CHAPTER XIV_Sir Richard's grandson

IN QUEST OF AMMUNITION

THE Gidleys had always been keen sportsmen; and the present owner

of the Manor House had been noted, in former years, as one of the

best shots in the county. There were fire-arms of all sorts

decorating the walls of the hall, hanging side by side with swords

of a bygone date, which Lionel had been strictly commanded never

to touch; he had never done so, though he had often cast longing eyes

upon them; consequently, he had been delighted at the finding of the

old blunderbuss, and additionally pleased when his grandfather had

not forbidden its being used as a plaything.

The boy was extremely thoughtful and quiet on the morning after Sir

Richard's unexpected interruption of the game in the disused room,

so that Ruth, who understood her brother's ways perfectly, knew there

was something weighing upon his mind. She was devoured with curiosity

to find out what it was, but at the same time, she was quite aware

it would be useless to question him. However, she kept a watchful eye

on him during the morning, greatly to his annoyance; but she could

not follow him about all day, especially as her mother invited her

to drive to a neighbouring town, to do some shopping in the

afternoon—a pleasure which she could not refuse. At the last

moment, when the carriage was at the door, Sir Richard decided

to accompany them, so Lionel was left to his own devices.

His first act on being alone was to repair to the study. It was a

dingy room with heavy mahogany furniture, upholstered in a dull shade

of green; the walls were lined with book-cases containing old

volumes, mostly covered in leather; no one ever read them, for Sir

Richard was not of a studious disposition. A writing-table occupied a

prominent position in front of the window. On this table a few rusty

pens, a sheet of blotting paper almost unsoiled, and a handful of

bills were scattered, whilst the ink in the inkstand—fashioned

in the shape of a fox's head in bronze—had become clotted.

From the writing-table Lionel's eyes travelled to an old oak bureau,

placed across one corner of the room; he tried the drawers, but much

to his disappointment, found them all locked.

"Bother!" he exclaimed aloud, irritably; "what shall I do now? It's

just possible grandfather may have some powder and shot in one of

these drawers. I wish I knew where he keeps his keys!"

Lionel was perfectly aware he had no right to pry into any place

which was locked nevertheless, when his roving glance caught sight

of a bunch of keys on the mantel-piece, he seized them at once, and

tried if he could find one to fit the lock of the top drawer of the

bureau. Some were too large, others were too small, but at length

he found one that fitted the lock exactly, and in another moment

the drawer was open. He was disappointed with its contents, which

comprised a tangle of fishing lines, a book containing hooks and

flies, a few floats, and a ball of whip-cord. The key fitted all the

drawers, so he opened them in succession; but it was not until he

came to the last that his hopes of finding what he was searching for

went up with a bound.

"At last!" he exclaimed exultantly.

The drawer was full of ammunition. There were boxes of cartridges;

but those Lionel turned aside, whilst his eager fingers grasped a

flask, which proved on examination to contain gunpowder. On searching

a little further, at the back of the drawer, he discovered a bag full

of shot. This was a find indeed! He had taken possession of these

treasures, and was about to shut and lock the drawer, when some one,

who had quietly entered the room unnoticed by him, touched him on the

shoulder. He started violently, and could not repress a slight

shriek.

"What are you doing here, Master Lionel?" asked a well-known voice,

in tones of mingled astonishment and reproof.

"Nothing!" he answered shortly, relieved to find that it was Susan

Morecombe, and not his grandfather, who had come upon him unawares.

"Nothing!" the woman repeated, her eyes resting upon the bag of shot

and flask of gunpowder which Lionel still grasped. "Oh, Master

Lionel, how can you tell me such a big story as that!"

"I mean I'm doing nothing wrong," he amended, flushing hotly.

"I—I—the truth is, I want a little ammunition to fire off my toy

cannon—it's like a real cannon, you know, but only a few inches

long—and I thought grandfather would not mind if I took some?"

"Have you Sir Richard's permission to help yourself," she asked,

looking at him sharply.

"Well—no!" he admitted with reluctance.

"Then you must put back that bag and flask, sir. You must, indeed!

I cannot allow you to take them. Do you mean to say you helped

yourself to Sir Richard's keys and searched these drawers? Oh, how

could you do it? What would Sir Richard say if he knew—or your

mother?"

With a sigh, for he realised all his trouble had been in vain, Lionel

replaced the articles he had taken from the drawer, and shut it,

turning the key in the lock. He looked sullen, and though his face

was crimson, it was more with anger at having been foiled than from

any sense of shame.

"Are you going to sneak on me, Susan?" he asked, thinking he had

better ascertain her intentions upon that point.

The woman hesitated. She had no desire to get the boy into trouble;

but at the same time she was indignant at his dishonourable conduct,

and doubted his tale about the toy cannon.

"It is a serious matter to take keys belonging to another, and open

locked drawers," she said gravely, "and I believe it is my duty

to inform Sir Richard."

"Oh, Susan!" Lionel cried earnestly, thoroughly alarmed. "Don't tell

him! He'll be so awfully angry!"

"You should have thought of that before, Master Lionel," she reminded

him.

"I know I should! Oh, please don't tell him! Think what a fearful row

you will get me into!"

"I want to do what is right," Susan said, her kind face full of

distress. "I cannot imagine, Master Lionel, how you could have come

here and pried into those locked drawers! Then you were going to take

away that flask of gunpowder and bag of shot without asking leave!

You knew well enough Sir Richard would have refused them to you!

You have behaved very badly!"

Lionel was silent, thinking what the consequences would be if Susan

betrayed him. He did not fear his mother's anger—that he could face

unabashed—but he did fear his grandfather's.

"I believe it is my duty to inform Sir Richard," Susan said again.

"Oh, don't tell him, please don't!" Lionel pleaded.

"Tell mother if you like, but not grandfather, won't it do if you

tell mother?"

Susan considered the matter, and finally decided that if she told

Mrs. Compton she would relieve herself from all sense

of responsibility.

"Very well, Master Lionel," she said. "I will tell your mother what

you've been up to this afternoon, and she can do as she pleases about

informing your grandfather of your conduct."

Lionel heaved a sigh of deep relief, and thanked her, feeling for the

moment quite grateful. She gave him a well-meant lecture, pointing

out to him in what a dishonourable way he had behaved; but though he

thought it wise to listen to all she had to say, he was not in the

least impressed. Susan watched him replace the bunch of keys on the

mantel-piece, then she followed him from the room.

He took his hat and went out of the front door, raging against Susan

Morecombe in his heart for having balked his plans; his sense of

gratitude to her was lost in the thought that, but for her, he would

have had the ammunition he wanted.

Through the gardens he went into the grounds beyond; but instead of

following the carriage drive to across the park to the sloping woods

which spread to the hill above the village of Holton. It was cool and

pleasant beneath the shade of the trees and Lionel was hot with anger

against Susan. He sat down on a large moss-covered stone under the

spreading branches of a big oak, and thought how foolish he had been

not to lock the study door against intruders. A bright-eyed squirrel

on a bough overhead peeped down at him inquisitively; and a rabbit,

at a little distance, seated on its haunches, solemnly washed its

face with its forepaws regardless of his presence.

He had been there some time when he heard footsteps approaching; some

one was pushing his way through the bracken and undergrowth—a lanky

youth of about eighteen, clad in fustian, with a greasy cap upon his

unkempt head. He was closely followed by a dog—a lean,

hungry-looking animal of the lurcher breed. Lionel recognised the

slouching, ungainly figure as that of Bill Coysh, who was regarded in

Holton as a ne'er-do-weel, because he apparently never did anything

for a living. It was popularly supposed that he was a poacher, and

all the gamekeepers in the neighbourhood looked upon him with great

suspicion, though no direct charge had ever been brought against him.

Now, when he came upon Lionel perched upon the stone, he paused

irresolutely, glancing back to see that the dog was at his heels.

"Hulloa!" cried Lionel. "What are you doing here?"

"No harm, sir!" was the quick reply, whilst the lanky individual

touched his cap, and looked sideways at his interrogator.

"If a gamekeeper saw you, he might think you were doing a bit

of poaching, especially as you've got that dog with you!" Lionel told

him.

"What, sir? Poaching? And because I've got Spring with me? Bless you,

sir, Spring wouldn't look at a rabbit if one passed in front of his

nose!"

This was such an evident piece of bounce, that Lionel burst into a

loud laugh. Bill Coysh's wide mouth was distorted into a grin; and he

met the other's glance with a broad wink.

"I say," said Lionel, his face brightening as a sudden thought

crossed his mind, "have you got a gun?"

"Maybe," was the cautious response, "but what's that to you, sir?

I an't shot anything belonging to you, have I?"

"No, no! I daresay you've had some of my grandfather's game, though!

Oh, it doesn't matter to me if you have or not! What I want to know

is whether your gun is a breech-loader or a muzzle-loader?"

Bill Coysh looked extremely surprised at this question. He opened

his eyes and his mouth too, but he made no reply.

"Because if it's a breech-loader, of course you fire it with

cartridges," Lionel proceeded; "but if it's a muzzle-loader I thought

you might possibly keep a stock of powder and shot, and I wondered if

you'd feel inclined to sell me some!"

A crafty expression crossed Bill Coysh's face upon hearing this, and

a particularly shrewd gleam came into the small gray eyes, which, set

near together, close to his nose, were not pleasant to look into.

"My gun's a breech-loader," he said slowly.

"Oh, what a pity!" exclaimed Lionel in much disappointment,

his countenance falling perceptibly.

"But that's not to say I don't keep a small stock o' powder and

shot," the other continued. "What's to prevent my filling my

cartridges myself, eh? I might be able to supply them as is ready

to pay for what they require!" —and the lanky youth grinned broadly

again.

"Oh, of course I will pay you if you will supply me with some

ammunition!" Lionel cried eagerly.

"What do you want it for?" Bill Coysh questioned. "I can't let you

get me into trouble, you know!"

"Oh, no, no! I wouldn't do that for the world! If you'll let me have

what I want no one shall ever know where I got it! I promise that

faithfully! Besides, I'm not going to do any harm! I want the powder

and shot to fire off a gun, and if you'll sell me some I'll pay you

well. Look here!" —and Lionel drew half-a-crown from his pocket.

Bill Coysh looked at the coin, then he shook his head decidedly.

"Half-a-crown's not enough!" he declared contemptuously, "but if you

care to fork out five shillings, I'll bring you enough powder and

shot to fire off your gun half-a-dozen times or more!"

"That will do capitally!" said Lionel, whilst his companion regretted

he had not asked for a larger sum. "Can you meet me here with the

ammunition this evening, about seven o'clock?"

"Money to be paid in advance, sir?"

"No!" Lionel replied, after a moment's consideration, during which he

reflected that that would not be wisdom on his part, seeing he had no

guarantee for his companion's good faith; "no—half-a-crown now, and

the rest when we meet this evening!"

"Very well," Bill Coysh agreed, accepting the proferred coin. "You're

a sharp un, you are! I suppose you think I might run word, but I

won't! I'll play fair, sir!"

"See you do!" Lionel retorted good-humouredly.

"And you'll never let on where you got the powder and shot?" the