagined that I had effected the change myself,and by sheer force of will brought Audrey into a reasonablerelation to the scheme of things.
　　I suppose a not too intelligent moth has much the same views withregard to the lamp. His last thought, as he enters the flame, isprobably one of self-congratulation that he has arranged hisdealings with it on such a satisfactory commonsense basis.
　　And then, when I was feeling particularly safe and complacent,disaster came.
　　The day was Wednesday, and my 'afternoon off', but the rain wasdriving against the windows, and the attractions of billiards withthe marker at the 'Feathers' had not proved sufficient to make meface the two-mile walk in the storm. I had settled myself in thestudy. There was a noble fire burning in the grate, and thedarkness lit by the glow of the coals, the dripping of the rain,the good behaviour of my pipe, and the reflection that, as I satthere, Glossop was engaged downstairs in wrestling with my class,combined to steep me in a meditative peace. Audrey was playing thepiano in the drawing-room. The sound came to me faintly throughthe closed doors. I recognized what she was playing. I wondered ifthe melody had the same associations for her that it had for me.
　　The music stopped. I heard the drawing-room door open. She cameinto the study.
　　'I didn't know there was anyone here,' she said. 'I'm frozen. Thedrawing-room fire's out.'
　　'Come and sit down,' I said. 'You don't mind the smoke?'
　　I drew a chair up to the fire for her, feeling, as I did so, acertain pride. Here I was, alone with her in the firelight, and mypulse was regular and my brain cool. I had a momentary vision ofmyself as the Strong Man, the strong, quiet man with the iron gripon his emotions. I was pleased with myself.
　　She sat for some minutes, gazing into the fire. Little spurts offlame whistled comfortably in the heart of the black-red coals.
　　Outside the storm shrieked faintly, and flurries of rain dashedthemselves against the window.
　　'It's very nice in here,' she said at last.
　　'Peaceful.'
　　I filled my pipe and re-lit it. Her eyes, seen for an instant inthe light of the match, looked dreamy.
　　'I've been sitting here listening to you,' I said. 'I liked thatlast thing you played.'
　　'You always did.'
　　'You remember that? Do you remember one evening--no, youwouldn't.'
　　'Which evening?'
　　'Oh, you wouldn't remember. It's only one particular evening whenyou played that thing. It sticks in my mind. It was at yourfather's studio.'
　　She looked up quickly.
　　'We went out afterwards and sat in the park.'
　　I sat up thrilled.
　　'A man came by with a dog,' I said.
　　'Two dogs.'
　　'One surely!'
　　'Two. A bull-dog and a fox-terrier.'
　　'I remember the bull-dog, but--by Jove, you're right. A fox-terrierwith a black patch over his left eye.'
　　'Right eye.'
　　'Right eye. They came up to us, and you--'
　　'Gave them chocolates.'
　　I sank back slowly in my chair.
　　'You've got a wonderful memory,' I said.
　　She bent over the fire without speaking. The rain rattled on thewindow.
　　'So you still like my playing, Peter?'
　　'I like it better than ever; there's something in it now that Idon't believe there used to be. I can't describe it--something--'
　　'I think it's knowledge, Peter,' she said quietly. 'Experience.
　　I'm five years older than I was when I used to play to you before,and I've seen a good deal in those five years. It may not bealtogether pleasant seeing life, but--well, it makes you play thepiano better. Experience goes in at the heart and comes out at thefinger-tips.'
　　It seemed to me that she spoke a little bitterly.
　　'Have you had a bad time, Audrey, these last years?' I said.
　　'Pretty bad.'
　　'I'm sorry.'
　　'I'm not--altogether. I've learned a lot.'
　　She was silent again, her eyes fixed on the fire.
　　'What are you thinking about?' I said.
　　'Oh, a great many things.'
　　'Pleasant?'
　　'Mixed. The last thing I thought about was pleasant. That was,that I am very lucky to be doing the work I am doing now. Comparedwith some of the things I have done--'
　　She shivered.
　　'I wish you would tell me about those years, Audrey,' I said.
　　'What were some of the things you did?'
　　She leaned back in her chair and shaded her face from the firewith a newspaper. Her eyes were in the shadow.
　　'Well, let me see. I was a nurse for some time at the LafayetteHospital in New York.'
　　'That's hard work?'
　　'Horribly hard. I had to give it up after a while. But--it teachesyou.... You learn.... You learn--all sorts of things. Realities.
　　How much of your own trouble is imagination. You get real troublein a hospital. You get it thrown at you.'
　　I said nothing. I was feeling--I don't know why--a littleuncomfortable, a little at a disadvantage, as one feels in thepresence of some one bigger than oneself.
　　'Then I was a waitress.'
　　'A waitress?'
　　'I tell you I did everything. I was a waitress, and a very badone. I broke plates. I muddled orders. Finally I was very rude toa customer and I went on to try something else. I forget what camenext. I think it was the stage. I travelled for a year with atouring company. That was hard work, too, but I liked it. Afterthat came dressmaking, which was harder and which I hated. Andthen I had my first stroke of real luck.'
　　'What was that?'
　　'I met Mr Ford.'
　　'How did that happen?'
　　'You wouldn't remember a Miss Vanderley, an American girl who wasover in London five or six years ago? My father taught herpainting. She was very rich, but she was wild at that time to beBohemian. I think that's why she chose Father as a teacher. Well,she was always at the studio, and we became great friends, and oneday, after all these things I have been telling you of, I thoughtI would write to her, and see if she could not find me somethingto do. She was a _dear_.' Her voice trembled, and she loweredthe newspaper till her whole face was hidden. 'She wanted me tocome to their home and live on her for ever, but I couldn't havethat. I told her I must work. So she sent me to Mr Ford, whom theVanderleys knew very well, and I became Ogden's governess.'
　　'Great Scott!' I cried. 'What!'
　　She laughed rather shakily.
　　'I don't think I was a very good governess. I knew next tonothing. I ought to have been having a governess myself. But Imanaged somehow.'
　　'But Ogden?' I said. 'That little fiend, didn't he worry the lifeout of you?'
　　'Oh, I had luck there again. He happened to take a mild liking tome, and he was as good as gold--for him; that's to say, if Ididn't interfere with him too much, and I didn't. I was horriblyweak; he let me alone. It was the happiest time I had had forages.'
　　'And when he came here, you came too, as a sort of ex-governess,to continue exerting your moral influence over him?'
　　She laughed.
　　'More or less that.'
　　We sat in silence for a while, and then she put into words thethought which was in both our minds.
　　'How odd it seems, you and I sitting together chatting like this,Peter, after all--all these years.'
　　'Like a dream!'
　　'Just like a dream ... I'm so glad.... You don't know how I'vehated myself sometimes for--for--'
　　'Audrey! You mustn't talk like that. Don't let's think of it.
　　Besides, it was my fault.'
　　She shook her head.
　　'Well, put it that we didn't understand one another.'
　　She nodded slowly.
　　'No, we didn't understand one another.'
　　'But we do now,' I said. 'We're friends, Audrey.'
　　She did not answer. For a long time we sat in silence. And then thenewspaper must have moved--a gleam from the fire fell upon her face,lighting up her eyes; and at the sight something in me began tothrob, like a drum warning a city against danger. The next momentthe shadow had covered them again.
　　I sat there, tense, gripping the arms of my chair. I was tingling.
　　Something was happening to me. I had a curious sensation of beingon the threshold of something wonderful and perilous.
　　From downstairs there came the sound of boys' voices. Work wasover, and with it this talk by the firelight. In a few minutessomebody, Glossop, or Mr Abney, would be breaking in on ourretreat.
　　We both rose, and then--it happened. She must have tripped in thedarkness. She stumbled forward, her hand caught at my coat, andshe was in my arms.
　　It was a thing of an instant. She recovered herself, moved to thedoor, and was gone.
　　But I stood where I was, motionless, aghast at the revelationwhich had come to me in that brief moment. It was the physicalcontact, the feel of her, warm and alive, that had shattered forever that flimsy structure of friendship which I had fancied sostrong. I had said to Love, 'Thus far, and no farther', and Lovehad swept over me, the more powerful for being checked. The timeof self-deception was over. I knew myself.
Part 2 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): T 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 Browning 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 agitatedly 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 Sadstead 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.
Part 2 Chapter 9
I
    It was only after many hours of thought that it had flashed uponme that the simplest and safest way of removing the Little Nuggetwas to induce him to remove himself. Once the idea had come, therest was simple. The negotiations which had taken place thatmorning in the stable-yard had been brief. I suppose a boy inOgden's position, with his record of narrow escapes from thekidnapper, comes to take things as a matter of course which wouldstartle the ordinary boy. He assumed, I imagine, that I was theaccredited agent of his mother, and that the money which I gavehim for travelling expenses came from her. Perhaps he had beenexpecting something of the sort. At any rate, he grasped theessential points of the scheme with amazing promptitude. Hislittle hand was extended to receive the cash almost before I hadfinished speaking.
　　The main outline of my plan was that he should slip away toLondon, during the afternoon, go to my rooms, where he would findSmith, and with Smith travel to his mother at Monaco. I hadwritten to Smith, bidding him be in readiness for the expedition.
　　There was no flaw in the scheme as I had mapped it out, and thoughOgden had complicated it a little by gratuitously luring awayAugustus Beckford to bear him company, he had not endangered itssuccess.
　　But now an utterly unforeseen complication had arisen. My onedesire now was to undo everything for which I had been plotting.
　　I stood there, looking at her dumbly, hating myself for being thecause of the anxiety in her eyes. If I had struck her, I could nothave felt more despicable. In my misery I cursed Cynthia forleading me into this tangle.
　　I heard my name spoken, and turned to find White at my elbow.
　　'Mr Abney would like to see you, sir.'
　　I went upstairs, glad to escape. The tension of the situation hadbegun to tear at my nerves.
　　'Cub id, Bister Burds,' said my employer, swallowing a lozenge.
　　His aspect was more dazed than ever. 'White has just badean--ah--extraordinary cobbudicatiod to me. It seebs he is inreality a detective, an employee of Pidkertod's Agedcy, of whichyou have, of course--ah--heard.'
　　So White had revealed himself. On the whole, I was not surprised.
　　Certainly his motive for concealment, the fear of making Mr Abneynervous, was removed. An inrush of Red Indians with tomahawkscould hardly have added greatly to Mr Abney's nervousness at thepresent juncture.
　　'Sent here by Mr Ford, I suppose?' I said. I had to say something.
　　'Exactly. Ah--precisely.' He sneezed. 'Bister Ford, withoutcodsulting me--I do not cobbedt on the good taste or wisdob of hisactiod--dispatched White to apply for the post of butler atthis--ah--house, his predecessor having left at a bobedt's dotice,bribed to do so, I strodgly suspect, by Bister Ford himself. I baybe wrodging Bister Ford, but do dot thig so.'
　　I thought the reasoning sound.
　　'All thad, however,' resumed Mr Abney, removing his face from ajug of menthol at which he had been sniffing with the tenseconcentration of a dog at a rabbit-hole, 'is beside the poidt. Iberely bedtiod it to explaid why White will accompady you toLondon.'
　　'What!'
　　The exclamation was forced from me by my dismay. This wasappalling. If this infernal detective was to accompany me, mychance of bringing Ogden back was gone. It had been my intentionto go straight to my rooms, in the hope of finding him not yetdeparted. But how was I to explain his presence there to White?
　　'I don't think it's necessary, Mr Abney,' I protested. 'I am sureI can manage this affair by myself.'
　　'Two heads are better thad wud,' said the invalid sententiously,burying his features in the jug once more.
　　'Too many cooks spoil the broth,' I replied. If the conversationwas to consist of copybook maxims, I could match him as long as hepleased.
　　He did not keep up the intellectual level of the discussion.
　　'Dodseds!' he snapped, with the irritation of a man whose proverbhas been capped by another. I had seldom heard him speak sosharply. White's revelation had evidently impressed him. He hadall the ordinary peaceful man's reverence for the professionaldetective.
　　'White will accompany you, Bister Burds,' he said doggedly.
　　'Very well,' I said.
　　After all, it might be that I should get an opportunity of givinghim the slip. London is a large city.
　　A few minutes later the cab arrived, and White and I set forth onour mission.
　　We did not talk much in the cab. I was too busy with my thoughtsto volunteer remarks, and White, apparently, had meditations ofhis own to occupy him.
　　It was when we had settled ourselves in an empty compartment andthe train had started that he found speech. I had provided myselfwith a book as a barrier against conversation, and began at onceto make a pretence of reading, but he broke through my defences.
　　'Interesting book, Mr Burns?'
　　'Very,' I said.
　　'Life's more interesting than books.'
　　I made no comment on this profound observation. He was notdiscouraged.
　　'Mr Burns,' he said, after the silence had lasted a few moments.
　　'Yes?'
　　'Let's talk for a spell. These train-journeys are pretty slow.'
　　Again I seemed to detect that curious undercurrent of meaning inhis voice which I had noticed in the course of our brief exchangeof remarks in the hall. I glanced up and met his eye. He waslooking at me in a way that struck me as curious. There wassomething in those bright brown eyes of his which had the effectof making me vaguely uneasy. Something seemed to tell me that hehad a definite motive in forcing his conversation on me.
　　'I guess I can interest you a heap more than that book, even ifit's the darndest best seller that was ever hatched.'
　　'Oh!'
　　He lit a cigarette.
　　'You didn't want me around on this trip, did you?'
　　'It seemed rather unnecessary for both of us to go,' I saidindifferently. 'Still, perhaps two heads are better than one, asMr Abney remarked. What do you propose to do when you get toLondon?'
　　He bent forward and tapped me on the knee.
　　'I propose to stick to you like a label on a bottle, sonny,' hesaid. 'That's what I propose to do.'
　　'What do you mean?'
　　I was finding it difficult, such is the effect of a guiltyconscience, to meet his eye, and the fact irritated me.
　　'I want to find out that address you gave the Ford kid thismorning out in the stable-yard.'
　　It is strange how really literal figurative expressions are. I hadread stories in which some astonished character's heart leapedinto his mouth. For an instant I could have supposed that mine hadactually done so. The illusion of some solid object blocking up mythroat was extraordinarily vivid, and there certainly seemed to bea vacuum in the spot where my heart should have been. Not for asubstantial reward could I have uttered a word at that moment. Icould not even breathe. The horrible unexpectedness of the blowhad paralysed me.
　　White, however, was apparently prepared to continue the chatwithout my assistance.
　　'I guess you didn't know I was around, or you wouldn't have talkedthat way. Well, I was, and I heard every word you said. Here wasthe money, you said, and he was to take it and break for London,and go to the address on this card, and your pal Smith would lookafter him. I guess there had been some talk before that, but Ididn't arrive in time to hear it. But I heard all I wanted, exceptthat address. And that's what I'm going to find out when we get toLondon.'
　　He gave out this appalling information in a rich and soothingvoice, as if it were some ordinary commonplace. To me it seemed toend everything. I imagined I was already as good as under arrest.
　　What a fool I had been to discuss such a matter in a place like astable yard, however apparently empty. I might have known that ata school there are no empty places.
　　'I must say it jarred me when I heard you pulling that stuff,'
　　continued White. 'I haven't what you might call a childlike faithin my fellow-man as a rule, but it had never occurred to me for amoment that you could be playing that game. It only shows,' headded philosophically, 'that you've got to suspect everybody whenit comes to a gilt-edged proposition like the Little Nugget.'
　　The train rattled on. I tried to reduce my mind to working order,to formulate some plan, but could not.
　　Beyond the realization that I was in the tightest corner of mylife, I seemed to have lost the power of thought.
　　White resumed his monologue.
　　'You had me guessing,' he admitted. 'I couldn't figure you out.
　　First thing, of course, I thought you must be working in with BuckMacGinnis and his crowd. Then all that happened tonight, and I sawthat, whoever you might be working in with, it wasn't Buck. Andnow I've placed you. You're not in with any one. You're justplaying it by yourself. I shouldn't mind betting this was yourfirst job, and that you saw your chance of making a pile byholding up old man Ford, and thought it was better thanschoolmastering, and grabbed it.'
　　He leaned forward and tapped me on the knee again. There wassomething indescribably irritating in the action. As one who hashad experience, I can state that, while to be arrested at all isbad, to be arrested by a detective with a fatherly manner ismaddening.
　　'See here,' he said, 'we must get together over this business.'
　　I suppose it was the recollection of the same words in the mouthof Buck MacGinnis that made me sit up with a jerk and stare athim.
　　'We'll make a great team,' he said, still in that same cosy voice.
　　'If ever there was a case of fifty-fifty, this is it. You've gotthe kid, and I've got you. I can't get away with him without yourhelp, and you can't get away with him unless you square me. It's astand-off. The only thing is to sit in at the game together andshare out. Does it go?'
　　He beamed kindly on my bewilderment during the space of time ittakes to select a cigarette and light a match. Then, blowing acontented puff of smoke, he crossed his legs and leaned back.
　　'When I told you I was a Pinkerton's man, sonny,' he said, 'Imissed the cold truth by about a mile. But you caught me shootingoff guns in the grounds, and it was up to me to say something.'
　　He blew a smoke-ring and watched it dreamily till it melted in thedraught from the ventilator.
　　'I'm Smooth Sam Fisher,' he said.
II
    When two emotions clash, the weaker goes to the wall. Any surpriseI might have felt was swallowed up in my relief. If I had been atliberty to be astonished, my companion's information would nodoubt have astonished me. But I was not. I was so relieved that hewas not a Pinkerton's man that I did not really care what else hemight be.
　　'It's always been a habit of mine, in these little matters,' hewent on, 'to let other folks do the rough work, and chip in myselfwhen they've cleared the way. It saves trouble and expense. Idon't travel with a gang, like that bone-headed Buck. What's theuse of a gang? They only get tumbling over each other and spoilingeverything. Look at Buck! Where is he? Down and out. While I--'
　　He smiled complacently. His manner annoyed me. I objected to beinglooked upon as a humble cat's paw by this bland scoundrel.
　　'While you--what?' I said.
　　He looked at me in mild surprise.
　　'Why, I come in with you, sonny, and take my share like agentleman.'
　　'Do you!'
　　'Well, don't I?'
　　He looked at me in the half-reproachful half-affectionate mannerof the kind old uncle who reasons with a headstrong nephew.
　　'Young man,' he said, 'you surely aren't thinking you can put oneover on me in this business? Tell me, you don't take me for thatsort of ivory-skulled boob? Do you imagine for one instant, sonny,that I'm not next to every move in this game? Are you deludingyourself with the idea that this thing isn't a perfect cinch forme? Let's hear what's troubling you. You seem to have gotten somefoolish ideas in your head. Let's talk it over quietly.'
　　'If you have no objection,' I said, 'no. I don't want to talk toyou, Mr Fisher. I don't like you, and I don't like your way ofearning your living. Buck MacGinnis was bad enough, but at leasthe was a straightforward tough. There's no excuse for you.'
　　'Surely we are unusually righteous this p.m., are we not?' saidSam suavely.
　　I did not answer.
　　'Is this not mere professional jealousy?'
　　This was too much for me.
　　'Do you imagine for a moment that I'm doing this for money?'
　　'I did have that impression. Was I wrong? Do you kidnap the sonsof millionaires for your health?'
　　'I promised that I would get this boy back to his mother. That iswhy I gave him the money to go to London. And that is why my valetwas to have taken him to--to where Mrs Ford is.'
　　He did not reply in words, but if ever eyebrows spoke, his said,'My dear sir, really!' I could not remain silent under theirpatent disbelief.
　　'That's the simple truth,' I said.
　　He shrugged his shoulders, as who would say, 'Have it your ownway. Let us change the subject.'
　　'You say "was to have taken". Have you changed your plans?'
　　'Yes, I'm going to take the boy back to the school.'
　　He laughed--a rich, rolling laugh. His double chin shookcomfortably.
　　'It won't do,' he said, shaking his head with humorous reproach.
　　'It won't do.'
　　'You don't believe me?'
　　'Frankly, I do not.'
　　'Very well,' I said, and began to read my book.
　　'If you want to give me the slip,' he chuckled, 'you must dobetter than that. I can see you bringing the Nugget back to theschool.'
　　'You will, if you wait,' I said.
　　'I wonder what that address was that you gave him,' he mused.
　　'Well, I shall soon know.'
　　He lapsed into silence. The train rolled on. I looked at my watch.
　　London was not far off now.
　　'The present arrangement of equal division,' said Sam, breaking along silence, 'holds good, of course, only in the event of yourquitting this fool game and doing the square thing by me. Let meput it plainly. We are either partners or competitors. It is foryou to decide. If you will be sensible and tell me that address, Iwill pledge my word--'
　　'Your word!' I said scornfully.
　　'Honour among thieves!' replied Sam, with unruffled geniality. 'Iwouldn't double-cross you for worlds. If, however, you think youcan manage without my assistance, it will then be my melancholyduty to beat you to the kid, and collect him and the moneyentirely on my own account. Am I to take it,' he said, as I wassilent, 'that you prefer war to an alliance?'
　　I turned a page of my book and went on reading.
　　'If Youth but knew!' he sighed. 'Young man, I am nearly twice yourage, and I have, at a modest estimate, about ten times as muchsense. Yet, in your overweening self-confidence, with yourungovernable gall, you fancy you can hand me a lemon. _Me!_ Ishould smile!'
　　'Do,' I said. 'Do, while you can.'
　　He shook his head reprovingly.
　　'You will not be so fresh, sonny, in a few hours. You will bebiting pieces out of yourself, I fear. And later on, when myautomobile splashes you with mud in Piccadilly, you will taste thefull bitterness of remorse. Well, Youth must buy its experience, Isuppose!'
　　I looked across at him as he sat, plump and rosy and complacent,puffing at his cigarette, and my heart warmed to the old ruffian.
　　It was impossible to maintain an attitude of righteous icinesswith him. I might loathe his mode of life, and hate him as arepresentative--and a leading representative--of one of the mostcontemptible trades on earth, but there was a sunny charm aboutthe man himself which made it hard to feel hostile to him as anindividual.
　　I closed my book with a bang and burst out laughing.
　　'You're a wonder!' I said.
　　He beamed at what he took to be evidence that I was coming roundto the friendly and sensible view of the matter.
　　'Then you think, on consideration--' he said. 'Excellent! Now, mydear young man, all joking aside, you will take me with you tothat address, will you not? You observe that I do not ask you togive it to me. Let there be not so much as the faintest odour ofthe double-cross about this business. All I ask is that you allowme to accompany you to where the Nugget is hidden, and then relyon my wider experience of this sort of game to get him safely awayand open negotiations with the dad.'
　　'I suppose your experience has been wide?' I said.
　　'Quite tolerably--quite tolerably.'
　　'Doesn't it ever worry you the anxiety and misery you cause?'
　　'Purely temporary, both. And then, look at it in another way.
　　Think of the joy and relief of the bereaved parents when sonnycomes toddling home again! Surely it is worth some temporarydistress to taste that supreme happiness? In a sense, you mightcall me a human benefactor. I teach parents to appreciate theirchildren. You know what parents are. Father gets caught short insteel rails one morning. When he reaches home, what does he do? Heeases his mind by snapping at little Willie. Mrs Van First-Familyforgets to invite mother to her freak-dinner. What happens? Mothertakes it out of William. They love him, maybe, but they are tooused to him. They do not realize all he is to them. And then, oneafternoon, he disappears. The agony! The remorse! "How could Iever have told our lost angel to stop his darned noise!" moansfather. "I struck him!" sobs mother. "With this jewelled hand Ispanked our vanished darling!" "We were not worthy to have him,"they wail together. "But oh, if we could but get him back!" Wellthey do. They get him back as soon as ever they care to comeacross in unmarked hundred-dollar bills. And after that they thinktwice before working off their grouches on the poor kid. So Ibring universal happiness into the home. I don't say fatherdoesn't get a twinge every now and then when he catches sight ofthe hole in his bank balance, but, darn it, what's money for ifit's not to spend?'
　　He snorted with altruistic fervour.
　　'What makes you so set on kidnapping Ogden Ford?' I asked. 'I knowhe is valuable, but you must have made your pile by this time. Igather that you have been practising your particular brand ofphilanthropy for a good many years. Why don't you retire?'
　　He sighed.
　　'It is the dream of my life to retire, young man. You may notbelieve me, but my instincts are thoroughly domestic. When I havethe leisure to weave day-dreams, they centre around a cosy littlehome with a nice porch and stationary washtubs.'
　　He regarded me closely, as if to decide whether I was worthy ofthese confidences. There was something wistful in his brown eyes.
　　I suppose the inspection must have been favourable, or he was in amood when a man must unbosom himself to someone, for he proceededto open his heart to me. A man in his particular line of business,I imagine, finds few confidants, and the strain probably becomesintolerable at times.
　　'Have you ever experienced the love of a good woman, sonny? It's awonderful thing.' He brooded sentimentally for a moment, thencontinued, and--to my mind--somewhat spoiled the impressiveness ofhis opening words. 'The love of a good woman,' he said, 'is aboutthe darnedest wonderful lay-out that ever came down the pike. Iknow. I've had some.'
　　A spark from his cigarette fell on his hand. He swore a startledoath.
　　'We came from the same old town,' he resumed, having recoveredfrom this interlude. 'Used to be kids at the same school ...
　　Walked to school together ... me carrying her luncheon-basket andhelping her over the fences ... Ah! ... Just the same when we grewup. Still pals. And that was twenty years ago ... The arrangementwas that I should go out and make the money to buy the home, andthen come back and marry her.'
　　'Then why the devil haven't you done it?' I said severely.
　　He shook his head.
　　'If you know anything about crooks, young man,' he said, 'you'llknow that outside of their own line they are the easiest marks thatever happened. They fall for anything. At least, it's always beenthat way with me. No sooner did I get together a sort of pile andstart out for the old town, when some smooth stranger would comealong and steer me up against some skin-game, and back I'd have togo to work. That happened a few times, and when I did manage atlast to get home with the dough I found she had married anotherguy. It's hard on women, you see,' he explained chivalrously. 'Theyget lonesome and Roving Rupert doesn't show up, so they have tomarry Stay-at-Home Henry just to keep from getting the horrors.'
　　'So she's Mrs Stay-at-Home Henry now?' I said sympathetically.
　　'She was till a year ago. She's a widow now. Deceased had amisunderstanding with a hydrophobia skunk, so I'm informed. Ibelieve he was a good man. Outside of licking him at school Ididn't know him well. I saw her just before I left to come here.
　　She's as fond of me as ever. It's all settled, if only I canconnect with the mazuma. And she don't want much, either. Justenough to keep the home together.'
　　'I wish you happiness,' I said.
　　'You can do better than that. You can take me with you to thataddress.'
　　I avoided the subject.
　　'What does she say to your way of making money?' I asked.
　　'She doesn't know, and she ain't going to know. I don't see why aman has got to tell his wife every little thing in his past. Shethinks I'm a drummer, travelling in England for a dry-goods firm.
　　She wouldn't stand for the other thing, not for a minute. She'svery particular. Always was. That's why I'm going to quit afterI've won out over this thing of the Little Nugget.' He looked atme hopefully. 'So you _will_ take me along, sonny, won't you?'
　　I shook my head.
　　'You won't?'
　　'I'm sorry to spoil a romance, but I can't. You must look aroundfor some other home into which to bring happiness. The Fords' isbarred.'
　　'You are very obstinate, young man,' he said, sadly, but withoutany apparent ill-feeling. 'I can't persuade you?'
　　'No.'
　　'Ah, well! So we are to be rivals, not allies. You will regretthis, sonny. I may say you will regret it very bitterly. When yousee me in my automo--'
　　'You mentioned your automobile before.'
　　'Ah! So I did.'
　　The train had stopped, as trains always do on English railwaysbefore entering a terminus. Presently it began to move forwardhesitatingly, as if saying to itself, 'Now, am I really wantedhere? Shall I be welcome?' Eventually, after a second halt, itglided slowly alongside the platform.
　　I sprang out and ran to the cab-rank. I was aboard a taxi, bowlingout of the station before the train had stopped.
　　Peeping out of the window at the back, I was unable to see Sam. Myadroit move, I took it, had baffled him. I had left him standing.
　　It was a quarter of an hour's drive to my rooms, but to me, in myanxiety, it seemed more. This was going to be a close thing, andsuccess or failure a matter of minutes. If he followed myinstructions Smith would be starting for the Continental boat-traintonight with his companion; and, working out the distances,I saw that, by the time I could arrive, he might already have leftmy rooms. Sam's supervision at Sanstead Station had made itimpossible for me to send a telegram. I had had to trust tochance. Fortunately my train, by a miracle, had been up to time,and at my present rate of progress I ought to catch Smith a fewminutes before he left the building.
　　The cab pulled up. I ran up the stairs and opened the door of myapartment.
　　'Smith!' I called.
　　A chair scraped along the floor and a door opened at the end ofthe passage. Smith came out.
　　'Thank goodness you have not started. I thought I should miss you.
　　Where is the boy?'
　　'The boy, sir?'
　　'The boy I wrote to you about.'
　　'He has not arrived, sir.'
　　'Not arrived?'
　　'No, sir.'
　　I stared at him blankly.
　　'How long have you been here?'
　　'All day, sir.'
　　'You have not been out?'
　　'Not since the hour of two, sir.'
　　'I can't understand it,' I said.
　　'Perhaps the young gentleman changed his mind and never started,sir?'
　　'I know he started.'
　　Smith had no further suggestion to offer.
　　'Pending the young gentleman's arrival, sir, I remain in London?'
　　A fruity voice spoke at the door behind me.
　　'What! Hasn't he arrived?'
　　I turned. There, beaming and benevolent, stood Mr Fisher.
　　'It occurred to me to look your name out in the telephonedirectory,' he explained. 'I might have thought of that before.'
　　'Come in here,' I said, opening the door of the sitting-room. Idid not want to discuss the thing with him before Smith.
　　He looked about the room admiringly.
　　'So these are your quarters,' he said. 'You do yourself prettywell, young man. So I understand that the Nugget has gone wrong intransit. He has altered his plans on the way?'
　　'I can't understand it.'
　　'I can! You gave him a certain amount of money?'
　　'Yes. Enough to get him to--where he was going.'
　　'Then, knowing the boy, I should say that he has found other usesfor it. He's whooping it up in London, and, I should fancy, havingthe time of his young life.'
　　He got up.
　　'This of course,' he said, 'alters considerably any understandingwe may have come to, sonny. All idea of a partnership is now outof the question. I wish you well, but I have no further use foryou. Somewhere in this great city the Little Nugget is hiding, andI mean to find him--entirely on my own account. This is where ourpaths divide, Mr Burns. Good night.'
Part 2 Chapter 10
    When Sam had left, which he did rather in the manner of a heavyfather in melodrama, shaking the dust of an erring son's thresholdoff his feet, I mixed myself a high-ball, and sat down to considerthe position of affairs. It did not take me long to see that theinfernal boy had double-crossed me with a smooth effectivenesswhich Mr Fisher himself might have envied. Somewhere in this greatcity, as Sam had observed, he was hiding. But where? London is avague address.
　　I wondered what steps Sam was taking. Was there some undergroundsecret service bureau to which persons of his profession hadaccess? I doubted it. I imagined that he, as I proposed to do, wasdrawing the city at a venture in the hope of flushing the quarryby accident. Yet such was the impression he had made upon me as aman of resource and sagacity, that I did not relish the idea ofhis getting a start on me, even in a venture so uncertain as this.
　　My imagination began to picture him miraculously inspired in thesearch, and such was the vividness of the vision that I jumped upfrom my chair, resolved to get on the trail at once. It washopelessly late, however, and I did not anticipate that I shouldmeet with any success.
　　Nor did I. For two hours and a half I tramped the streets, myspirits sinking more and more under the influence of failure and ablend of snow and sleet which had begun to fall; and then, tiredout, I went back to my rooms, and climbed sorrowfully into bed.
　　It was odd to wake up and realize that I was in London. Yearsseemed to have passed since I had left it. Time is a thing ofemotions, not of hours and minutes, and I had certainly packed aconsiderable number of emotional moments into my stay at SansteadHouse. I lay in bed, reviewing the past, while Smith, with acheerful clatter of crockery, prepared my breakfast in the nextroom.
　　A curious lethargy had succeeded the feverish energy of theprevious night. More than ever the impossibility of finding theneedle in this human bundle of hay oppressed me. No one isoptimistic before breakfast, and I regarded the future with dullresignation, turning my thoughts from it after a while to thepast. But the past meant Audrey, and to think of Audrey hurt.
　　It seemed curious to me that in a life of thirty years I shouldhave been able to find, among the hundreds of women I had met,only one capable of creating in me that disquieting welter ofemotions which is called love, and hard that that one shouldreciprocate my feeling only to the extent of the mild liking whichAudrey entertained for me.
　　I tried to analyse her qualifications for the place she held in myheart. I had known women who had attracted me more physically, andwomen who had attracted me more mentally. I had known wiser women,handsomer women, more amiable women, but none of them had affectedme like Audrey. The problem was inexplicable. Any idea that wemight be affinities, soul-mates destined for each other from thebeginning of time, was disposed of by the fact that my attractionfor her was apparently in inverse ratio to hers for me. Forpossibly the millionth time in the past five years I tried topicture in my mind the man Sheridan, that shadowy wooer to whomshe had yielded so readily. What quality had he possessed that Idid not? Wherein lay the magnetism that had brought about histriumph?
　　These were unprofitable speculations. I laid them aside until thenext occasion when I should feel disposed for self-torture, andgot out of bed. A bath and breakfast braced me up, and I left thehouse in a reasonably cheerful frame of mind.
　　To search at random for an individual unit among London's millionslends an undeniable attraction to a day in town. In a desultoryway I pursued my investigations through the morning and afternoon,but neither of Ogden nor of his young friend Lord Beckford was Ivouchsafed a glimpse. My consolation was that Smooth Sam wasprobably being equally unsuccessful.
　　Towards the evening there arose the question of return toSanstead. I had not gathered whether Mr Abney had intended to setany time-limit on my wanderings, or whether I was not supposed tocome back except with the deserters. I decided that I had betterremain in London, at any rate for another night, and went to thenearest post office to send Mr Abney a telegram to that effect.
　　As I was writing it, the problem which had baffled me for twenty-fourhours, solved itself in under a minute. Whether my powers ofinductive reasoning had been under a cloud since I left Sanstead,or whether they were normally beneath contempt, I do not know. Butthe fact remains, that I had completely overlooked the obvioussolution of my difficulty. I think I must have been thinking soexclusively of the Little Nugget that I had entirely forgotten theexistence of Augustus Beckford. It occurred to me now that, bymaking inquiries at the latter's house, I should learn somethingto my advantage. A boy of the Augustus type does not run away fromschool without a reason. Probably some party was taking placetonight at the ancestral home, at which, tempted by the lawlessNugget, he had decided that his presence was necessary.
　　I knew the house well. There had been a time, when Lord Mountryand I were at Oxford, when I had spent frequent week-ends there.
　　Since then, owing to being abroad, I had seen little of thefamily. Now was the moment to reintroduce myself. I hailed a cab.
　　Inductive reasoning had not played me false. There was a redcarpet outside the house, and from within came the sounds ofmusic.
　　Lady Wroxham, the mother of Mountry and the vanishing Augustus,was one of those women who take things as they come. She did notseem surprised at seeing me.
　　'How nice of you to come and see us,' she said. 'Somebody told meyou were abroad. Ted is in the south of France in the yacht.
　　Augustus is here. Mr Abney, his schoolmaster, let him come up forthe night.'
　　I perceived that Augustus had been playing a bold game. I saw thecoaching of Ogden behind these dashing falsehoods.
　　'You will hardly remember Sybil. She was quite a baby when youwere here last. She is having her birthday-party this evening.'
　　'May I go in and help?' I said.
　　'I wish you would. They would love it.'
　　I doubted it, but went in. A dance had just finished. Strollingtowards me in his tightest Eton suit, his face shining with honestjoy, was the errant Augustus, and close behind him, wearing theblase' air of one for whom custom has staled the pleasures of life,was the Little Nugget.
　　I think they both saw me at the same moment. The effect of myappearance on them was illustrative of their respective characters.
　　Augustus turned a deep shade of purple and fixed me with ahorrified stare. The Nugget winked. Augustus halted and shuffledhis feet. The Nugget strolled up and accosted me like an oldfriend.
　　'Hello!' he said. 'How did you get here? Say, I was going to tryand get you on the phone some old time and explain things. I'vebeen pretty much on the jump since I hit London.'
　　'You little brute!'
　　My gleaming eye, travelling past him, met that of the Hon.
　　Augustus Beckford, causing that youth to jump guiltily. The Nuggetlooked over his shoulder.
　　'I guess we don't want him around if we're to talk business,' hesaid. 'I'll go and tell him to beat it.'
　　'You'll do nothing of the kind. I don't propose to lose sight ofeither of you.'
　　'Oh, he's all right. You don't have to worry about him. He wasgoing back to the school anyway tomorrow. He only ran away to goto this party. Why not let him enjoy himself while he's here? I'llgo and make a date for you to meet at the end of the show.'
　　He approached his friend, and a short colloquy ensued, which endedin the latter shuffling off in the direction of the otherrevellers. Such is the buoyancy of youth that a moment later hewas dancing a two-step with every appearance of careless enjoyment.
　　The future, with its storms, seemed to have slipped from his mind.
　　'That's all right,' said the Nugget, returning to me. 'He'spromised he won't duck away. You'll find him somewhere aroundwhenever you care to look for him. Now we can talk.'
　　'I hardly like to trespass on your valuable time,' I said. Theairy way in which this demon boy handled what should have been--tohim--an embarrassing situation irritated me. For all the authorityI seemed to have over him I might have been the potted palmagainst which he was leaning.
　　'That's all right.' Everything appeared to be all right with him.
　　'This sort of thing does not appeal to me. Don't be afraid ofspoiling my evening. I only came because Becky was so set on it.
　　Dancing bores me pallid, so let's get somewhere where we can sitdown and talk.'
　　I was beginning to feel that a children's party was the rightplace for me. Sam Fisher had treated me as a child, and so did theLittle Nugget. That I was a responsible person, well on in mythirty-first year, with a narrow escape from death and a hopelesslove-affair on my record, seemed to strike neither of them. Ifollowed my companion to a secluded recess with the utmostmeekness.
　　He leaned back and crossed his legs.
　　'Got a cigarette?'
　　'I have not got a cigarette, and, if I had, I wouldn't give it toyou.'
　　He regarded me tolerantly.
　　'Got a grouch tonight, haven't you? You seem all flittered upabout something. What's the trouble? Sore about my not showing upat your apartment? I'll explain that all right.'
　　'I shall be glad to listen.'
　　'It's like this. It suddenly occurred to me that a day or two oneway or the other wasn't going to affect our deal and that, while Iwas about it, I might just as well see a bit of London before Ileft. I suggested it to Becky, and the idea made the biggest kindof a hit with him. I found he had only been in an automobile oncein his life. Can you beat it? I've had one of my own ever sinceI was a kid. Well, naturally, it was up to me to blow him to ajoy-ride, and that's where the money went.'
　　'Where the money went?'
　　'Sure. I've got two dollars left, and that's all. It wasn'taltogether the automobiling. It was the meals that got away withmy roll. Say, that kid Beckford is one swell feeder. He's wrappinghimself around the eats all the time. I guess it's not smokingthat does it. I haven't the appetite I used to have. Well, that'show it was, you see. But I'm through now. Cough up the fare andI'll make the trip tomorrow. Mother'll be tickled to death to seeme.'
　　'She won't see you. We're going back to the school tomorrow.'
　　He looked at me incredulously.
　　'What's that? Going back to school?'
　　'I've altered my plans.'
　　'I'm not going back to any old school. You daren't take me.
　　Where'll you be if I tell the hot-air merchant about our deal andyou slipping me the money and all that?'
　　'Tell him what you like. He won't believe it.'
　　He thought this over, and its truth came home to him. Thecomplacent expression left his face.
　　'What's the matter with you? Are you dippy, or what? You get meaway up to London, and the first thing that happens when I'm hereis that you want to take me back. You make me tired.'
　　It was borne in upon me that there was something in his point ofview. My sudden change of mind must have seemed inexplicable tohim. And, having by a miracle succeeded in finding him, I was in amood to be generous. I unbent.
　　'Ogden, old sport,' I said cordially, T think we've both had allwe want of this children's party. You're bored and if I stop onanother half hour I may be called on to entertain these infantswith comic songs. We men of the world are above this sort ofthing. Get your hat and coat and I'll take you to a show. We candiscuss business later over a bit of supper.'
　　The gloom of his countenance melted into a pleased smile.
　　'You said something that time!' he observed joyfully; and we slunkaway to get our hats, the best of friends. A note for AugustusBeckford, requesting his presence at Waterloo Station at tenminutes past twelve on the following morning, I left with thebutler. There was a certain informality about my methods which Idoubt if Mr Abney would have approved, but I felt that I couldrely on Augustus.
　　Much may be done by kindness. By the time the curtain fell on themusical comedy which we had attended all was peace between theNugget and myself. Supper cemented our friendship, and we droveback to my rooms on excellent terms with one another. Half an hourlater he was snoring in the spare room, while I smoked contentedlybefore the fire in the sitting-room.
　　I had not been there five minutes when the bell rang. Smith was inbed, so I went to the door myself and found Mr Fisher on the mat.
　　My feeling of benevolence towards all created things, the resultof my successful handling of the Little Nugget, embraced Sam. Iinvited him in.
　　'Well,' I said, when I had given him a cigar and filled his glass,'and how have you been getting on, Mr Fisher? Any luck?'
　　He shook his head at me reproachfully.
　　'Young man, you're deep. I've got to hand it to you. Iunderestimated you. You're very deep.'
　　'Approbation from Smooth Sam Fisher is praise indeed. But whythese stately compliments?'
　　'You took me in, young man. I don't mind owning it. When you toldme the Nugget had gone astray, I lapped it up like a babe. And allthe time you were putting one over on me. Well, well!'
　　'But he had gone astray, Mr Fisher.'
　　He knocked the ash off his cigar. He wore a pained look.
　　'You needn't keep it up, sonny. I happened to be standing withinthree yards of you when you got into a cab with him in ShaftesburyAvenue.'
　　I laughed.
　　'Well, if that's the case, let there be no secrets between us.
　　He's asleep in the next room.'
　　Sam leaned forward earnestly and tapped me on the knee.
　　'Young man, this is a critical moment. This is where, if youaren't careful, you may undo all the good work you have done bygetting chesty and thinking that, because you've won out so far,you're the whole show. Believe me, the difficult part is to come,and it's right here that you need an experienced man to work inwith you. Let me in on this and leave the negotiations with oldman Ford to me. You would only make a mess of them. I've handledthis kind of thing a dozen times, and I know just how to act. Youwon't regret taking me on as a partner. You won't lose a cent byit. I can work him for just double what you would get, evensupposing you didn't make a mess of the deal and get nothing.'
　　'It's very good of you, but there won't be any negotiations withMr Ford. I am taking the boy back to Sanstead, as I told you.' Icaught his pained eye. 'I'm afraid you don't believe me.'
　　He drew at his cigar without replying.
　　It is a human weakness to wish to convince those who doubt us,even if their opinion is not intrinsically valuable. I rememberedthat I had Cynthia's letter in my pocket. I produced it as exhibitA in my evidence and read it to him.
　　Sam listened carefully.
　　'I see,' he said. 'Who wrote that?'
　　'Never mind. A friend of mine.'
　　I returned the letter to my pocket.
　　'I was going to have sent him over to Monaco, but I altered myplans. Something interfered.'
　　'What?'
　　'I might call it coincidence, if you know what that means.'
　　'And you are really going to take him back to the school?'
　　'I am.'
　　'We shall travel back together,' he said. 'I had hoped I had seenthe last of the place. The English countryside may be delightfulin the summer, but for winter give me London. However,' he sighedresignedly, and rose from his chair, 'I will say good-bye tilltomorrow. What train do you catch?'
　　'Do you mean to say,' I demanded, 'that you have the nerve to comeback to Sanstead after what you have told me about yourself?'
　　'You entertain some idea of exposing me to Mr Abney? Forget it,young man. We are both in glass houses. Don't let us throw stones.
　　Besides, would he believe it? What proof have you?'
　　I had thought this argument tolerably sound when I had used it onthe Nugget. Now that it was used on myself I realized itssoundness even more thoroughly. My hands were tied.
　　'Yes,' said Sam, 'tomorrow, after our little jaunt to London, weshall all resume the quiet, rural life once more.'
　　He beamed expansively upon me from the doorway.
　　'However, even the quiet, rural life has its interest. I guess weshan't be dull!' he said.
　　I believed him.
Part 2 Chapter 11
    Considering the various handicaps under which he laboured notablya cold in the head, a fear of the Little Nugget, and a reverencefor the aristocracy--Mr Abney's handling of the situation, whenthe runaways returned to school, bordered on the masterly. Any sortof physical punishment being out of the question--especially in thecase of the Nugget, who would certainly have retaliated with a boutof window-breaking--he had to fall back on oratory, and he did thisto such effect that, when he had finished, Augustus wept openly andwas so subdued that he did not ask a single question for nearly threedays.
　　One result of the adventure was that Ogden's bed was moved to asort of cubby-hole adjoining my room. In the house, as originallyplanned, this had evidently been a dressing-room. Under Mr Abney'srule it had come to be used as a general repository for lumber. Myboxes were there, and a portmanteau of Glossop's. It was anexcellent place in which to bestow a boy in quest of whomkidnappers might break in by night. The window was too small toallow a man to pass through, and the only means of entrance was byway of my room. By night, at any rate, the Nugget's safety seemedto be assured.
　　The curiosity of the small boy, fortunately, is not lasting. Hisactive mind lives mainly in the present. It was not many days,therefore, before the excitement caused by Buck's raid and theNugget's disappearance began to subside. Within a week bothepisodes had been shelved as subjects of conversation, and theschool had settled down to its normal humdrum life.
　　To me, however, there had come a period of mental unrest moreacute than I had ever experienced. My life, for the past fiveyears, had run in so smooth a stream that, now that I found myselftossed about in the rapids, I was bewildered. It was a peculiaraggravation of the difficulty of my position that in my world, thelittle world of Sanstead House, there should be but one woman, andshe the very one whom, if I wished to recover my peace of mind, itwas necessary for me to avoid.
　　My feelings towards Cynthia at this time defied my powers ofanalysis. There were moments when I clung to the memory of her,when she seemed the only thing solid and safe in a world of chaos,and moments, again, when she was a burden crushing me. There weredays when I would give up the struggle and let myself drift, anddays when I would fight myself inch by inch. But every day foundmy position more hopeless than the last.
　　At night sometimes, as I lay awake, I would tell myself that ifonly I could see her or even hear from her the struggle would beeasier. It was her total disappearance from my life that made itso hard for me. I had nothing to help me to fight.
　　And then, one morning, as if in answer to my thoughts her lettercame.
　　The letter startled me. It was as if there had been sometelepathic communion between us.
　　It was very short, almost formal:
　　'MY DEAR PETER--I want to ask you a question. I can put it quiteshortly. It is this. Are your feelings towards me still the same?
　　I don't tell you why I ask this. I simply ask it. Whatever youranswer is, it cannot affect our friendship, so be quite candid.
　　CYNTHIA.'
　　I sat down there and then to write my reply. The letter, comingwhen it did and saying what it said, had affected me profoundly.
　　It was like an unexpected reinforcement in a losing battle. Itfilled me with a glow of self-confidence. I felt strong again,able to fight and win. My mood bore me away, and I poured out mywhole heart to her. I told her that my feelings had not altered,that I loved her and nobody but her. It was a letter, I can see,looking back, born of fretted nerves; but at the time I had nosuch criticism to make. It seemed to me a true expression of myreal feelings.
　　That the fight was not over because in my moment of exaltation Ihad imagined that I had conquered myself was made uncomfortablyplain to me by the thrill that ran through me when, returning fromposting my letter, I met Audrey. The sight of her reminded me thata reinforcement is only a reinforcement, a help towards victory,not victory itself.
　　For the first time I found myself feeling resentful towards her.
　　There was no reason in my resentment. It would not have borneexamination. But it was there, and its presence gave me support. Ifound myself combating the thrill the sight of her had caused, andlooking at her with a critical and hostile eye. Who was she thatshe should enslave a man against his will? Fascination exists onlyin the imagination of the fascinated. If he have the strength todeny the fascination and convince himself that it does not exist,he is saved. It is purely a matter of willpower and calmreasonableness. There must have been sturdy, level-headed Egyptiancitizens who could not understand what people saw to admire inCleopatra.
　　Thus reasoning, I raised my hat, uttered a crisp 'Good morning',and passed on, the very picture of the brisk man of affairs.
　　'Peter!'
　　Even the brisk man of affairs must stop when spoken to. Otherwise,apart from any question of politeness, it looks as if he wererunning away.
　　Her face was still wearing the faint look of surprise which mymanner had called forth.
　　'You're in a great hurry.'
　　I had no answer. She did not appear to expect one.
　　We moved towards the house in silence, to me oppressive silence.
　　The force of her personality was beginning to beat against mydefences, concerning the stability of which, under pressure, acertain uneasiness troubled my mind.
　　'Are you worried about anything, Peter?' she said at last.
　　'No,' I said. 'Why?'
　　'I was afraid you might be.'
　　I felt angry with myself. I was mismanaging this thing in the mostidiotic way. Instead of this bovine silence, gay small-talk, theeasy eloquence, in fact, of the brisk man of affairs should havebeen my policy. No wonder Smooth Sam Fisher treated me as a child.
　　My whole bearing was that of a sulky school-boy.
　　The silence became more oppressive.
　　We reached the house. In the hall we parted, she to upper regions,I to my classroom. She did not look at me. Her face was cold andoffended.
　　One is curiously inconsistent. Having created what in thecircumstances was a most desirable coldness between Audrey andmyself, I ought to have been satisfied. Reason told me that thiswas the best thing that could have happened. Yet joy was one ofthe few emotions which I did not feel during the days whichfollowed. My brief moment of clear-headedness had passed, and withit the exhilaration that had produced the letter to Cynthia andthe resentment which had helped me to reason calmly with myself onthe intrinsic nature of fascination in woman. Once more Audreybecame the centre of my world. But our friendship, that elusivething which had contrived to exist side by side with my love, hadvanished. There was a breach between us which widened daily. Soonwe hardly spoke.
　　Nothing, in short, could have been more eminently satisfactory,and the fact that I regretted it is only a proof of the essentialweakness of my character.
Part 2 Chapter 12
I
    In those grey days there was one thought, of the many thatoccupied my mind, which brought with it a certain measure ofconsolation. It was the reflection that this state of affairscould not last for ever. The school term was drawing to a close.
　　Soon I should be free from the propinquity which paralysed myefforts to fight. I was resolved that the last day of term shouldend for ever my connection with Sanstead House and all that was init. Mrs Ford must find some other minion. If her happinessdepended on the recovery of the Little Nugget, she must learn todo without happiness, like the rest of the inhabitants of thishorrible world.
　　Meanwhile, however, I held myself to be still on duty. By whattortuous processes of thought I had arrived at the conclusion I donot know, but I considered myself responsible to Audrey for thesafeguarding of the Little Nugget, and no altered relationsbetween us could affect my position. Perhaps mixed up with thisattitude of mind, was the less altruistic wish to foil Smooth Sam.
　　His continued presence at the school was a challenge to me.
　　Sam's behaviour puzzled me. I do not know exactly what I expectedhim to do, but I certainly did not expect him to do nothing. Yetday followed day, and still he made no move. He was the very modelof a butler. But our dealings with one another in London had leftme vigilant, and his inaction did not disarm me. It sprang frompatience, not from any weakening of purpose or despair of success.
　　Sooner or later I knew he would act, swiftly and suddenly, with aplan perfected in every detail.
　　But when he made his attack it was the very simplicity of hismethods that tricked me, and only pure chance defeated him.
　　I have said that it was the custom of the staff of masters atSanstead House School--in other words, of every male adult in thehouse except Mr Fisher himself--to assemble in Mr Abney's studyafter dinner of an evening to drink coffee. It was a ceremony,like most of the ceremonies at an establishment such as a school,where things are run on a schedule, which knew of no variation.
　　Sometimes Mr Abney would leave us immediately after the ceremony,but he never omitted to take his part in it first.
　　On this particular evening, for the first time since the beginningof the term, I was seized with a prejudice against coffee. I hadbeen sleeping badly for several nights, and I decided thatabstention from coffee might remedy this.
　　I waited, for form's sake, till Glossop and Mr Abney had filledtheir cups, then went to my room, where I lay down in the dark towrestle with a more than usually pronounced fit of depressionwhich had descended upon me. Solitude and darkness struck me asthe suitable setting for my thoughts.
　　At this moment Smooth Sam Fisher had no place in my meditations.
　　My mind was not occupied with him at all. When, therefore, thedoor, which had been ajar, began to open slowly, I did not becomeinstantly on the alert. Perhaps it was some sound, barely audible,that aroused me from my torpor and set my blood tingling withanticipation. Perhaps it was the way the door was opening. Anhonest draught does not move a door furtively, in jerks.
　　I sat up noiseless, tense, and alert. And then, very quietly,somebody entered the room.
　　There was only one person in Sanstead House who would enter a roomlike that. I was amused. The impudence of the thing tickled me. Itseemed so foreign to Mr Fisher's usual cautious methods. Thisstrolling in and helping oneself was certainly kidnapping _deluxe_. In the small hours I could have understood it; but atnine o'clock at night, with Glossop, Mr Abney and myself awake andliable to be met at any moment on the stairs, it was absurd. Imarvelled at Smooth Sam's effrontery.
　　I lay still. I imagined that, being in, he would switch on theelectric light. He did, and I greeted him pleasantly.
　　'And what can I do for _you_, Mr Fisher?'
　　For a man who had learned to control himself in difficultsituations he took the shock badly. He uttered a startledexclamation and spun round, open-mouthed.
　　I could not help admiring the quickness with which he recoveredhimself. Almost immediately he was the suave, chatty Sam Fisherwho had unbosomed his theories and dreams to me in the train toLondon.
　　'I quit,' he said pleasantly. 'The episode is closed. I am a manof peace, and I take it that you would not keep on lying quietlyon that bed while I went into the other room and abstracted ouryoung friend? Unless you have changed your mind again, would afifty-fifty offer tempt you?'
　　'Not an inch.'
　　'Just so. I merely asked.'
　　'And how about Mr Abney, in any case? Suppose we met him on thestairs?'
　　'We should not meet him on the stairs,' said Sam confidently. 'Youdid not take coffee tonight, I gather?'
　　'I didn't--no. Why?'
　　He jerked his head resignedly.
　　'Can you beat it! I ask you, young man, could I have foreseenthat, after drinking coffee every night regularly for two months,you would pass it up tonight of all nights? You certainly are myjinx, sonny. You have hung the Indian sign on me all right.'
　　His words had brought light to me.
　　'Did you drug the coffee?'
　　'Did I! I fixed it so that one sip would have an insomnia patientin dreamland before he had time to say "Good night". That stuffRip Van Winkle drank had nothing on my coffee. And all wasted!
　　Well, well!'
　　He turned towards the door.
　　'Shall I leave the light on, or would you prefer it off?'
　　'On please. I might fall asleep in the dark.'
　　'Not you! And, if you did, you would dream that I was there, andwake up. There are moments, young man, when you bring me prettynear to quitting and taking to honest work.'
　　He paused.
　　'But not altogether. I have still a shot or two in my locker. Weshall see what we shall see. I am not dead yet. Wait!'
　　'I will, and some day, when I am walking along Piccadilly, apassing automobile will splash me with mud. A heavily furredplutocrat will stare haughtily at me from the tonneau, and with astart of surprise I shall recognize--'
　　'Stranger things have happened. Be flip while you can, sonny. Youwin so far, but this hoodoo of mine can't last for ever.'
　　He passed from the room with a certain sad dignity. A moment laterhe reappeared.
　　'A thought strikes me,' he said. 'The fifty-fifty proposition doesnot impress you. Would it make things easier if I were to offer mycooperation for a mere quarter of the profit?'
　　'Not in the least.'
　　'It's a handsome offer.'
　　'Wonderfully. I'm afraid I'm not dealing on any terms.'
　　He left the room, only to return once more. His head appeared,staring at me round the door, in a disembodied way, like theCheshire Cat.
　　'You won't say later on I didn't give you your chance?' he saidanxiously.
　　He vanished again, permanently this time. I heard his stepspassing down the stairs.
II
    We had now arrived at the last week of term, at the last days ofthe last week. The holiday spirit was abroad in the school. Amongthe boys it took the form of increased disorderliness. Boys whohad hitherto only made Glossop bellow now made him perspire andtear his hair as well. Boys who had merely spilt ink now brokewindows. The Little Nugget abandoned cigarettes in favour of anold clay pipe which he had found in the stables.
　　As for me, I felt like a spent swimmer who sees the shore almostwithin his reach. Audrey avoided me when she could, and wasfrigidly polite when we met. But I suffered less now. A few moredays, and I should have done with this phase of my life for ever,and Audrey would once more become a memory.
　　Complete quiescence marked the deportment of Mr Fisher duringthese days. He did not attempt to repeat his last effort. Thecoffee came to the study unmixed with alien drugs. Sam, likelightning, did not strike twice in the same place. He had theartist's soul, and disliked patching up bungled work. If he madeanother move, it would, I knew, be on entirely fresh lines.
　　Ignoring the fact that I had had all the luck, I was inclined tobe self-satisfied when I thought of Sam. I had pitted my witsagainst his, and I had won. It was a praiseworthy performance fora man who had done hitherto nothing particular in his life.
　　If all the copybook maxims which had been drilled into me in mychildhood and my early disaster with Audrey had not beensufficient, I ought to have been warned by Sam's advice not totake victory for granted till the fight was over. As Sam had said,his luck would turn sooner or later.
　　One realizes these truths in theory, but the practical applicationof them seldom fails to come as a shock. I received mine on thelast morning but one of the term.
　　Shortly after breakfast a message was brought to me that Mr Abneywould like to see me in his study. I went without any sense ofdisaster to come. Most of the business of the school was discussedin the study after breakfast, and I imagined that the matter hadto do with some detail of the morrow's exodus.
　　I found Mr Abney pacing the room, a look of annoyance on his face.
　　At the desk, her back to me, Audrey was writing. It was part ofher work to take charge of the business correspondence of theestablishment. She did not look round when I came in, nor when MrAbney spoke my name, but went on writing as if I did not exist.
　　There was a touch of embarrassment in Mr Abney's manner, for whichI could not at first account. He was stately, but with the ratherdefensive stateliness which marked his announcements that he wasabout to pop up to London and leave me to do his work. He coughedonce or twice before proceeding to the business of the moment.
　　'Ah, Mr Burns,' he said at length, 'might I ask if your plans forthe holidays, the--ah--earlier part of the holidays are settled?
　　No? ah--excellent.'
　　He produced a letter from the heap of papers on the desk.
　　'Ah--excellent. That simplifies matters considerably. I have noright to ask what I am about to--ah--in fact ask. I have no claimon your time in the holidays. But, in the circumstances, perhapsyou may see your way to doing me a considerable service. I havereceived a letter from Mr Elmer Ford which puts me in a positionof some difficulty. It is not my wish--indeed, it is foreign to mypolicy--to disoblige the parents of the boys who are entrusted tomy--ah--care, and I should like, if possible, to do what Mr Fordasks. It appears that certain business matters call him to thenorth of England for a few days, this rendering it impossible forhim to receive little Ogden tomorrow. It is not my custom tocriticize parents who have paid me the compliment of placing theirsons at the most malleable and important period of their lives, inmy--ah--charge, but I must say that a little longer notice wouldhave been a--in fact, a convenience. But Mr Ford, like so many ofhis countrymen, is what I believe is called a hustler. He does itnow, as the expression is. In short, he wishes to leave littleOgden at the school for the first few days of the holidays, and Ishould be extremely obliged, Mr Burns, if you should find itpossible to stay here and--ah--look after him.'
　　Audrey stopped writing and turned in her chair, the firstintimation she had given that she had heard Mr Abney's remarks.
　　'It really won't be necessary to trouble Mr Burns,' she said,without looking at me. 'I can take care of Ogden very well bymyself.'
　　'In the case of an--ah--ordinary boy, Mrs Sheridan, I should nothesitate to leave you in sole charge as you have very kindlyoffered to stay and help me in this matter. But we must recollectnot only--I speak frankly--not only the peculiar--ah--dispositionof this particular lad, but also the fact that those ruffians whovisited the house that night may possibly seize the opportunity tomake a fresh attack. I should not feel--ah--justified inthrusting so heavy a responsibility upon you.'
　　There was reason in what he said. Audrey made no reply. I heardher pen tapping on the desk and deduced her feelings. I, myself,felt like a prisoner who, having filed through the bars of hiscell, is removed to another on the eve of escape. I had so bracedmyself up to endure till the end of term and no longer that thispostponement of the day of release had a crushing effect.
　　Mr Abney coughed and lowered his voice confidentially.
　　'I would stay myself, but the fact is, I am called to London onvery urgent business, and shall be unable to return for a day orso. My late pupil, the--ah--the Earl of Buxton, has been--I canrely on your discretion, Mr Burns--has been in trouble with theauthorities at Eton, and his guardian, an old college friend ofmine--the--in fact, the Duke of Bessborough, who, rightly or wrongly,places--er--considerable reliance on my advice, is anxious to consultme on the matter. I shall return as soon as possible, but you willreadily understand that, in the circumstances, my time will not be myown. I must place myself unreservedly at--ah--Bessborough's disposal.'
　　He pressed the bell.
　　'In the event of your observing any suspicious characters inthe neighbourhood, you have the telephone and can instantlycommunicate with the police. And you will have the assistance of--'
　　The door opened and Smooth Sam Fisher entered.
　　'You rang, sir?'
　　'Ah! Come in, White, and close the door. I have something to sayto you. I have just been informing Mr Burns that Mr Ford haswritten asking me to allow his son to stay on at the school forthe first few days of the vacation.'
　　He turned to Audrey.
　　'You will doubtless be surprised, Mrs Sheridan, and possibly--ah--somewhat startled, to learn the peculiar nature of White's positionat Sanstead House. You have no objection to my informing Mrs Sheridan,White, in consideration of the fact that you will be working togetherin this matter? Just so. White is a detective in the employment ofPinkerton's Agency. Mr Ford'--a slight frown appeared on his loftybrow--'Mr Ford obtained his present situation for him in order thathe might protect his son in the event of--ah--in fact, any attemptto remove him.'
　　I saw Audrey start. A quick flush came into her face. She uttereda little exclamation of astonishment.
　　'Just so,' said Mr Abney, by way of comment on this. 'You arenaturally surprised. The whole arrangement is excessively unusual,and, I may say--ah--disturbing. However, you have your duty tofulfil to your employer, White, and you will, of course, remainhere with the boy.'
　　'Yes, sir.'
　　I found myself looking into a bright brown eye that gleamed withgenial triumph. The other was closed. In the exuberance of themoment, Smooth Sam had had the bad taste to wink at me.
　　'You will have Mr Burns to help you, White. He has kindlyconsented to postpone his departure during the short period inwhich I shall be compelled to be absent.'
　　I had no recollection of having given any kind consent, but I wasvery willing to have it assumed, and I was glad to see that MrFisher, though Mr Abney did not observe it, was visibly takenaback by this piece of information. But he made one of his swiftrecoveries.
　　'It is very kind of Mr Burns,' he said in his fruitiest voice,'but I hardly think it will be necessary to put him to theinconvenience of altering his plans. I am sure that Mr Ford wouldprefer the entire charge of the affair to be in my hands.'
　　He had not chosen a happy moment for the introduction of themillionaire's name. Mr Abney was a man of method, who hated anydislocation of the fixed routine of life; and Mr Ford's letter hadupset him. The Ford family, father and son, were just thenextremely unpopular with him.
　　He crushed Sam.
　　'What Mr Ford would or would not prefer is, in this particularmatter, beside the point. The responsibility for the boy, while heremains on the school premises, is--ah--mine, and I shall takesuch precautions as seem fit and adequate to--him--myself,irrespective of those which, in your opinion, might suggestthemselves to Mr Ford. As I cannot be here myself, owingto--ah--urgent business in London, I shall certainly takeadvantage of Mr Burns's kind offer to remain as my deputy.'
　　He paused and blew his nose, his invariable custom after theseoccasional outbursts of his. Sam had not wilted beneath the storm.
　　He waited, unmoved, till all was over:
　　'I am afraid I shall have to be more explicit,' he said: 'I hadhoped to avoid scandal and unpleasantness, but I see it isimpossible.'
　　Mr Abney's astonished face emerged slowly from behind hishandkerchief.
　　'I quite agree with you, sir, that somebody should be here to helpme look after the boy, but not Mr Burns. I am sorry to have to sayit, but I do not trust Mr Burns.'
　　Mr Abney's look of astonishment deepened. I, too, was surprised.
　　It was so unlike Sam to fling away his chances on a blunderingattack like this.
　　'What do you mean?' demanded Mr Abney.
　　'Mr Burns is after the boy himself. He came to kidnap him.'
　　Mr Abney, as he had every excuse for doing, grunted withamazement. I achieved the ringing laugh of amused innocence. Itwas beyond me to fathom Sam's mind. He could not suppose that anycredence would be given to his wild assertion. It seemed to methat disappointment had caused him momentarily to lose his head.
　　'Are you mad, White?'
　　'No, sir. I can prove what I say. If I had not gone to London withhim that last time, he'd have got away with the boy then, forcertain.'
　　For an instant an uneasy thought came to me that he might havesomething in reserve, something unknown to me, which hadencouraged him to this direct attack. I dismissed the notion.
　　There could be nothing.
　　Mr Abney had turned to me with a look of hopeless bewilderment. Iraised my eyebrows.
　　'Ridiculous,' I said.
　　That this was the only comment seemed to be Mr Abney's view. Heturned on Sam with the pettish anger of the mild man.
　　'What do you _mean_, White, by coming to me with such apreposterous story?'
　　'I don't say Mr Burns wished to kidnap the boy in the ordinaryway,' said Sam imperturbably, 'like those men who came that night.
　　He had a special reason. Mr and Mrs Ford, as of course you know,sir, are divorced. Mr Burns was trying to get the boy away andtake him back to his mother.'
　　I heard Audrey give a little gasp. Mr Abney's anger becamemodified by a touch of doubt. I could see that these words, bylifting the accusation from the wholly absurd to the somewhatplausible, had impressed him. Once again I was gripped by theuneasy feeling that Sam had an unsuspected card to play. Thismight be bluff, but it had a sinister ring.
　　'You might say,' went on Sam smoothly, 'that this was creditableto Mr Burns's heart. But, from my employer's viewpoint and yours,too, it was a chivalrous impulse that needed to be checked. Willyou please read this, sir?'
　　He handed a letter to Mr Abney, who adjusted his glasses and beganto read--at first in a detached, judicial way, then with startledeagerness.
　　'I felt it necessary to search among Mr Burns's papers, sir, inthe hope of finding--'
　　And then I knew what he had found. From the first the blue-greynotepaper had had a familiar look. I recognized it now. It wasCynthia's letter, that damning document which I had been madenough to read to him in London. His prediction that the luckwould change had come amazingly true.
　　I caught Sam's eye. For the second time he was unfeeling enough towink. It was a rich, comprehensive wink, as expressive and joyousas a college yell.
　　Mr Abney had absorbed the letter and was struggling for speech. Icould appreciate his emotion. If he had not actually beennurturing a viper in his bosom, he had come, from his point ofview, very near it. Of all men, a schoolmaster necessarily lookswith the heartiest dislike on the would-be kidnapper.
　　As for me, my mind was in a whirl. I was entirely without a plan,without the very beginnings of a plan, to help me cope with thisappalling situation. I was crushed by a sense of the utterhelplessness of my position. To denounce Sam was impossible; toexplain my comparative innocence was equally out of the question.
　　The suddenness of the onslaught had deprived me of the power ofcoherent thought. I was routed.
　　Mr Abney was speaking.
　　'Is your name Peter, Mr Burns?'
　　I nodded. Speech was beyond me.
　　'This letter is written by--ah--by a lady. It asks you in setterms to--ah--hasten to kidnap Ogden Ford. Do you wish me to readit to you? Or do you confess to knowing its contents?'
　　He waited for a reply. I had none to make.
　　'You do not deny that you came to Sanstead House for thedeliberate purpose of kidnapping Ogden Ford?'
　　I had nothing to say. I caught a glimpse of Audrey's face, coldand hard, and shifted my eyes quickly. Mr Abney gulped. His facewore the reproachful expression of a cod-fish when jerked out ofthe water on the end of a line. He stared at me with painedrepulsion. That scoundrelly old buccaneer Sam did the same. Helooked like a shocked bishop.
　　'I--ah--trusted you implicitly,' said Mr Abney.
　　Sam wagged his head at me reproachfully. With a flicker of spiritI glared at him. He only wagged the more.
　　It was, I think, the blackest moment of my life. A wild desire forescape on any terms surged over me. That look on Audrey's face wasbiting into my brain like an acid.
　　'I will go and pack,' I said.
　　'This is the end of all things,' I said to myself.
　　I had suspended my packing in order to sit on my bed and brood. Iwas utterly depressed. There are crises in a man's life whenReason fails to bring the slightest consolation. In vain I triedto tell myself that what had happened was, in essence, preciselywhat, twenty-four hours ago, I was so eager to bring about. Itamounted to this, that now, at last, Audrey had definitely goneout of my life. From now on I could have no relations with her ofany sort. Was not this exactly what, twenty-four hours ago, I hadwished? Twenty-four hours ago had I not said to myself that Iwould go away and never see her again? Undoubtedly. Nevertheless,I sat there and groaned in spirit.
　　It was the end of all things.
　　A mild voice interrupted my meditations.
　　'Can I help?'
　　Sam was standing in the doorway, beaming on me with invinciblegood-humour.
　　'You are handling them wrong. Allow me. A moment more and youwould have ruined the crease.'
　　I became aware of a pair of trousers hanging limply in my grasp.
　　He took them from me, and, folding them neatly, placed them in mytrunk.
　　'Don't get all worked up about it, sonny,' he said. 'It's thefortune of war. Besides, what does it matter to you? Judging bythat very snug apartment in London, you have quite enough moneyfor a young man. Losing your job here won't break you. And, ifyou're worrying about Mrs Ford and her feelings, don't! I guessshe's probably forgotten all about the Nugget by this time. Socheer up. _You're_ all right!'
　　He stretched out a hand to pat me on the shoulder, then thoughtbetter of it and drew it back.
　　'Think of _my_ happiness, if you want something to make youfeel good. Believe me, young man, it's _some_. I could sing!
　　Gee, when I think that it's all plain sailing now and no moretroubles, I could dance! You don't know what it means to me,putting through this deal. I wish you knew Mary! That's her name.
　　You must come and visit us, sonny, when we're fixed up in thehome. There'll always be a knife and fork for _you_. We'llmake you one of the family! Lord! I can see the place as plain asI can see you. Nice frame house with a good porch.... Me in arocker in my shirt-sleeves, smoking a cigar and reading thebaseball news; Mary in another rocker, mending my socks andnursing the cat! We'll sure have a cat. Two cats. I like cats. Anda goat in the front garden. Say, it'll be _great!_'
　　And on the word, emotion overcoming prudence, he brought his fathand down with a resounding smack on my bowed shoulders.
　　There is a limit. I bounded to my feet.
　　'Get out!' I yelped. 'Get out of here!'
　　'Sure,' he replied agreeably. He rose without haste and regardedme compassionately. 'Cheer up, son! Be a sport!'
　　There are moments when the best of men become melodramatic. Ioffer this as excuse for my next observation.
　　Clenching my fists and glaring at him, I cried, 'I'll foil youyet, you hound!'
　　Some people have no soul for the dramatic. He smiled tolerantly.
　　'Sure,' he said. 'Anything you like, Desperate Desmond. Enjoyyourself!'
　　And he left me.
Part 2 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.
Part 2 Chapter 14
I
    At the receipt of custom behind the bar sat Miss Benjafield,stately as ever, relaxing her massive mind over a penny novelette.
　　'Who was the man who just left, Miss Benjafield?' I asked.
　　She marked the place with a shapely thumb and looked up.
　　'The man? Oh, _him_! He's--why, weren't you in here, Mr Burns,one evening in January when--'
　　'That American?'
　　'That's him. What he's doing here I don't know. He disappearedquite a while back, and I haven't seen him since. _Nor_ want.
　　Tonight up he turns again like a bad ha'penny. I'd like to knowwhat he's after. No good, if you ask _me_.'
　　Miss Benjafield's prejudices did not easily dissolve. She pridedherself, as she frequently observed, on knowing her own mind.
　　'Is he staying here?'
　　'Not at the "Feathers". We're particular who we have here.'
　　I thanked her for the implied compliment, ordered beer for thegood of the house, and, lighting a pipe, sat down to meditate onthis new development.
　　The vultures were gathered together with a vengeance. Sam within,Buck without, it was quite like old times, with the differencethat now, I, too, was on the wrong side of the school door.
　　It was not hard to account for Buck's reappearance. He would, ofcourse, have made it his business to get early information of MrFord's movements. It would be easy for him to discover that themillionaire had been called away to the north and that the Nuggetwas still an inmate of Sanstead House. And here he was preparingfor the grand attack.
　　I had been premature in removing Buck's name from the list ofactive combatants. Broken legs mend. I ought to have rememberedthat.
　　His presence on the scene made, I perceived, a vast difference tomy plan of campaign. It was at this point that my purchase of theBrowning pistol lost its absurdity and appeared in the light of anacute strategic move. With Sam the only menace, I had beenprepared to play a purely waiting game, watching proceedings fromafar, ready to give my help if necessary. To check Buck, morestrenuous methods were called for.
　　My mind was made up. With Buck, that stout disciple of the frontalattack, in the field, there was only one place for me. I must getinto Sanstead House and stay there on guard.
　　Did he intend to make an offensive movement tonight? That was thequestion which occupied my mind. From the point of view of anopponent, there was this merit about Mr MacGinnis, that he wasnot subtle. He could be counted on with fair certainty to dothe direct thing. Sooner or later he would make another of hisvigorous frontal attacks upon the stronghold. The only point to bedecided was whether he would make it that night. Would professionalzeal cause him to omit his beauty sleep?
　　I did not relish the idea of spending the night patrolling thegrounds, but it was imperative that the house be protected. Thenit occurred to me that the man for the vigil was Smooth Sam. Ifthe arrival of Mr MacGinnis had complicated matters in one way, ithad simplified them in another, for there was no more need for thesecrecy which had been, till now, the basis of my plan of action.
　　Buck's arrival made it possible for me to come out and fight inthe open, instead of brooding over Sanstead House from afar like aProvidence. Tomorrow I proposed to turn Sam out. Tonight I would usehim. The thing had resolved itself into a triangular tournament,and Sam and Buck should play the first game.
　　Once more I called up the house on the telephone. There was a longdelay before a reply came. It was Mr Fisher's voice that spoke.
　　Audrey, apparently, had not returned to the house immediatelyafter leaving me.
　　'Hullo!' said Sam.
　　'Good evening, Mr Fisher.'
　　'Gee! Is that you, young fellow-me-lad? Are you speaking fromLondon?'
　　'No. I am at the "Feathers".'
　　He chuckled richly.
　　'Can't tear yourself away? Hat still in the ring? Say, what's theuse? Why not turn it up, sonny? You're only wasting your time.'
　　'Do you sleep lightly, Mr Fisher?'
　　'I don't get you.'
　　'You had better do so tonight. Buck MacGinnis is back again.'
　　There was silence at the other end of the wire. Then I heard himswear softly. The significance of the information had not beenlost on Mr Fisher.
　　'Is that straight?'
　　'It is.'
　　'You're not stringing me?'
　　'Certainly not.'
　　'You're sure it was Buck?'
　　'Is Buck's the sort of face one forgets?'
　　He swore again.
　　'You seem disturbed,' I said.
　　'Where did you see him?' asked Sam.
　　'Coming out of the "Feathers", looking very fierce and determined.
　　The Berserk blood of the MacGinnises is up. He's going to do ordie. I'm afraid this means an all-night sitting for you, MrFisher.'
　　'I thought you had put him out of business!'
　　There was a somewhat querulous note in his voice.
　　'Only temporarily. I did my best, but he wasn't even limping whenI saw him.'
　　He did not speak for a moment. I gathered that he was ponderingover the new development.
　　'Thanks for tipping me off, sonny. It's a thing worth knowing. Whydid you do it?'
　　'Because I love you, Samuel. Good night.'
　　I rose late and breakfasted at my leisure. The peace of theEnglish country inn enveloped me as I tilted back my chair andsmoked the first pipe of the morning. It was a day to hearten aman for great deeds, one of those days of premature summer whichcomes sometimes to help us bear the chill winds of early spring.
　　The sun streamed in through the open window. In the yard belowfowls made their soothing music. The thought of violence seemedvery alien to such a morning.
　　I strolled out into the Square. I was in no hurry to end thisinterlude of peace and embark on what, for all practical purposes,would be a siege.
　　After lunch, I decided, would be time enough to begin activecampaigning.
　　The clock on the church tower was striking two as I set forth,carrying my suit-case, on my way to the school. The light-heartednessof the morning still lingered with me. I was amused at the thoughtof the surprise I was about to give Mr Fisher. That wink stillrankled.
　　As I made my way through the grounds I saw Audrey in the distance,walking with the Nugget. I avoided them and went on into thehouse.
　　About the house there was the same air of enchanted quiet whichpervaded the grounds. Perhaps the stillness indoors was even moreinsistent. I had grown so accustomed to the never-ending noise andbustle of the boys' quarters that, as I crossed the silent hall, Ihad an almost guilty sense of intrusion. I felt like a burglar.
　　Sam, the object of my visit, would, I imagined, if he were in thehouse at all, be in the housekeeper's room, a cosy little apartmentoff the passage leading to the kitchen. I decided to draw thatfirst, and was rewarded, on pushing open the half-closed door, bythe sight of a pair of black-trousered legs stretched out before mefrom the depths of a wicker-work armchair. His portly middlesection, rising beyond like a small hill, heaved rhythmically. Hisface was covered with a silk handkerchief, from beneath which came,in even succession, faint and comfortable snores. It was a peacefulpicture--the good man taking his rest; and for me it had an addedattractiveness in that it suggested that Sam was doing by day whatmy information had prevented him from doing in the night. It hadbeen some small consolation to me, as I lay trying to compose myanxious mind for sleep on the previous night, that Mr Fisher alsowas keeping his vigil.
　　Pleasing as Sam was as a study in still life, pressure of businesscompelled me to stir him into activity. I prodded him gently inthe centre of the rising territory beyond the black trousers. Hegrunted discontentedly and sat up. The handkerchief fell from hisface, and he blinked at me, first with the dazed glassiness of thenewly awakened, then with a 'Soul's Awakening' expression, whichspread over his face until it melted into a friendly smile.
　　'Hello, young man!'
　　'Good afternoon. You seem tired.'
　　He yawned cavernously.
　　'Lord! What a night!'
　　'Did Buck drop in?'
　　'No, but I thought he had every time I heard a board creak. Ididn't dare close my eyes for a minute. Have you ever stayed awakeall night, waiting for the goblins that get you if you don't watchout? Well, take it from me it's no picnic.'
　　His face split in another mammoth yawn. He threw his heart intoit, as if life held no other tasks for him. Only in alligatorshave I ever seen its equal.
　　I waited till the seismic upheaval had spent itself. Then I cameto business.
　　'I'm sorry you had a disturbed night, Mr Fisher. You must make upfor it this afternoon. You will find the beds very comfortable.'
　　'How's that?'
　　'At the "Feathers". I should go there, if I were you. The chargesare quite reasonable, and the food is good. You will like the"Feathers".'
　　'I don't get you, sonny.'
　　'I was trying to break it gently to you that you are about to movefrom this house. Now. At once. Take your last glimpse of the oldhome, Sam, and out into the hard world.'
　　He looked at me inquiringly.
　　'You seem to be talking, young man; words appear to be flutteringfrom you; but your meaning, if any, escapes me.'
　　'My meaning is that I am about to turn you out. I am coming backhere, and there is not room for both of us. So, if you do not seeyour way to going quietly, I shall take you by the back of theneck and run you out. Do I make myself fairly clear now?'
　　He permitted himself a rich chuckle.
　　'You have gall, young man. Well, I hate to seem unfriendly. I likeyou, sonny. You amuse me--but there are moments when one wants tobe alone. I have a whole heap of arrears of sleep to make up. Trotalong, kiddo, and quit disturbing uncle. Tie a string to yourselfand disappear. Bye-bye.'
　　The wicker-work creaked as he settled his stout body. He picked upthe handkerchief.
　　'Mr Fisher,' I said, 'I have no wish to propel your grey hairs ata rapid run down the drive, so I will explain further. I amphysically stronger than you. I mean to turn you out. How can youprevent it? Mr Abney is away. You can't appeal to him. The policeare at the end of the telephone, but you can't appeal to them. Sowhat _can_ you do, except go? Do you get me now?'
　　He regarded the situation in thoughtful silence. He allowed noemotion to find expression in his face, but I knew that thesignificance of my remarks had sunk in. I could almost follow hismind as he tested my position point by point and found itimpregnable.
　　When he spoke it was to accept defeat jauntily.
　　'You _are_ my jinx, young man. I said it all along. You'rereally set on my going? Say no more. I'll go. After all, it'squiet at the inn, and what more does a man want at my time oflife?'
　　I went out into the garden to interview Audrey.
　　She was walking up and down on the tennis-lawn. The Nugget,lounging in a deck-chair, appeared to be asleep.
　　She caught sight of me as I came out from the belt of trees, andstopped. I had the trying experience of walking across opencountry under hostile observation.
　　The routing of Sam had left me alert and self-confident. I felt noembarrassment. I greeted her briskly.
　　'Good afternoon. I have been talking to Sam Fisher. If you wait,you will see him passing away down the drive. He is leaving thehouse. I am coming back.'
　　'Coming back?'
　　She spoke incredulously, or, rather, as if my words had conveyedno meaning. It was so that Sam had spoken. Her mind, like his,took time to adjust itself to the unexpected.
　　She seemed to awake to my meaning with a start.
　　'Coming back?' Her eyes widened. The flush deepened on her cheeks.
　　'But I told you--'
　　'I know what you told me. You said you did not trust me. Itdoesn't matter. I am coming back whether you trust me or not. Thishouse is under martial law, and I am in command. The situation haschanged since I spoke to you last night. Last night I was ready tolet you have your way. I intended to keep an eye on things fromthe inn. But it's different now. It is not a case of Sam Fisherany longer. You could have managed Sam. It's Buck MacGinnis now,the man who came that night in the automobile. I saw him in thevillage after I left you. He's dangerous.'
　　She looked away, past me, in the direction of the drive. Ifollowed her gaze. A stout figure, carrying a suit-case, wasmoving slowly down it.
　　I smiled. Her eyes met mine, and I saw the anger that had beenlying at the back of them flash out. Her chin went up with the olddefiant tilt. I was sorry I had smiled. It was my old fault, thecomplacency that would not be hidden.
　　'I don't believe you!' she cried. 'I don't trust you!'
　　It is curious how one's motive for embarking on a course ofconduct changes or disappears altogether as the action develops.
　　Once started on an enterprise it is as if one proceeded with itautomatically, irrespective of one's original motives. I had begunwhat I might call the second phase of this matter of the LittleNugget, the abandoning of Cynthia's cause in favour of Audrey's,with a clear idea of why I was doing it. I had set myself toresist the various forces which were trying to take Ogden fromAudrey, for one simple reason, because I loved Audrey and wishedto help her. That motive, if it still existed at all, did so onlyin the form of abstract chivalry. My personal feelings towards herseemed to have undergone a complete change, dating from ourparting in the road the night before. I found myself now meetinghostility with hostility. I looked at her critically and toldmyself that her spell was broken at last, that, if she dislikedme, I was at least indifferent to her.
　　And yet, despite my altered feelings, my determination to help hernever wavered. The guarding of Ogden might be--primarily--nobusiness of mine, but I had adopted it as my business.
　　'I don't ask you to trust me,' I said. 'We have settled all that.
　　There's no need to go over old ground. Think what you please aboutthis. I've made up my mind.'
　　'If you mean to stay, I suppose I can't prevent you.'
　　'Exactly.'
　　Sam appeared again in a gap in the trees, walking slowly andpensively, as one retreating from his Moscow. Her eyes followedhim till he was out of sight.
　　'If you like,' I said bitterly, 'you may put what I am doing downto professional rivalry. If I am in love with Mrs Ford and am hereto steal Ogden for her, it is natural for me to do all I can toprevent Buck MacGinnis getting him. There is no need for you tolook on me as an ally because we are working together.'
　　'We are not working together.'
　　'We shall be in a very short time. Buck will not let another nightgo by without doing something.'
　　'I don't believe that you saw him.'
　　'Just as you please,' I said, and walked away. What did it matterto me what she believed?
　　The day dragged on. Towards evening the weather broke suddenly,after the fashion of spring in England. Showers of rain drove meto the study.
　　It must have been nearly ten o'clock when the telephone rang.
　　It was Mr Fisher.
　　'Hello, is that you, sonny?'
　　'It is. Do you want anything?'
　　'I want a talk with you. Business. Can I come up?'
　　'If you wish it.'
　　'I'll start right away.'
　　It was some fifteen minutes later that I heard in the distance theengines of an automobile. The headlights gleamed through thetrees, and presently the car swept round the bend of the drive anddrew up at the front door. A portly figure got down and rang thebell. I observed these things from a window on the first floor,overlooking the front steps; and it was from this window that Ispoke.
　　'Is that you, Mr Fisher?'
　　He backed away from the door.
　　'Where are you?'
　　'Is that your car?'
　　'It belongs to a friend of mine.'
　　'I didn't know you meant to bring a party.'
　　'There's only three of us. Me, the chauffeur, and my friend--MacGinnis.'
　　The possibility, indeed the probability, of Sam seeking out Buckand forming an alliance had occurred to me, and I was prepared forit. I shifted my grip on the automatic pistol in my hand.
　　'Mr Fisher.'
　　'Hello!'
　　'Ask your friend MacGinnis to be good enough to step into thelight of that lamp and drop his gun.'
　　There was a muttered conversation. I heard Buck's voice rumblinglike a train going under a bridge. The request did not appear tofind favour with him. Then came an interlude of soothing speechfrom Mr Fisher. I could not distinguish the words, but I gatheredthat he was pointing out to him that, on this occasion only, thevisit being for the purposes of parley and not of attack, pistolsmight be looked on as non-essentials. Whatever his arguments, theywere successful, for, finally, humped as to the back andmuttering, Buck moved into the light.
　　'Good evening, Mr MacGinnis,' I said. 'I'm glad to see your leg isall right again. I won't detain you a moment. Just feel in yourpockets and shed a few of your guns, and then you can come in outof the rain. To prevent any misunderstanding, I may say I have agun of my own. It is trained on you now.'
　　'I ain't got no gun.'
　　'Come along. This is no time for airy persiflage. Out with them.'
　　A moment's hesitation, and a small black pistol fell to theground.
　　'No more?'
　　'Think I'm a regiment?'
　　'I don't know what you are. Well, I'll take your word for it. Youwill come in one by one, with your hands up.'
　　I went down and opened the door, holding my pistol in readinessagainst the unexpected.
II
    Sam came first. His raised hands gave him a vaguely pontifical air(Bishop Blessing Pilgrims), and the kindly smile he woreheightened the illusion. Mr MacGinnis, who followed, suggested nosuch idea. He was muttering moodily to himself, and he eyed measkance.
　　I showed them into the classroom and switched on the light. Theair was full of many odours. Disuse seems to bring out theinky-chalky, appley-deal-boardy bouquet of a classroom as thenight brings out the scent of flowers. During the term I had neverknown this classroom smell so exactly like a classroom. I made useof my free hand to secure and light a cigarette.
　　Sam rose to a point of order.
　　'Young man,' he said. I should like to remind you that we arehere, as it were, under a flag of truce. To pull a gun on us andkeep us holding our hands up this way is raw work. I feel sure Ispeak for my friend Mr MacGinnis.'
　　He cocked an eye at his friend Mr MacGinnis, who seconded themotion by expectorating into the fireplace. I had observed at aprevious interview his peculiar gift for laying bare his soul bythis means of mode of expression. A man of silent habit, judged bythe more conventional standard of words, he was almost an oratorin expectoration.
　　'Mr MacGinnis agrees with me,' said Sam cheerfully. 'Do we takethem down? Have we your permission to assume Position Two of theseSwedish exercises? All we came for was a little friendly chatamong gentlemen, and we can talk just as well--speaking formyself, better--in a less strained attitude. A little rest, MrBurns! A little folding of the hands? Thank you.'
　　He did not wait for permission, nor was it necessary. Sam and themelodramatic atmosphere was as oil and water. It was impossible toblend them. I laid the pistol on the table and sat down. Buck,after one wistful glance at the weapon, did the same. Sam wasalready seated, and was looking so cosy and at home that I almostfelt it remiss of me not to have provided sherry and cake for thispleasant gathering.
　　'Well,' I said, 'what can I do for you?'
　　'Let me explain,' said Sam. 'As you have, no doubt, gathered, MrMacGinnis and I have gone into partnership. The Little NuggetCombine!'
　　'I gathered that--well?'
　　'Judicious partnerships are the soul of business. Mr MacGinnis andI have been rivals in the past, but we both saw that the momenthad come for the genial smile, the hearty handshake, in fact, foran alliance. We form a strong team, sonny. My partner's specialityis action. I supply the strategy. Say, can't you see you're upagainst it? Why be foolish?'
　　'You think you're certain to win?'
　　'It's a cinch.'
　　'Then why trouble to come here and see me?'
　　I appeared to have put into words the smouldering thought whichwas vexing Mr MacGinnis. He burst into speech.
　　'Ahr chee! Sure! What's de use? Didn't I tell youse? What's de useof wastin' time? What are we spielin' away here for? Let's getbusy.'
　　Sam waved a hand towards him with the air of a lecturer making apoint.
　　'You see! The man of action! He likes trouble. He asks for it. Heeats it alive. Now I prefer peace. Why have a fuss when you canget what you want quietly? That's my motto. That's why we've come.
　　It's the old proposition. We're here to buy you out. Yes, I knowyou have turned the offer down before, but things have changed.
　　Your stock has fallen. In fact, instead of letting you in onsharing terms, we only feel justified now in offering a commission.
　　For the moment you may seem to hold a strong position. You are inthe house, and you've got the boy. But there's nothing to it really.
　　We could get him in five minutes if we cared to risk having a fuss.
　　But it seems to me there's no need of any fuss. We should win deadeasy all right, if it came to trouble; but, on the other hand,you've a gun, and there's a chance some of us might get hurt, sowhat's the good when we can settle it quietly? How about it, sonny?'
　　Mr MacGinnis began to rumble, preparatory to making furtherremarks on the situation, but Sam waved him down and turned hisbrown eyes inquiringly on me.
　　'Fifteen per cent is our offer,' he said.
　　'And to think it was once fifty-fifty!'
　　'Strict business!'
　　'Business? It's sweating!'
　　'It's our limit. And it wasn't easy to make Buck here agree tothat. He kicked like a mule.'
　　Buck shuffled his feet and eyed me disagreeably. I suppose it ishard to think kindly of a man who has broken your leg. It wasplain that, with Mr MacGinnis, bygones were by no means bygones.
　　I rose.
　　'Well, I'm sorry you should have had the trouble of coming herefor nothing. Let me see you out. Single file, please.'
　　Sam looked aggrieved.
　　'You turn it down?'
　　'I do.'
　　'One moment. Let's have this thing clear. Do you realize whatyou're up against? Don't think it's only Buck and me you've got totackle. All the boys are here, waiting round the corner, the samegang that came the other night. Be sensible, sonny. You don'tstand a dog's chance. I shouldn't like to see you get hurt. Andyou never know what may not happen. The boys are pretty sore atyou because of what you did that night. I shouldn't act like abonehead, sonny--honest.'
　　There was a kindly ring in his voice which rather touched me.
　　Between him and me there had sprung up an odd sort of friendship.
　　He meant business; but he would, I knew, be genuinely sorry if Icame to harm. And I could see that he was quite sincere in hisbelief that I was in a tight corner and that my chances againstthe Combine were infinitesimal. I imagine that, with victory soapparently certain, he had had difficulty in persuading his alliesto allow him to make his offer.
　　But he had overlooked one thing--the telephone. That he shouldhave made this mistake surprised me. If it had been Buck, I couldhave understood it. Buck's was a mind which lent itself to suchblunders. From Sam I had expected better things, especially as thetelephone had been so much in evidence of late. He had used ithimself only half an hour ago.
　　I clung to the thought of the telephone. It gave me the quietsatisfaction of the gambler who holds the unforeseen ace. Thesituation was in my hands. The police, I knew, had been profoundlystirred by Mr MacGinnis's previous raid. When I called them up, asI proposed to do directly the door had closed on the ambassadors,there would be no lack of response. It would not again be a caseof Inspector Bones and Constable Johnson to the rescue. A greatcloud of willing helpers would swoop to our help.
　　With these thoughts in my mind, I answered Sam pleasantly butfirmly.
　　'I'm sorry I'm unpopular, but all the same--'
　　I indicated the door.
　　Emotion that could only be expressed in words and not through hisusual medium welled up in Mr MacGinnis. He sprang forward with asnarl, falling back as my faithful automatic caught his eye.
　　'Say, you! Listen here! You'll--'
　　Sam, the peaceable, plucked at his elbow.
　　'Nothing doing, Buck. Step lively.'
　　Buck wavered, then allowed himself to be drawn away. We passed outof the classroom in our order of entry.
　　An exclamation from the stairs made me look up. Audrey was leaningover the banisters. Her face was in the shadow, but I gatheredfrom her voice that the sight of our little procession hadstartled her. I was not surprised. Buck was a distinctly startlingspectacle, and his habit of growling to himself, as he walked,highly disturbing to strangers.
　　'Good evening, Mrs Sheridan,' said Sam suavely.
　　Audrey did not speak. She seemed fascinated by Buck.
　　I opened the front door and they passed out. The automobile wasstill purring on the drive. Buck's pistol had disappeared. Isupposed the chauffeur had picked it up, a surmise which wasproved correct a few moments later, when, just as the car wasmoving off, there was a sharp crack and a bullet struck the wallto the right of the door. It was a random shot, and I did notreturn it. Its effect on me was to send me into the hall with aleap that was almost a back-somersault. Somehow, though I waskeyed up for violence and the shooting of pistols, I had notexpected it at just that moment, and I was disagreeably surprisedat the shock it had given me. I slammed the door and bolted it. Iwas intensely irritated to find that my fingers were trembling.
　　Audrey had left the stairs and was standing beside me.
　　'They shot at me,' I said.
　　By the light of the hall lamp I could see that she was very pale.
　　'It missed by a mile.' My nerves had not recovered and I spokeabruptly. 'Don't be frightened.'
　　'I--I was not frightened,' she said, without conviction.
　　'I was,' I said, with conviction. 'It was too sudden for me. It'sthe sort of thing one wants to get used to gradually. I shall beready for it another time.'
　　I made for the stairs.
　　'Where are you going?'
　　'I'm going to call up the police-station.'
　　'Peter.'
　　'Yes?'
　　'Was--was that man the one you spoke of?'
　　'Yes, that was Buck MacGinnis. He and Sam have gone intopartnership.'
　　She hesitated.
　　'I'm sorry,' she said.
　　I was half-way up the stairs by this time. I stopped and lookedover the banisters.
　　'Sorry?'
　　'I didn't believe you this afternoon.'
　　'Oh, that's all right,' I said. I tried to make my voiceindifferent, for I was on guard against insidious friendliness. Ihad bludgeoned my mind into an attitude of safe hostility towardsher, and I saw the old chaos ahead if I allowed myself to abandonit.
　　I went to the telephone and unhooked the receiver.
　　There is apt to be a certain leisureliness about the methods ofcountry telephone-operators, and the fact that a voice did notimmediately ask me what number I wanted did not at first disturbme. Suspicion of the truth came to me, I think, after my thirdshout into the receiver had remained unanswered. I had sufferedfrom delay before, but never such delay as this.
　　I must have remained there fully two minutes, shouting atintervals, before I realized the truth. Then I dropped thereceiver and leaned limply against the wall. For the moment I wasas stunned as if I had received a blow. I could not even think. Itwas only by degrees that I recovered sufficiently to understandthat Audrey was speaking to me.
　　'What is it? Don't they answer?'
　　It is curious how the mind responds to the need for making aneffort for the sake of somebody else. If I had had only myself tothink of, it would, I believe, have been a considerable timebefore I could have adjusted my thoughts to grapple with thisdisaster. But the necessity of conveying the truth quietly toAudrey and of helping her to bear up under it steadied me at once.
　　I found myself thinking quite coolly how best I might break to herwhat had happened.
　　'I'm afraid,' I said, 'I have something to tell you which may--'
　　She interrupted me quickly.
　　'What is it? Can't you make them answer?'
　　I shook my head. We looked at each other in silence.
　　Her mind leaped to the truth more quickly than mine had done.
　　'They have cut the wire!'
　　I took up the receiver again and gave another call. There was noreply.
　　'I'm afraid so,' I said.
Part 2 Chapter 15
I
    'What shall we do?' said Audrey.
　　She looked at me hopefully, as if I were a mine of ideas. Hervoice was level, without a suggestion of fear in it. Women havethe gift of being courageous at times when they might legitimatelygive way. It is part of their unexpectedness.
　　This was certainly such an occasion. Daylight would bring usrelief, for I did not suppose that even Buck MacGinnis would careto conduct a siege which might be interrupted by the arrival oftradesmen's carts; but while the darkness lasted we werecompletely cut off from the world. With the destruction of thetelephone wire our only link with civilization had been snapped.
　　Even had the night been less stormy than it was, there was nochance of the noise of our warfare reaching the ears of anyone whomight come to the rescue. It was as Sam had said, Buck's energyunited to his strategy formed a strong combination.
　　Broadly speaking, there are only two courses open to a beleagueredgarrison. It can stay where it is, or it can make a sortie. Iconsidered the second of these courses.
　　It was possible that Sam and his allies had departed in theautomobile to get reinforcements, leaving the coast temporarilyclear; in which case, by escaping from the house at once, we mightbe able to slip unobserved through the grounds and reach thevillage in safety. To support this theory there was the fact thatthe car, on its late visit, had contained only the chauffeur andthe two ambassadors, while Sam had spoken of the remainder ofBuck's gang as being in readiness to attack in the event of my notcoming to terms. That might mean that they were waiting at Buck'sheadquarters, wherever those might be--at one of the cottages downthe road, I imagined; and, in the interval before the attackbegan, it might be possible for us to make our sortie withsuccess.
　　'Is Ogden in bed?' I asked.
　　'Yes.'
　　'Will you go and get him up as quickly as you can?'
　　I strained my eyes at the window, but it was impossible to seeanything. The rain was still falling heavily. If the drive hadbeen full of men they would have been invisible to me.
　　Presently Audrey returned, followed by Ogden. The Little Nuggetwas yawning the aggrieved yawns of one roused from his beautysleep.
　　'What's all this?' he demanded.
　　'Listen,' I said. 'Buck MacGinnis and Smooth Sam Fisher have comeafter you. They are outside now. Don't be frightened.'
　　He snorted derisively.
　　'Who's frightened? I guess they won't hurt _me_. How do you knowit's them?'
　　'They have just been here. The man who called himself White, thebutler, was really Sam Fisher. He has been waiting an opportunityto get you all the term.'
　　'White! Was he Sam Fisher?' He chuckled admiringly. 'Say, he's awonder!'
　　'They have gone to fetch the rest of the gang.'
　　'Why don't you call the cops?'
　　'They have cut the wire.'
　　His only emotions at the news seemed to be amusement and a renewedadmiration for Smooth Sam. He smiled broadly, the little brute.
　　'He's a wonder!' he repeated. 'I guess he's smooth, all right.
　　He's the limit! He'll get me all right this trip. I bet you anickel he wins out.'
　　I found his attitude trying. That he, the cause of all the trouble,should be so obviously regarding it as a sporting contest got upfor his entertainment, was hard to bear. And the fact that, whatevermight happen to myself, he was in no danger, comforted me not at all.
　　If I could have felt that we were in any way companions in peril,I might have looked on the bulbous boy with quite a friendly eye.
　　As it was, I nearly kicked him.
　　'We had better waste no time,' suggested Audrey, 'if we are going.'
　　'I think we ought to try it,' I said.
　　'What's that?' asked the Nugget. 'Go where?'
　　'We are going to steal out through the back way and try to slipthrough to the village.'
　　The Nugget's comment on the scheme was brief and to the point. Hedid not embarrass me with fulsome praise of my strategic genius.
　　'Of all the fool games!' he said simply. 'In this rain? No, sir!'
　　This new complication was too much for me. In planning out mymanoeuvres I had taken his cooperation for granted. I had lookedon him as so much baggage--the impedimenta of the retreating army.
　　And, behold, a mutineer!
　　I took him by the scruff of the neck and shook him. It was arelief to my feelings and a sound move. The argument was one whichhe understood.
　　'Oh, all right,' he said. 'Anything you like. Come on. But it soundsto me like darned foolishness!'
　　If nothing else had happened to spoil the success of that sortie,the Nugget's depressing attitude would have done so. Of all things,it seems to me, a forlorn hope should be undertaken with a certainenthusiasm and optimism if it is to have a chance of being successful.
　　Ogden threw a gloom over the proceedings from the start. He was crossand sleepy, and he condemned the expedition unequivocally. As we movedtowards the back door he kept up a running stream of abusive comment.
　　I silenced him before cautiously unbolting the door, but he had saidenough to damp my spirits. I do not know what effect it would havehad on Napoleon's tactics if his army--say, before Austerlitz--hadspoken of his manoeuvres as a 'fool game' and of himself as a 'bigchump', but I doubt if it would have stimulated him.
　　The back door of Sanstead House opened on to a narrow yard, pavedwith flagstones and shut in on all sides but one by walls. To theleft was the outhouse where the coal was stored, a squat barnlikebuilding: to the right a wall that appeared to have been erectedby the architect in an outburst of pure whimsicality. It juststood there. It served no purpose that I had ever been able todiscover, except to act as a cats' club-house.
　　Tonight, however, I was thankful for this wall. It formed animportant piece of cover. By keeping in its shelter it waspossible to work round the angle of the coal-shed, enter thestable-yard, and, by making a detour across the football field,avoid the drive altogether. And it was the drive, in my opinion,that might be looked on as the danger zone.
　　The Nugget's complaints, which I had momentarily succeeded inchecking, burst out afresh as the rain swept in at the open doorand lashed our faces. Certainly it was not an ideal night for aramble. The wind was blowing through the opening at the end of theyard with a compressed violence due to the confined space. Therewas a suggestion in our position of the Cave of the Winds underNiagara Falls, the verisimilitude of which was increased by thestream of water that poured down from the gutter above our heads.
　　The Nugget found it unpleasant, and said so shrilly.
　　I pushed him out into the storm, still protesting, and we began tocreep across the yard. Half-way to the first point of importanceof our journey, the corner of the coal-shed, I halted theexpedition. There was a sudden lull in the wind, and I tookadvantage of it to listen.
　　From somewhere beyond the wall, apparently near the house, soundedthe muffled note of the automobile. The siege-party had returned.
　　There was no time to be lost. Apparently the possibility of asortie had not yet occurred to Sam, or he would hardly have leftthe back door unguarded; but a general of his astuteness wascertain to remedy the mistake soon, and our freedom of actionmight be a thing of moments. It behoved us to reach the stable-yardas quickly as possible. Once there, we should be practically throughthe enemy's lines.
　　Administering a kick to the Nugget, who showed a disposition tolinger and talk about the weather, I moved on, and we reached thecorner of the coal-shed in safety.
　　We had now arrived at the really perilous stage in our journey.
　　Having built his wall to a point level with the end of the coal-shed,the architect had apparently wearied of the thing and given it up;for it ceased abruptly, leaving us with a matter of half a dozenyards of open ground to cross, with nothing to screen us from thewatchers on the drive. The flagstones, moreover, stopped at thispoint. On the open space was loose gravel. Even if the darknessallowed us to make the crossing unseen, there was the risk that wemight be heard.
　　It was a moment for a flash of inspiration, and I was waiting forone, when that happened which took the problem out of my hands.
　　From the interior of the shed on our left there came a suddenscrabbling of feet over loose coal, and through the square openingin the wall, designed for the peaceful purpose of taking in sacks,climbed two men. A pistol cracked. From the drive came ananswering shout. We had been ambushed.
　　I had misjudged Sam. He had not overlooked the possibility of asortie.
　　It is the accidents of life that turn the scale in a crisis. Theopening through which the men had leaped was scarcely a couple ofyards behind the spot where we were standing. If they had leapedfairly and kept their feet, they would have been on us before wecould have moved. But Fortune ordered it that, zeal outrunningdiscretion, the first of the two should catch his foot in thewoodwork and fall on all fours, while the second, unable to checkhis spring, alighted on top of him, and, judging from the stifledyell which followed, must have kicked him in the face.
　　In the moment of their downfall I was able to form a plan andexecute it.
　　'The stables!'
　　I shouted the words to Audrey in the act of snatching up theNugget and starting to run. She understood. She did not hesitatein the direction of the house for even the instant which mighthave undone us, but was with me at once; and we were across theopen space and in the stable-yard before the first of the men inthe drive loomed up through the darkness. Half of the woodendouble-gate of the yard was open, and the other half served us asa shield. They fired as they ran--at random, I think, for it wastoo dark for them to have seen us clearly--and two bullets slappedagainst the gate. A third struck the wall above our heads andricocheted off into the night. But before they could fire again wewere in the stables, the door slammed behind us, and I had dumpedthe Nugget on the floor, and was shooting the heavy bolts intotheir places. Footsteps clattered over the flagstones and stoppedoutside. Some weighty body plunged against the door. Then therewas silence. The first round was over.
　　The stables, as is the case in most English country-houses, hadbeen, in its palmy days, the glory of Sanstead House. In whateverother respect the British architect of that period may have fallenshort, he never scamped his work on the stables. He built themstrong and solid, with walls fitted to repel the assaults of theweather, and possibly those of men as well, for the Boones intheir day had been mighty owners of race-horses at a time when menwith money at stake did not stick at trifles, and it was prudentto see to it that the spot where the favourite was housed hadsomething of the nature of a fortress. The walls were thick, thedoor solid, the windows barred with iron. We could scarcely havefound a better haven of refuge.
　　Under Mr Abney's rule, the stables had lost their originalcharacter. They had been divided into three compartments, eachseparated by a stout wall. One compartment became a gymnasium,another the carpenter's shop, the third, in which we were,remained a stable, though in these degenerate days no horse everset foot inside it, its only use being to provide a place for theodd-job man to clean shoes. The mangers which had once held fodderwere given over now to brushes and pots of polish. In term-time,bicycles were stored in the loose-box which had once echoed to thetramping of Derby favourites.
　　I groped about among the pots and brushes, and found a candle-end,which I lit. I was running a risk, but it was necessary to inspectour ground. I had never troubled really to examine this stablebefore, and I wished to put myself in touch with its geography.
　　I blew out the candle, well content with what I had seen. The onlytwo windows were small, high up, and excellently barred. Even ifthe enemy fired through them there were half a dozen spots wherewe should be perfectly safe. Best of all, in the event of the doorbeing carried by assault, we had a second line of defence in aloft. A ladder against the back wall led to it, by way of a trap-door.
　　Circumstances had certainly been kind to us in driving us to thisapparently impregnable shelter.
　　On concluding my inspection, I became aware that the Nugget wasstill occupied with his grievances. I think the shots must havestimulated his nerve centres, for he had abandoned the languiddrawl with which, in happier moments, he was wont to comment onlife's happenings, and was dealing with the situation with astaccato briskness.
　　'Of all the darned fool lay-outs I ever struck, this is the limit.
　　What do those idiots think they're doing, shooting us up that way?
　　It went within an inch of my head. It might have killed me. Gee,and I'm all wet. I'm catching cold. It's all through your blamedfoolishness, bringing us out here. Why couldn't we stay in thehouse?'
　　'We could not have kept them out of the house for five minutes,' Iexplained. 'We can hold this place.'
　　'Who wants to hold it? I don't. What does it matter if they do getme? _I_ don't care. I've a good mind to walk straight out throughthat door and let them rope me in. It would serve Dad right. Itwould teach him not to send me away from home to any darned schoolagain. What did he want to do it for? I was all right where I was.
　　I--'
　　A loud hammering on the door cut off his eloquence. Theintermission was over, and the second round had begun.
　　It was pitch dark in the stable now that I had blown out thecandle, and there is something about a combination of noise anddarkness which tries the nerves. If mine had remained steady, Ishould have ignored the hammering. From the sound, it appeared tobe made by some wooden instrument--a mallet from the carpenter'sshop I discovered later--and the door could be relied on to holdits own without my intervention. For a novice to violence,however, to maintain a state of calm inaction is the mostdifficult feat of all. I was irritated and worried by the noise,and exaggerated its importance. It seemed to me that it must bestopped at once.
　　A moment before, I had bruised my shins against an empty packing-case,which had found its way with other lumber into the stable. I gropedfor this, swung it noiselessly into position beneath the window,and, standing on it, looked out. I found the catch of the window,and opened it. There was nothing to be seen, but the sound of thehammering became more distinct; and pushing an arm through the bars,I emptied my pistol at a venture.
　　As a practical move, the action had flaws. The shots cannot havegone anywhere near their vague target. But as a demonstration, itwas a wonderful success. The yard became suddenly full of dancingbullets. They struck the flagstones, bounded off, chipped thebricks of the far wall, ricocheted from those, buzzed in alldirections, and generally behaved in a manner calculated to unmanthe stoutest hearted.
　　The siege-party did not stop to argue. They stampeded as one man.
　　I could hear them clattering across the flagstones to every pointof the compass. In a few seconds silence prevailed, broken only bythe swish of the rain. Round two had been brief, hardly worthy tobe called a round at all, and, like round one, it had ended whollyin our favour.
　　I jumped down from my packing-case, swelling with pride. I had hadno previous experience of this sort of thing, yet here I washandling the affair like a veteran. I considered that I had aright to feel triumphant. I lit the candle again, and beamedprotectively upon the garrison.
　　The Nugget was sitting on the floor, gaping feebly, and awed forthe moment into silence. Audrey, in the far corner, looked palebut composed. Her behaviour was perfect. There was nothing for herto do, and she was doing it with a quiet self-control which wonmy admiration. Her manner seemed to me exactly suited to theexigencies of the situation. With a super-competent dare-devillike myself in charge of affairs, all she had to do was to waitand not get in the way.
　　'I didn't hit anybody,' I announced, 'but they ran like rabbits.
　　They are all over Hampshire.'
　　I laughed indulgently. I could afford an attitude of tolerantamusement towards the enemy.
　　'Will they come back?'
　　'Possibly. And in that case'--I felt in my left-hand coat-pocket--'Ihad better be getting ready.' I felt in my right-hand coat-pocket.
　　'Ready,' I repeated blankly. A clammy coldness took possession of me.
　　My voice trailed off into nothingness. For in neither pocket wasThere a single one of the shells with which I had fancied that Iwas abundantly provided. In moments of excitement man is apt to makemistakes. I had made mine when, starting out on the sortie, I hadleft all my ammunition in the house.
II
    I should like to think that it was an unselfish desire to spare mycompanions anxiety that made me keep my discovery to myself. But Iam afraid that my reticence was due far more to the fact that Ishrank from letting the Nugget discover my imbecile carelessness.
　　Even in times of peril one retains one's human weaknesses; and Ifelt that I could not face his comments. If he had permitted acertain note of querulousness to creep into his conversationalready, the imagination recoiled from the thought of the causticdepths he would reach now should I reveal the truth.
　　I tried to make things better with cheery optimism.
　　'_They_ won't come back!' I said stoutly, and tried to believe it.
　　The Nugget as usual struck the jarring note.
　　'Well, then, let's beat it,' he said. 'I don't want to spend thenight in this darned icehouse. I tell you I'm catching cold. Mychest's weak. If you're so dead certain you've scared them away,let's quit.'
　　I was not prepared to go as far as this.
　　'They may be somewhere near, hiding.'
　　'Well, what if they are? I don't mind being kidnapped. Let's go.'
　　'I think we ought to wait,' said Audrey.
　　'Of course,' I said. 'It would be madness to go out now.'
　　'Oh, pshaw!' said the Little Nugget; and from this point onwardspunctuated the proceedings with a hacking cough.
　　I had never really believed that my demonstration had brought thesiege to a definite end. I anticipated that there would be somedelay before the renewal of hostilities, but I was too wellacquainted with Buck MacGinnis's tenacity to imagine that he wouldabandon his task because a few random shots had spread momentarypanic in his ranks. He had all the night before him, and sooner orlater he would return.
　　I had judged him correctly. Many minutes dragged wearily bywithout a sign from the enemy, then, listening at the window, Iheard footsteps crossing the yard and voices talking in cautiousundertones. The fight was on once more.
　　A bright light streamed through the window, flooding the openingand spreading in a wide circle on the ceiling. It was notdifficult to understand what had happened. They had gone to theautomobile and come back with one of the head-lamps, an astutemove in which I seemed to see the finger of Sam. The danger-spotthus rendered harmless, they renewed their attack on the door witha reckless vigour. The mallet had been superseded by some heavierinstrument--of iron this time. I think it must have been the jackfrom the automobile. It was a more formidable weapon altogetherthan the mallet, and even our good oak door quivered under it.
　　A splintering of wood decided me that the time had come to retreatto our second line of entrenchments. How long the door would holdit was impossible to say, but I doubted if it was more than amatter of minutes.
　　Relighting my candle, which I had extinguished from motives ofeconomy, I caught Audrey's eye and jerked my head towards theladder.
　　'You go first,' I whispered.
　　The Nugget watched her disappear through the trap-door, thenturned to me with an air of resolution.
　　'If you think you're going to get _me_ up there, you'veanother guess coming. I'm going to wait here till they get in, andlet them take me. I'm about tired of this foolishness.'
　　It was no time for verbal argument. I collected him, a kickinghandful, bore him to the ladder, and pushed him through theopening. He uttered one of his devastating squeals. The soundseemed to encourage the workers outside like a trumpet-blast. Theblows on the door redoubled.
　　I climbed the ladder and shut the trap-door behind me.
　　The air of the loft was close and musty and smelt of mildewed hay.
　　It was not the sort of spot which one would have selected of one'sown free will to sit in for any length of time. There was a rustlingnoise, and a rat scurried across the rickety floor, drawing astartled gasp from Audrey and a disgusted 'Oh, piffle!' from theNugget. Whatever merits this final refuge might have as a stronghold,it was beyond question a noisome place.
　　The beating on the stable-door was working up to a crescendo.
　　Presently there came a crash that shook the floor on which we satand sent our neighbours, the rats, scuttling to and fro in aperfect frenzy of perturbation. The light of the automobile lamppoured in through the numerous holes and chinks which the passageof time had made in the old boards. There was one large hole nearthe centre which produced a sort of searchlight effect, andallowed us for the first time to see what manner of place it wasin which we had entrenched ourselves. The loft was high andspacious. The roof must have been some seven feet above our heads.
　　I could stand upright without difficulty.
　　In the proceedings beneath us there had come a lull. The mysteryof our disappearance had not baffled the enemy for long, for almostimmediately the rays of the lamp had shifted and begun to play onthe trap-door. I heard somebody climb the ladder, and the trap-doorcreaked gently as a hand tested it. I had taken up a position besideit, ready, if the bolt gave way, to do what I could with the butt ofmy pistol, my only weapon. But the bolt, though rusty, was strong,and the man dropped to the ground again. Since then, except foroccasional snatches of whispered conversation, I had heard nothing.
　　Suddenly Sam's voice spoke.
　　'Mr Burns!'
　　I saw no advantage in remaining silent.
　　'Well?'
　　'Haven't you had enough of this? You've given us a mighty good runfor our money, but you can see for yourself that you're throughnow. I'd hate like anything for you to get hurt. Pass the kiddown, and we'll call it off.'
　　He paused.
　　'Well?' he said. 'Why don't you answer?'
　　'I did.'
　　'Did you? I didn't hear you.'
　　'I smiled.'
　　'You mean to stick it out? Don't be foolish, sonny. The boys hereare mad enough at you already. What's the use of getting yourselfin bad for nothing? We've got you in a pocket. I know all about thatgun of yours, young fellow. I had a suspicion what had happened,and I've been into the house and found the shells you forgot totake with you. So, if you were thinking of making a bluff in thatdirection forget it!'
　　The exposure had the effect I had anticipated.
　　'Of all the chumps!' exclaimed the Nugget caustically. 'You oughtto be in a home. Well, I guess you'll agree to end this foolishnessnow? Let's go down and get it over and have some peace. I'm gettingpneumonia.'
　　'You're quite right, Mr Fisher,' I said. 'But don't forget I stillhave the pistol, even if I haven't the shells. The first man whotries to come up here will have a headache tomorrow.'
　　'I shouldn't bank on it, sonny. Come along, kiddo! You're done. Begood, and own it. We can't wait much longer.'
　　'You'll have to try.'
　　Buck's voice broke in on the discussion, quite unintelligibleexcept that it was obviously wrathful.
　　'Oh well!' I heard Sam say resignedly, and then there was silenceagain below.
　　I resumed my watch over the trap-door, encouraged. This parleying,I thought, was an admission of failure on the part of thebesiegers. I did not credit Sam with a real concern for mywelfare--thereby doing him an injustice. I can see now that hespoke perfectly sincerely. The position, though I was unaware ofit, really was hopeless, for the reason that, like most positions,it had a flank as well as a front. In estimating the possibilitiesof attack, I had figured assaults as coming only from below. I hadomitted from my calculations the fact that the loft had a roof.
　　It was a scraping on the tiles above my head that first broughtthe new danger-point to my notice. There followed the sound ofheavy hammering, and with it came a sickening realization of thetruth of what Sam had said. We were beaten.
　　I was too paralysed by the unexpectedness of the attack to formany plan; and, indeed, I do not think that there was anything thatI could have done. I was unarmed and helpless. I stood there,waiting for the inevitable.
　　Affairs moved swiftly. Plaster rained down on to the wooden floor.
　　I was vaguely aware that the Nugget was speaking, but I did notlisten to him.
　　A gap appeared in the roof and widened. I could hear the heavybreathing of the man as he wrenched at the tiles.
　　And then the climax arrived, with anticlimax following so swiftlyupon it that the two were almost simultaneous. I saw the worker onthe roof cautiously poise himself in the opening, hunched up likesome strange ape. The next moment he had sprung.
　　As his feet touched the floor there came a rending, splinteringcrash; the air was filled with a choking dust, and he was gone.
　　The old worn out boards had shaken under my tread. They had givenway in complete ruin beneath this sharp onslaught. The rays of thelamp, which had filtered in like pencils of light throughcrevices, now shone in a great lake in the centre of the floor.
　　In the stable below all was confusion. Everybody was speaking atonce. The hero of the late disaster was groaning horribly, forwhich he certainly had good reason: I did not know the extent ofhis injuries, but a man does not do that sort of thing withimpunity. The next of the strange happenings of the night nowoccurred.
　　I had not been giving the Nugget a great deal of my attention forsome time, other and more urgent matters occupying me.
　　His action at this juncture, consequently, came as a complete andcrushing surprise.
　　I was edging my way cautiously towards the jagged hole in thecentre of the floor, in the hope of seeing something of what wasgoing on below, when from close beside me his voice screamed.
　　'It's me, Ogden Ford. I'm coming!' and, without further warning,he ran to the hole, swung himself over, and dropped.
　　Manna falling from the skies in the wilderness never received amore whole-hearted welcome. Howls and cheers and ear-splittingwhoops filled the air. The babel of talk broke out again. Someexuberant person found expression of his joy in emptying hispistol at the ceiling, to my acute discomfort, the spot he hadselected as a target chancing to be within a foot of where Istood. Then they moved off in a body, still cheering. The fightwas over.
　　I do not know how long it was before I spoke. It may have beensome minutes. I was dazed with the swiftness with which the finalstages of the drama had been played out. If I had given him moreof my attention, I might have divined that Ogden had been waitinghis opportunity to make some such move; but, as it was, thepossibility had not even occurred to me, and I was stunned.
　　In the distance I heard the automobile moving off down the drive.
　　The sound roused me.
　　'Well, we may as well go,' I said dully. I lit the candle and heldit up. Audrey was standing against the wall, her face white andset.
　　I raised the trap-door and followed her down the ladder.
　　The rain had ceased, and the stars were shining. After thecloseness of the loft, the clean wet air was delicious. For amoment we stopped, held by the peace and stillness of the night.
　　Then, quite suddenly, she broke down.
　　It was the unexpectedness of it that first threw me off my balance.
　　In all the time I had known her, I had never before seen Audrey intears. Always, in the past, she had borne the blows of fate with astoical indifference which had alternately attracted and repelledme, according as my mood led me to think it courage or insensibility.
　　In the old days, it had done much, this trait of hers, to rear abarrier between us. It had made her seem aloof and unapproachable.
　　Subconsciously, I suppose, it had offended my egoism that she shouldbe able to support herself in times of trouble, and not feel itnecessary to lean on me.
　　And now the barrier had fallen. The old independence, the almostaggressive self-reliance, had vanished. A new Audrey had revealedherself.
　　She was sobbing helplessly, standing quite still, her arms hangingand her eyes staring blankly before her. There was something inher attitude so hopeless, so beaten, that the pathos of it seemedto cut me like a knife.
　　'Audrey!'
　　The stars glittered in the little pools among the worn flagstones.
　　The night was very still. Only the steady drip of water from thetrees broke the silence.
　　A great wave of tenderness seemed to sweep from my mind everythingin the world but her. Everything broke abruptly that had beenchecking me, stifling me, holding me gagged and bound since thenight when our lives had come together again after those five longyears. I forgot Cynthia, my promise, everything.
　　'Audrey!'
　　She was in my arms, clinging to me, murmuring my name. Thedarkness was about us like a cloud.
　　And then she had slipped from me, and was gone.
Part 2 Chapter 16
    In my recollections of that strange night there are wide gaps.
　　Trivial incidents come back to me with extraordinary vividness;while there are hours of which I can remember nothing. What I didor where I went I cannot recall. It seems to me, looking back,that I walked without a pause till morning; yet, when day came, Iwas still in the school grounds. Perhaps I walked, as a woundedanimal runs, in circles. I lost, I know, all count of time. Ibecame aware of the dawn as something that had happened suddenly,as if light had succeeded darkness in a flash. It had been night;I looked about me, and it was day--a steely, cheerless day, like aDecember evening. And I found that I was very cold, very tired,and very miserable.
　　My mind was like the morning, grey and overcast. Conscience may beexpelled, but, like Nature, it will return. Mine, which I had castfrom me, had crept back with the daylight. I had had my hour offreedom, and it was now for me to pay for it.
　　I paid in full. My thoughts tore me. I could see no way out.
　　Through the night the fever and exhilaration of that mad momenthad sustained me, but now the morning had come, when dreams mustyield to facts, and I had to face the future.
　　I sat on the stump of a tree, and buried my face in my hands. Imust have fallen asleep, for, when I raised my eyes again, the daywas brighter. Its cheerlessness had gone. The sky was blue, andbirds were singing.
　　It must have been about half an hour later that the firstbeginnings of a plan of action came to me. I could not trustmyself to reason out my position clearly and honestly in thisplace where Audrey's spell was over everything. The part of methat was struggling to be loyal to Cynthia was overwhelmed here.
　　London called to me. I could think there, face my positionquietly, and make up my mind.
　　I turned to walk to the station. I could not guess even remotelywhat time it was. The sun was shining through the trees, but inthe road outside the grounds there were no signs of workersbeginning the day.
　　It was half past five when I reached the station. A sleepy porterinformed me that there would be a train to London, a slow train,at six.
　　* * * * *I remained in London two days, and on the third went down to Sansteadto see Audrey for the last time. I had made my decision.
　　I found her on the drive, close by the gate. She turned at myfootstep on the gravel; and, as I saw her, I knew that the fightwhich I had thought over was only beginning.
　　I was shocked at her appearance. Her face was very pale, and therewere tired lines about her eyes.
　　I could not speak. Something choked me. Once again, as on thatnight in the stable-yard, the world and all that was in it seemedinfinitely remote.
　　It was she who broke the silence.
　　'Well, Peter,' she said listlessly.
　　We walked up the drive together.
　　'Have you been to London?'
　　'Yes. I came down this morning.' I paused. 'I went there tothink,' I said.
　　She nodded.
　　'I have been thinking, too.'
　　I stopped, and began to hollow out a groove in the wet gravel withmy heel. Words were not coming readily.
　　Suddenly she found speech. She spoke quickly, but her voice wasdull and lifeless.
　　'Let us forget what has happened, Peter. We were neither of usourselves. I was tired and frightened and disappointed. You weresorry for me just at the moment, and your nerves were strained,like mine. It was all nothing. Let us forget it.'
　　I shook my head.
　　'No,' I said. 'It was not that. I can't let you even pretend youthink that was all. I love you. I always have loved you, though Idid not know how much till you had gone away. After a time, Ithought I had got over it. But when I met you again down here, Iknew that I had not, and never should. I came back to say good-bye,but I shall always love you. It is my punishment for being the sortof man I was five years ago.'
　　'And mine for being the sort of woman I was five years ago.' Shelaughed bitterly. 'Woman! I was just a little fool, a sulky child.
　　My punishment is going to be worse than yours, Peter. You will notbe always thinking that you had the happiness of two lives in yourhands, and threw it away because you had not the sense to holdit.'
　　'It is just that that I shall always be thinking. What happenedfive years ago was my fault, Audrey, and nobody's but mine. Idon't think that, even when the loss of you hurt most, I everblamed you for going away. You had made me see myself as I was,and I knew that you had done the right thing. I was selfish,patronizing--I was insufferable. It was I who threw away ourhappiness. You put it in a sentence that first day here, when yousaid that I had been kind--sometimes--when I happened to think ofit. That summed me up. You have nothing to reproach yourself for.
　　I think we have not had the best of luck; but all the blame ismine.'
　　A flush came into her pale face.
　　'I remember saying that. I said it because I was afraid of myself.
　　I was shaken by meeting you again. I thought you must be hatingme--you had every reason to hate me, and you spoke as if youdid--and I did not want to show you what you were to me. It wasn'ttrue, Peter. Five years ago I may have thought it, but not now. Ihave grown to understand the realities by this time. I have beenthrough too much to have any false ideas left. I have had somechance to compare men, and I realize that they are not all kind,Peter, even sometimes, when they happen to think of it.'
　　'Audrey,' I said--I had never found myself able to ask thequestion before--'was--was--he--was Sheridan kind to you?'
　　She did not speak for a moment, and I thought she was resentingthe question.
　　'No!' she said abruptly.
　　She shot out the monosyllable with a force that startled andsilenced me. There was a whole history of unhappiness in the word.
　　'No,' she said again, after a pause, more gently this time. Iunderstood. She was speaking of a dead man.
　　'I can't talk about him,' she went on hurriedly. 'I expect most ofit was my fault. I was unhappy because he was not you, and he sawthat I was unhappy and hated me for it. We had nothing in common.
　　It was just a piece of sheer madness, our marriage. He swept meoff my feet. I never had a great deal of sense, and I lost it allthen. I was far happier when he had left me.'
　　'Left you?'
　　'He deserted me almost directly we reached America.' She laughed.
　　'I told you I had grown to understand the realities. I beganthen.'
　　I was horrified. For the first time I realized vividly all thatshe had gone through. When she had spoken to me before of herstruggles that evening over the study fire, I had supposed thatthey had begun only after her husband's death, and that her lifewith him had in some measure trained her for the fight. That sheshould have been pitched into the arena, a mere child, with noexperience of life, appalled me. And, as she spoke, there came tome the knowledge that now I could never do what I had come to do.
　　I could not give her up. She needed me. I tried not to think ofCynthia.
　　I took her hand.
　　'Audrey,' I said, 'I came here to say good-bye. I can't. I wantyou. Nothing matters except you. I won't give you up.'
　　'It's too late,' she said, with a little catch in her voice. 'Youare engaged to Mrs Ford.'
　　'I am engaged, but not to Mrs Ford. I am engaged to someone youhave never met--Cynthia Drassilis.'
　　She pulled her hand away quickly, wide-eyed, and for some momentswas silent.
　　'Do you love her?' she asked at last.
　　'No.'
　　'Does she love you?'
　　Cynthia's letter rose before my eyes, that letter that could havehad no meaning, but one.
　　'I am afraid she does,' I said.
　　She looked at me steadily. Her face was very pale.
　　'You must marry her, Peter.'
　　I shook my head.
　　'You must. She believes in you.'
　　'I can't. I want you. And you need me. Can you deny that you needme?'
　　'No.'
　　She said it quite simply, without emotion. I moved towards her,thrilling, but she stepped back.
　　'She needs you too,' she said.
　　A dull despair was creeping over me. I was weighed down by apremonition of failure. I had fought my conscience, my sense ofduty and honour, and crushed them. She was raising them up againstme once more. My self-control broke down.
　　'Audrey,' I cried, 'for God's sake can't you see what you'redoing? We have been given a second chance. Our happiness is inyour hands again, and you are throwing it away. Why should we makeourselves wretched for the whole of our lives? What does anythingelse matter except that we love each other? Why should we letanything stand in our way? I won't give you up.'
　　She did not answer. Her eyes were fixed on the ground. Hope beganto revive in me, telling me that I had persuaded her. But when shelooked up it was with the same steady gaze, and my heart sankagain.
　　'Peter,' she said, 'I want to tell you something. It will make youunderstand, I think. I haven't been honest, Peter. I have notfought fairly. All these weeks, ever since we met, I have beentrying to steal you. It's the only word. I have tried every littlemiserable trick I could think of to steal you from the girl youhad promised to marry. And she wasn't here to fight for herself. Ididn't think of her. I was wrapped up in my own selfishness. Andthen, after that night, when you had gone away, I thought it allout. I had a sort of awakening. I saw the part I had been playing.
　　Even then I tried to persuade myself that I had done somethingrather fine. I thought, you see, at that time that you wereinfatuated with Mrs Ford--and I know Mrs Ford. If she is capableof loving any man, she loves Mr Ford, though they are divorced. Iknew she would only make you unhappy. I told myself I was savingyou. Then you told me it was not Mrs Ford, but this girl. Thataltered everything. Don't you see that I can't let you give her upnow? You would despise me. I shouldn't feel clean. I should feelas if I had stabbed her in the back.'
　　I forced a laugh. It rang hollow against the barrier thatseparated us. In my heart I knew that this barrier was not to belaughed away.
　　'Can't you see, Peter? You must see.'
　　'I certainly don't. I think you're overstrained, and that you havelet your imagination run away with you. I--'
　　She interrupted me.
　　'Do you remember that evening in the study?' she asked abruptly.
　　'We had been talking. I had been telling you how I had livedduring those five years.'
　　'I remember.'
　　'Every word I spoke was spoken with an object--calculated.... Yes,even the pauses. I tried to make _them_ tell, too. I knewyou, you see, Peter. I knew you through and through, because Iloved you, and I knew the effect those tales would have on you.
　　Oh, they were all true. I was honest as far as that goes. But theyhad the mean motive at the back of them. I was playing on yourfeelings. I knew how kind you were, how you would pity me. I setmyself to create an image which would stay in your mind and killthe memory of the other girl; the image of a poor, ill-treatedlittle creature who should work through to your heart by way ofyour compassion. I knew you, Peter, I knew you. And then I did ameaner thing still. I pretended to stumble in the dark. I meantyou to catch me and hold me, and you did. And ...'
　　Her voice broke off.
　　'I'm glad I have told you,' she said. 'It makes it a littlebetter. You understand now how I feel, don't you?'
　　She held out her hand.
　　'Good-bye.'
　　'I am not going to give you up,' I said doggedly.
　　'Good-bye,' she said again. Her voice was a whisper.
　　I took her hand and began to draw her towards me.
　　'It is not good-bye. There is no one else in the world but you,and I am not going to give you up.'
　　'Peter!' she struggled feebly. 'Oh, let me go.'
　　I drew her nearer.
　　'I won't let you go,' I said.
　　But, as I spoke, there came the sound of automobile wheels on thegravel. A large red car was coming up the drive. I droppedAudrey's hand, and she stepped back and was lost in the shrubbery.
　　The car slowed down and stopped beside me. There were two women inthe tonneau. One, who was dark and handsome, I did not know. Theother was Mrs Drassilis.
Part 2 Chapter 17
    I was given no leisure for wondering how Cynthia's mother came tobe in the grounds of Sanstead House, for her companion, almostbefore the car had stopped, jumped out and clutched me by the arm,at the same time uttering this cryptic speech: 'Whatever he offersI'll double!'
　　She fixed me, as she spoke, with a commanding eye. She was a woman,I gathered in that instant, born to command. There seemed, at anyrate, no doubt in her mind that she could command me. If I hadbeen a black beetle she could not have looked at me with a morescornful superiority. Her eyes were very large and of a rich, fierybrown colour, and it was these that gave me my first suspicion ofher identity. As to the meaning of her words, however, I had no clue.
　　'Bear that in mind,' she went on. 'I'll double it if it's amillion dollars.'
　　'I'm afraid I don't understand,' I said, finding speech.
　　She clicked her tongue impatiently.
　　'There's no need to be so cautious and mysterious. This lady is afriend of mine. She knows all about it. I asked her to come. I'mMrs Elmer Ford. I came here directly I got your letter. I thinkyou're the lowest sort of scoundrel that ever managed to keep outof gaol, but that needn't make any difference just now. We're hereto talk business, Mr Fisher, so we may as well begin.'
　　I was getting tired of being taken for Smooth Sam.
　　'I am not Smooth Sam Fisher.'
　　I turned to the automobile. 'Will you identify me, Mrs Drassilis?'
　　She was regarding me with wide-open eyes.
　　'What on earth are you doing down here? I have been tryingeverywhere to find you, but nobody--'
　　Mrs Ford interrupted her. She gave me the impression of being awoman who wanted a good deal of the conversation, and who did notcare how she got it. In a conversational sense she thugged MrsDrassilis at this point, or rather she swept over her like sometidal wave, blotting her out.
　　'Oh,' she said fixing her brown eyes, less scornful now but stillimperious, on mine. 'I must apologize. I have made a mistake. Itook you for a low villain of the name of Sam Fisher. I hope youwill forgive me. I was to have met him at this exact spot justabout this time, by appointment, so, seeing you here, I mistookyou for him.'
　　'If I might have a word with you alone?' I said.
　　Mrs Ford had a short way with people. In matters concerning herown wishes, she took their acquiescence for granted.
　　'Drive on up to the house, Jarvis,' she said, and Mrs Drassiliswas whirled away round the curve of the drive before she knew whathad happened to her.
　　'Well?'
　　'My name is Burns,' I said.
　　'Now I understand,' she said. 'I know who you are now.' Shepaused, and I was expecting her to fawn upon me for my gallantservice in her cause, when she resumed in quite a differentstrain.
　　'I can't think what you can have been about, Mr Burns, not to havebeen able to do what Cynthia asked you. Surely in all these weeksand months.... And then, after all, to have let this Fisherscoundrel steal him away from under your nose...!'
　　She gave me a fleeting glance of unfathomable scorn. And when Ithought of all the sufferings I had gone through that term owingto her repulsive son and, indirectly, for her sake, I felt thatthe time had come to speak out.
　　'May I describe the way in which I allowed your son to be stolenaway from under my nose?' I said. And in well-chosen words, Isketched the outline of what had happened. I did not omit to laystress on the fact that the Nugget's departure with the enemy wasentirely voluntary.
　　She heard me out in silence.
　　'That was too bad of Oggie,' she said tolerantly, when I hadceased dramatically on the climax of my tale.
　　As a comment it seemed to me inadequate.
　　'Oggie was always high-spirited,' she went on. 'No doubt you havenoticed that?'
　　'A little.'
　　'He could be led, but never driven. With the best intentions, nodoubt, you refused to allow him to leave the stables that nightand return to the house, and he resented the check and took thematter into his own hands.' She broke off and looked at her watch.
　　'Have you a watch? What time is it? Only that? I thought it mustbe later. I arrived too soon. I got a letter from this man Fisher,naming this spot and this hour for a meeting, when we coulddiscuss terms. He said that he had written to Mr Ford, appointingthe same time.' She frowned. 'I have no doubt he will come,' shesaid coldly.
　　'Perhaps this is his car,' I said.
　　A second automobile was whirring up the drive. There was a shoutas it came within sight of us, and the chauffeur put on the brake.
　　A man sprang from the tonneau. He jerked a word to the chauffeur,and the car went on up the drive.
　　He was a massively built man of middle age, with powerful shoulders,and a face--when he had removed his motor-goggles very like any oneof half a dozen of those Roman emperors whose features have comedown to us on coins and statues, square-jawed, clean-shaven, andaggressive. Like his late wife (who was now standing, drawn up toher full height, staring haughtily at him) he had the air of oneborn to command. I should imagine that the married life of thesetwo must have been something more of a battle even than most marriedlives. The clashing of those wills must have smacked of a collisionbetween the immovable mass and the irresistible force.
　　He met Mrs Ford's stare with one equally militant, then turned tome.
　　'I'll give you double what she has offered you,' he said. Hepaused, and eyed me with loathing. 'You damned scoundrel,' headded.
　　Custom ought to have rendered me immune to irritation, but it hadnot. I spoke my mind.
　　'One of these days, Mr Ford,' I said, 'I am going to publish adirectory of the names and addresses of the people who havemistaken me for Smooth Sam Fisher. I am not Sam Fisher. Can yougrasp that? My name is Peter Burns, and for the past term I havebeen a master at this school. And I may say that, judging fromwhat I know of the little brute, any one who kidnapped your son aslong as two days ago will be so anxious by now to get rid of himthat he will probably want to pay you for taking him back.'
　　My words almost had the effect of bringing this divorced coupletogether again. They made common cause against me. It was probablythe first time in years that they had formed even a temporaryalliance.
　　'How dare you talk like that!' said Mrs Ford. 'Oggie is a sweetboy in every respect.'
　　'You're perfectly right, Nesta,' said Mr Ford. 'He may wantintelligent handling, but he's a mighty fine boy. I shall makeinquiries, and if this man has been ill-treating Ogden, I shallcomplain to Mr Abney. Where the devil is this man Fisher?' hebroke off abruptly.
　　'On the spot,' said an affable voice. The bushes behind me parted,and Smooth Sam stepped out on to the gravel.
　　I had recognized him by his voice. I certainly should not havedone so by his appearance. He had taken the precaution of 'makingup' for this important meeting. A white wig of indescribablerespectability peeped out beneath his black hat. His eyes twinkledfrom under two penthouses of white eyebrows. A white moustachecovered his mouth. He was venerable to a degree.
　　He nodded to me, and bared his white head gallantly to Mrs Ford.
　　'No worse for our little outing, Mr Burns, I am glad to see. MrsFord, I must apologize for my apparent unpunctuality, but I wasnot really behind time. I have been waiting in the bushes. Ithought it just possible that you might have brought unwelcomemembers of the police force with you, and I have been scouting, asit were, before making my advance. I see, however, that all iswell, and we can come at once to business. May I say, before webegin, that I overheard your recent conversation, and that Ientirely disagree with Mr Burns. Master Ford is a charming boy.
　　Already I feel like an elder brother to him. I am loath to partwith him.'
　　'How much?' snapped Mr Ford. 'You've got me. How much do youwant?'
　　'I'll give you double what he offers,' cried Mrs Ford.
　　Sam held up his hand, his old pontifical manner intensified by thewhite wig.
　　'May I speak? Thank you. This is a little embarrassing. When Iasked you both to meet me here, it was not for the purpose ofholding an auction. I had a straight-forward business propositionto make to you. It will necessitate a certain amount of plain andsomewhat personal speaking. May I proceed? Thank you. I will be asbrief as possible.'
　　His eloquence appeared to have had a soothing effect on the twoFords. They remained silent.
　　'You must understand,' said Sam, 'that I am speaking as an expert.
　　I have been in the kidnapping business many years, and I know whatI am talking about. And I tell you that the moment you two gotyour divorce, you said good-bye to all peace and quiet. Blessyou'--Sam's manner became fatherly--'I've seen it a hundredtimes. Couple get divorced, and, if there's a child, what happens?
　　They start in playing battledore-and-shuttlecock with him. Wifesneaks him from husband. Husband sneaks him back from wife. Aftera while along comes a gentleman in my line of business, aprofessional at the game, and he puts one across on both theamateurs. He takes advantage of the confusion, slips in, and getsaway with the kid. That's what has happened here, and I'm going toshow you the way to stop it another time. Now I'll make you aproposition. What you want to do'--I have never heard anything sosoothing, so suggestive of the old family friend healing anunfortunate breach, as Sam's voice at this juncture--'what youwant to do is to get together again right quick. Never mind thepast. Let bygones be bygones. Kiss and be friends.'
　　A snort from Mr Ford checked him for a moment, but he resumed.
　　'I guess there were faults on both sides. Get together and talk itover. And when you've agreed to call the fight off and start fairagain, that's where I come in. Mr Burns here will tell you, if youask him, that I'm anxious to quit this business and marry andsettle down. Well, see here. What you want to do is to give me asalary--we can talk figures later on--to stay by you and watchover the kid. Don't snort--I'm talking plain sense. You'd a sightbetter have me with you than against you. Set a thief to catch athief. What I don't know about the fine points of the game isn'tworth knowing. I'll guarantee, if you put me in charge, to seethat nobody comes within a hundred miles of the kid unless he hasan order-to-view. You'll find I earn every penny of that salary ...
　　Mr Burns and I will now take a turn up the drive while you thinkit over.'
　　He linked his arm in mine and drew me away. As we turned thecorner of the drive I caught a glimpse over my shoulder of theLittle Nugget's parents. They were standing where we had leftthem, as if Sam's eloquence had rooted them to the spot.
　　'Well, well, well, young man,' said Sam, eyeing me affectionately,'it's pleasant to meet you again, under happier conditions thanlast time. You certainly have all the luck, sonny, or you wouldhave been badly hurt that night. I was getting scared how thething would end. Buck's a plain roughneck, and his gang are as badas he is, and they had got mighty sore at you, mighty sore. Ifthey had grabbed you, there's no knowing what might not havehappened. However, all's well that ends well, and this little gamehas surely had the happy ending. I shall get that job, sonny. Oldman Ford isn't a fool, and it won't take him long, when he gets tothinking it over, to see that I'm right. He'll hire me.'
　　'Aren't you rather reckoning without your partner?' I said. 'Wheredoes Buck MacGinnis come in on the deal?'
　　Sam patted my shoulder paternally.
　　'He doesn't, sonny, he doesn't. It was a shame to do it--it waslike taking candy from a kid--but business is business, and I wasreluctantly compelled to double-cross poor old Buck. I sneaked theNugget away from him next day. It's not worth talking about; itwas too easy. Buck's all right in a rough-and-tumble, but when itcomes to brains he gets left, and so he'll go on through life,poor fellow. I hate to think of it.'
　　He sighed. Buck's misfortunes seemed to move him deeply.
　　'I shouldn't be surprised if he gave up the profession after this.
　　He has had enough to discourage him. I told you about whathappened to him that night, didn't I? No? I thought I did. Why,Buck was the guy who did the Steve Brodie through the roof; and,when we picked him up, we found he'd broken his leg again! Isn'tthat enough to jar a man? I guess he'll retire from the businessafter that. He isn't intended for it.'
　　We were approaching the two automobiles now, and, looking back, Isaw Mr and Mrs Ford walking up the drive. Sam followed my gaze,and I heard him chuckle.
　　'It's all right,' he said. 'They've fixed it up. Something in theway they're walking tells me they've fixed it up.'
　　Mrs Drassilis was still sitting in the red automobile, lookingpiqued but resigned. Mrs Ford addressed her.
　　'I shall have to leave you, Mrs Drassilis,' she said. 'Tell Jarvisto drive you wherever you want to go. I am going with my husbandto see my boy Oggie.'
　　She stretched out a hand towards the millionaire. He caught it inhis, and they stood there, smiling foolishly at each other, whileSam, almost purring, brooded over them like a stout fairy queen.
　　The two chauffeurs looked on woodenly.
　　Mr Ford released his wife's hand and turned to Sam.
　　'Fisher.'
　　'Sir?'
　　'I've been considering your proposition. There's a string tied toit.'
　　'Oh no, sir, I assure you!'
　　'There is. What guarantee have I that you won't double-cross me?'
　　Sam smiled, relieved.
　　'You forget that I told you I was about to be married, sir. Mywife won't let me!'
　　Mr Ford waved his hand towards the automobile.
　　'Jump in,' he said briefly, 'and tell him where to drive to.
　　You're engaged!'
Part 2 Chapter 18
    'No manners!' said Mrs Drassilis. 'None whatever. I always saidso.'
　　She spoke bitterly. She was following the automobile with anoffended eye as it moved down the drive.
　　The car rounded the corner. Sam turned and waved a farewell. Mrand Mrs Ford, seated close together in the tonneau, did not evenlook round.
　　Mrs Drassilis sniffed disgustedly.
　　'She's a friend of Cynthia's. Cynthia asked me to come down herewith her to see you. I came, to oblige her. And now, without aword of apology, she leaves me stranded. She has no mannerswhatever.'
　　I offered no defence of the absent one. The verdict more or lesssquared with my own opinion.
　　'Is Cynthia back in England?' I asked, to change the subject.
　　'The yacht got back yesterday. Peter, I have something of theutmost importance to speak to you about.' She glanced at Jarvisthe chauffeur, leaning back in his seat with the air, peculiar tochauffeurs in repose, of being stuffed. 'Walk down the drive withme.'
　　I helped her out of the car, and we set off in silence. There wasa suppressed excitement in my companion's manner which interestedme, and something furtive which brought back all my old dislike ofher. I could not imagine what she could have to say to me that hadbrought her all these miles.
　　'How _do_ you come to be down here?' she said. 'When Cynthiatold me you were here, I could hardly believe her. Why are you amaster at this school? I cannot understand it!'
　　'What did you want to see me about?' I asked.
　　She hesitated. It was always an effort for her to be direct. Now,apparently, the effort was too great. The next moment she hadrambled off on some tortuous bypath of her own, which, though itpresumably led in the end to her destination, was evidently a longway round.
　　'I have known you for so many years now, Peter, and I don't know ofanybody whose character I admire more. You are so generous--quixoticin fact. You are one of the few really unselfish men I have evermet. You are always thinking of other people. Whatever it cost you,I know you would not hesitate to give up anything if you felt thatit was for someone else's happiness. I do admire you so for it.
　　One meets so few young men nowadays who consider anybody exceptthemselves.'
　　She paused, either for breath or for fresh ideas, and I tookadvantage of the lull in the rain of bouquets to repeat myquestion.
　　'What _did_ you want to see me about?' I asked patiently.
　　'About Cynthia. She asked me to see you.'
　　'Oh!'
　　'You got a letter from her.'
　　'Yes.'
　　'Last night, when she came home, she told me about it, and showedme your answer. It was a beautiful letter, Peter. I'm sure I criedwhen I read it. And Cynthia did, I feel certain. Of course, to agirl of her character that letter was final. She is so loyal, dearchild.'
　　'I don't understand.'
　　As Sam would have said, she seemed to be speaking; words appearedto be fluttering from her; but her meaning was beyond me.
　　'Once she has given her promise, I am sure nothing would induceher to break it, whatever her private feelings. She is so loyal.
　　She has such character.'
　　'Would you mind being a little clearer?' I said sharply. 'I reallydon't understand what it is you are trying to tell me. What do youmean about loyalty and character? I don't understand.'
　　She was not to be hustled from her bypath. She had chosen herroute, and she meant to travel by it, ignoring short-cuts.
　　'To Cynthia, as I say, it was final. She simply could not see thatthe matter was not irrevocably settled. I thought it so fine ofher. But I am her mother, and it was my duty not to give in andaccept the situation as inevitable while there was anything Icould do for her happiness. I knew your chivalrous, unselfishnature, Peter. I could speak to you as Cynthia could not. I couldappeal to your generosity in a way impossible, of course, for her.
　　I could put the whole facts of the case clearly before you.'
　　I snatched at the words.
　　'I wish you would. What are they?'
　　She rambled off again.
　　'She has such a rigid sense of duty. There is no arguing with her.
　　I told her that, if you knew, you would not dream of standing inher way. You are so generous, such a true friend, that your onlythought would be for her. If her happiness depended on yourreleasing her from her promise, you would not think of yourself.
　　So in the end I took matters into my own hands and came to seeyou. I am truly sorry for you, dear Peter, but to me Cynthia'shappiness, of course, must come before everything. You dounderstand, don't you?'
　　Gradually, as she was speaking, I had begun to grasp hesitatinglyat her meaning, hesitatingly, because the first hint of it hadstirred me to such a whirl of hope that I feared to risk the shockof finding that, after all, I had been mistaken. If I wereright--and surely she could mean nothing else--I was free, freewith honour. But I could not live on hints. I must hear this thingin words.
　　'Has--has Cynthia--' I stopped, to steady my voice. 'Has Cynthiafound--' I stopped again. I was finding it absurdly difficult toframe my sentence. 'Is there someone else?' I concluded with arush.
　　Mrs Drassilis patted my arm sympathetically.
　　'Be brave, Peter!'
　　'There is?'
　　'Yes.'
　　The trees, the drive, the turf, the sky, the birds, the house, theautomobile, and Jarvis, the stuffed chauffeur, leaped together foran instant in one whirling, dancing mass of which I was thecentre. And then, out of the chaos, as it separated itself oncemore into its component parts, I heard my voice saying, 'Tell me.'
　　The world was itself again, and I was listening quietly and with amild interest which, try as I would, I could not make anystronger. I had exhausted my emotion on the essential fact: thedetails were an anticlimax.
　　'I liked him directly I saw him,' said Mrs Drassilis. 'And, ofcourse, as he was such a friend of yours, we naturally--'
　　'A friend of mine?'
　　'I am speaking of Lord Mountry.'
　　'Mountry? What about him?' Light flooded in on my numbed brain.
　　'You don't mean--Is it Lord Mountry?'
　　My manner must have misled her. She stammered in her eagerness todispel what she took to be my misapprehension.
　　'Don't think that he acted in anything but the most honourablemanner. Nothing could be farther from the truth. He knew nothingof Cynthia's engagement to you. She told him when he asked her tomarry him, and he--as a matter of fact, it was he who insisted ondear Cynthia writing that letter to you.'
　　She stopped, apparently staggered by this excursion into honesty.
　　'Well?'
　　'In fact, he dictated it.'
　　'Oh!'
　　'Unfortunately, it was quite the wrong sort of letter. It was thevery opposite of clear. It can have given you no inkling of thereal state of affairs.'
　　'It certainly did not.'
　　'He would not allow her to alter it in any way. He is veryobstinate at times, like so many shy men. And when your answercame, you see, things were worse than before.'
　　'I suppose so.'
　　'I could see last night how unhappy they both were. And whenCynthia suggested it, I agreed at once to come to you and tell youeverything.'
　　She looked at me anxiously. From her point of view, this was theclimax, the supreme moment. She hesitated. I seemed to see hermarshalling her forces, the telling sentences, the persuasiveadjectives; rallying them together for the grand assault.
　　But through the trees I caught a glimpse of Audrey, walking on thelawn; and the assault was never made.
　　'I will write to Cynthia tonight,' I said, 'wishing herhappiness.'
　　'Oh, Peter!' said Mrs Drassilis.
　　'Don't mention it,' said I.
　　Doubts appeared to mar her perfect contentment.
　　'You are sure you can convince her?'
　　'Convince her?'
　　'And--er--Lord Mountry. He is so determined not to do anything--er--what he would call unsportsmanlike.'
　　'Perhaps I had better tell her I am going to marry some one else,'
　　I suggested.
　　'I think that would be an excellent idea,' she said, brighteningvisibly. 'How clever of you to have thought of it.'
　　She permitted herself a truism.
　　'After all, dear Peter, there are plenty of nice girls in theworld. You have only to look for them.'
　　'You're perfectly right,' I said. 'I'll start at once.'
　　A gleam of white caught my eye through the trees by the lawn. Imoved towards it.