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, andpossibly--ah--somewhat startled, to learn the peculiar nature ofWhite's position at Sanstead House. You have no objection to myinforming Mrs Sheridan, White, in consideration of the fact that youwill be working together in this matter? Just so. White is a detectivein the employment of Pinkerton's Agency. Mr Ford'--a slight frownappeared on his lofty brow--'Mr Ford obtained his present situationfor him in order that he might protect his son in the eventof--ah--in fact, any attempt to 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.