A NIGHT ALARM.
It was the loveliest autumn I had ever remembered. Clear, soft, balmy;
the foliage glowing with its ruddy tints, the sky blue and beautiful.
There would be a fire in the grate of the oak-parlour, and the window
thrown open to the lawn and the scent of the sweet flowers. One
afternoon I sat there, a bit of work in my hand, the sprays of
jessamine nearly touching me, and the far-off pine-walk looking almost
as bright as though no ghost had the reputation of haunting it. Mr.
Chandos sat at the table writing. Out of doors or in, we were very much
together, and my heart was at rest. I'm afraid I had taken to think
that the heaven of hereafter could not be more blissful than this that
I seemed to be living in now.
His foot was weak again. Not to disable him from getting about; only to
deter him from walking more than was absolutely necessary. It was all
his own fault; as Mr. Dickenson, the surgeon, told him; he had
persisted in using the ankle too much before it was quite strong.
Lady Chandos kept her rooms still; report said her bed; and the
impression in the house was that she lay in danger. The discovery of
the petty pilferer, or pilferers, appeared to be as far-off as ever:
but one or two strange things connected with the subject were about to
occur.
"Will you put these on the hall-table for me, Anne?"
I turned to take the letters from him. When he did not let me save his
foot in these little things, it made me cross, and I told him so. One
of the letters was addressed to his sister.
"You have been writing to Madame de Mellissie, Mr. Chandos!"
"Yes. We heard from her this morning. She expects to be here in a day
or two. Stay! I think I will show my mother what I have said. You shall
put only the other one on the table."
The news fell on my heart like a shaft of ice. Chandos had become all
too dear.
The other letter was to Mr. Haines; I remembered the name as that of an
agent who had taken the house by the lodge-gates for Mr. Edwin Barley.
It was sealed with the Chandos coat of arms in black wax. I had never
seen Mr. Chandos use red. Lizzy Dene was passing through the hall as I
laid the letter down. I observed that she looked at me; seemed to look
at what I was doing; and Mrs. Penn and Hill were speaking on the
stairs, nearly beyond view; whether they saw me or not, I could not
say.
"Thank you," said Mr. Chandos, when I went in again. "What should I do
without you to fetch and carry? I want that book now."
It lay on the side-table; a dreadfully dry scientific work. He locked
his desk and took the book from me.
"You must put down your slavery to my stupid foot. When you get
disabled, Anne, I'll do as much for you."
"You know the fault is yours, Mr. Chandos. Had you only been a little
patient when the foot was getting better, it would have been strong
before now. As to the slavery——"
"Well? What as to the slavery? Are you going to strike?"
I had been about to say that I _liked_ the slavery, but stopped in
time. The colour of embarrassment was coming into my cheek, and I
turned it off with a light laugh and light words.
"I won't strike just yet. Not until Madame de Mellissie comes."
"Then suppose you lend me your shoulder?"
He could have walked quite well without it, as he knew and I knew; I
daresay if put to it he might have walked to the railway station. But
ah! the bliss of feeling his hand on me! if it were only half as great
to him he had kept his ankle sick for ever!
"As to Emily, with her proverbial uncertainty, she is just as likely to
be here in two months as in two days, Anne."
_I_ took up my work again; a pretty bag I was embroidering in grey and
black silk for Lady Chandos. He sat on the other side the window,
reading his book and talking to me between whiles. All things seemed
full of rest and peace and love; a very paradise.
Soon—I daresay it was an hour, but time passed so swiftly—we heard
footsteps come along the broad walk to the portico. I looked out to see
whose they were.
"It is Mr. Dexter," I said to Mr. Chandos.
"Dexter! The very man I wanted to see. Now you need not go away," he
added, as I began to gather up my work, "we are not about to talk
treason. Don't you know, Anne, that I like to have you with me while I
may."
He must have been thinking of the approaching separation that the event
of Emily would bring about. But I had to get some more silk, and went
to fetch it, staying in my room some minutes. When I got back they were
both seated at the table, some papers before them. I turned to the
window, and went on with my work.
The conversation appeared to be of little moment; of none to me! it was
of leases, rents, repairs, and other matters connected with the estate.
Presently Mr. Dexter mentioned that he had received a letter from
Haines.
"Have you?" said Mr. Chandos. "I wrote to him this afternoon. What does
he say?"
Mr. Dexter took a letter from his pocket-book, and put it into his
master's hand, who ran his eyes over it.
"My letter will be useless, then, and I must write another," he
observed when he had finished. "I'll get it, and show you what I said.
It will save explanation."
"Let me get it for you, Mr. Chandos," I interposed, anxious to save
him. And without waiting for permission I left the room. But the letter
was not on the table.
"It is not there, Mr. Chandos; it is gone."
"It cannot be gone," he said, taking out his watch. "It is only four
o'clock. Emily's letter is not put there yet."
Hickens was called. Hickens, in a marvel of consternation—at being
asked what he had done with the letter—protested he had not seen it; he
had not been in the hall that afternoon.
We all went out; it seemed so strange a thing; and I showed Mr. Chandos
where I had laid the letter. It had not slipped down; it could not be
seen anywhere. Mr. Chandos looked at me: he was evidently thinking that
the spy was again at work.
"Was any one in the hall when you put the letter here, Miss Hereford?"
"Lizzy Dene was passing through it. And Mrs. Penn and Hill were
standing on the stairs."
"They would not touch it," said Mr. Chandos, just as Lizzy Dene,
hearing the commotion, looked from the door of the large dining-room.
It was her place to keep the room in order, and she seemed to choose
odd times to do it in. Mr. Chandos questioned her, but she said she had
not touched the letter; had not in fact noticed it.
At this juncture Mrs. Chandos came down the stairs, dressed for going
out, attended by Mrs. Penn. She inquired of Mr. Chandos what the matter
was.
"A letter has mysteriously disappeared from the hall, Ethel," he
replied.
"A letter disappeared! how strange!" she returned, in the rather vacant
manner that at times characterized her. "Was it of consequence?"
"In itself, no. But these curious losses are always of consequence in
another sense of the word. I beg your pardon, Mrs. Penn: did you
speak?"
For Mrs. Penn, who first stood back in her surprise, had advanced
behind him, and was saying something in a low tone.
"Mr. Chandos! reply upon it, the same hand that opened my letter has
taken this one. You ought not to leave a stone unturned to discover the
culprit. I speak in the interest of all."
Mr. Chandos nodded grave assent. He seemed to be in a hopeless puzzle.
I fully suspected Lizzy Dene; and I think she saw something of this in
my face.
"What should I do with a letter that was not mine?" she cried, her tone
resentful, and addressing no one in particular. "If Mr. Chandos offered
me a dozen of his letters to read, I'd rather be spared the trouble; I
am no great scholar. And what good would they do me?"
The argument seemed all conclusive; at least to Mr. Chandos. I
suspected the girl more and more.
"Well, Harry, I must leave you to your investigation, if I am to have a
walk this afternoon," concluded Mrs. Chandos.
She went out and turned down the broad walk. Lizzy resumed her work in
the dining-room, I and Mr. Dexter went back to the oak-parlour and
stood at the window: and then I became aware that Mrs. Penn had
lingered in the portico, talking with Mr. Chandos.
"Until recently I believed we had the most trustworthy set of servants
that it is possible for any family to have," he was saying. "What can
there be in my letters that should interest them?"
"Nay," said Mrs. Penn, "I think it is the greater wonder what there
should be in mine. I am a stranger to your servants: my affairs cannot
be supposed to concern any one of them."
"It is my habit to leave letters on the table every day. They have
never been touched or tampered with, so far as I know, until this
afternoon."
"You cannot be sure of that. But what shall you do in the matter now?"
"I don't know what to do; it is the sort of thing that causes me to
feel at a nonplus. Were I to have an officer in the house to watch, as
you suggest, it might prove useless."
"Have you a suspicion of any one in particular?" she abruptly asked.
And by this time Mr. Dexter had grown interested in the conversation,
and was listening as closely as I.
"Not the slightest. Neither can you have, I suppose."
Mrs. Penn was silent.
"Have you?" repeated he, thinking her manner peculiar.
"I would rather not answer the question, Mr. Chandos; because it would
inevitably be followed by another."
"Which is equivalent to admitting that your suspicions are directed to
some one in particular," he returned, with awakened interest. "Why
should you object to avow it?"
"Well, it is so," she replied. "I do think that all the
circumstances—taking one loss, one disagreeable event with another—do
tend to point suspicion to a certain quarter. But I may be wrong."
"To whom?" he asked.
"That is just the question that I knew would follow," returned Mrs.
Penn, "and I must decline to answer it. No, Mr. Chandos; you possess
the same facilities for observing and judging that I do: in fact,
greater ones: and if you cannot draw your own deductions, I certainly
will not help you to them. I might be wrong, you know."
"You must allude to an inmate of Chandos?"
"I should deem it impossible that any but an inmate of Chandos could
play these tricks. Where would be the opportunity?"
"Mrs. Penn, if you possess any clue; nay, if you think you have any
well-founded cause of suspicion, you ought to impart it to me," he
gravely said.
"Were I _sure_ that my suspicions were correct, I would do so; but, as
I say, they may be mistaken. Forgive me, if I hint that perhaps your
own eyes are shut closer than they need be."
She hastened away, leaving the impression of her mysterious words
behind. I wondered very much if she alluded to Lizzy Dene.
That same evening I had an opportunity of asking her. Mr. Chandos went
to the west wing after dinner, I sat near the lights, working at my
bag, when Mrs. Penn came into the oak-parlour, not having troubled
herself to knock for admittance.
"It's fine to be you, Anne Hereford," she said, putting herself into
Mr. Chandos's chair by the fire. "I wish I had this room to sit in."
"Are the rooms upstairs not comfortable?"
"I don't know about comfort: they are wretchedly dull. I'd as soon be
cooped up in a prison. Not a soul to speak to from morning to night,
but Mrs. Chandos. Here you have Mr. Chandos; full state and ceremony;
and the chance of seeing all the visitors."
"All the visitors consist of a doctor now and then, and Mr. Dexter once
a week, or so," I said, laughing.
"A doctor and an agent are better than nobody. I suppose," she added,
after a pause, "they are all assembled in party conclave in the west
wing; Mr. Chandos, Mrs. Chandos, and my lady."
"I wish Lady Chandos was better," I remarked.
Mrs. Penn turned round eagerly, her eye lighting with excitement.
"I _wish_ I knew what it is that's the matter with her! I wish I knew!
Do you never gather a hint of it from Mr. Chandos?"
"Never. But why should you be so desirous to learn? What is it to you,
Mrs. Penn?"
"I have my reasons," she replied, nodding her head. "I won't tell them
to you this evening, but I have not made a vow that I never will. If
she is insane, as I suspect, why then—but I'll say no more now. What a
strange thing it is about that letter!"
"Very. You are suspecting some one in particular?"
"Well?" she answered, sharply, turning her face to me.
"Is it Lizzy Dene?"
"Who it is, or who it is not, is nothing to you," she rejoined, in the
crossest tone I ever heard. "I know this: I would give the worth of a
dozen letters ten times over to bring the mystery to light. They may be
suspecting you and me next."
"Mrs. Penn!"
"Yes, Mrs. Penn!" she retorted, in a mocking tone. "We are the only
strangers in the house, Anne Hereford."
As if my words had angered her past redemption, she quitted the room
abruptly. Very soon Mr. Chandos returned to it, and the tea came in. He
began talking of the lost letter—of the unpleasantness altogether.
Should I tell him of my doubt? The old proverb runs, that if a woman
deliberates she is lost: it proved so in my case, and I mentioned Lizzy
Dene.
"Lizzy Dene!" repeated Mr. Chandos, in great surprise. "_Lizzy Dene!_"
"But indeed it is a doubt more than a suspicion; and it arises chiefly
from my having found her in my room that night," I eagerly added,
feeling half afraid of what I had done, and determined not to hint at
her supposed alliance with Mr. Edwin Barley.
"Rely upon it, you are wrong, Anne," Mr. Chandos decided, without any
pause. "Lizzy Dene would be the very last woman to act in a treacherous
manner to our family. She may be foolishly superstitious, but she is
honest as the day. I'll answer for _her_."
How could I say more?—unless my grounds against Lizzy Dene had been
surer. Joseph took away the tea-things, and Mr. Chandos went to his own
sitting-room. I stood at the little table in the corner of the room
nearest the window, putting my workbox to rights. Some of its reels
were on the window-ledge, and I moved to get them.
I don't know why I should have done it; unthinkingly, I believe; but I
drew aside the muslin curtain to look out on the lovely night, and
found my face in contact (save for the glass that was between us) with
that of another face, peering in. Terribly startled, I drew away with a
scream. Mr. Chandos came back at the moment, and I gave a frightened
word of explanation. Quick as lightning, he laid forcible hold of me,
put me in a chair in the sheltered corner close to the workbox, ordered
me to stay in it—_ordered_ me, and in the most peremptory manner—and
turned to the window to fling it up. One moment and he had leaped out:
but in his haste he broke a pane of glass.
I sat there, trembling and shaking; the window open, the curtain waving
gently in the night breeze—and the thought of that terrible face
without. Mr. Chandos looked stern and white when he returned—not
through the window—and blood was dripping from his hand.
"I can see no one: but I could not stay long, my hand bled so," he
said, snatching up his white handkerchief which lay on the table, and
winding it round the palm. "But now—Anne, do you think these can be
fancies of yours? This is the second time."
"I wish I could think so. I am _certain_ a man stood there, looking in.
He had not time to draw away. I just moved to the window from that
corner, so that he did not see me approaching."
"Whose face was it? That man's by the lodge-gates—Edwin Barley?"
My very fear. But I did not dare to say it. What I did say was the
strict truth—that it had all passed so momentarily, and I was so
startled, as to allow no chance of recognition.
"Can you find a piece of linen rag, Anne? I don't care to make a
commotion over this. I dare say I can do up my hand myself: I'm a bit
of a surgeon."
I ran upstairs to get some, and began turning over the contents of my
large trunk in search of it. In doing this, a small parcel, very small,
got into my hands, and I looked at it with some curiosity, not
remembering what it contained.
As I undid the paper two sovereigns fell into my hand. They were not
mine; I possessed none. As I looked and wondered, a strange thought
flashed through my mind: were they the two lost sovereigns marked by
Mr. Chandos?
There was no time to stay speculating; Mr. Chandos was waiting for the
rag. Finding it, I ran down.
"You ought to put your hand in warm water, Mr. Chandos. There may be
fragments of glass in it."
"I was thinking so," He said; when at that moment Hickens came in with
a letter. The man noticed the white handkerchief and its stains.
"You have met with an accident, sir."
"Ah," said Mr. Chandos, in a tone of raillery, as if making light of
the affair, "this comes, Hickens, of doing things in a hurry. You must
bring me a basin of warm water. I attempted to open the window, not
observing it was fastened, and my hand slipped through the glass. Close
the shutters. At once."
Hickens went to the window: I stood by Mr. Chandos with the linen rag.
"Presently," he nodded; "I must wait for the water. Open this for me,
will you, Anne?"
I unsealed the letter, and opened it. In handing it to him, my eyes
accidentally fell upon my own name.
"It is about me!" I exclaimed, in thoughtless impulse. Mr. Chandos ran
his eyes over the lines—there were but few—and a scowl contracted his
brow. He read them over again, and then folded the letter with his one
hand.
"Hickens, who brought this? When did it come?"
"It came but now, sir. A lad brought it to the back-door. I happened to
be standing there, and took it from him. 'For Mr. Chandos,' he said,
and turned away. I thought how quickly he made off."
"Should you know him again?"
"No, sir, I think not. I'm not sure, though."
"Well, bring the warm water."
"Is the letter from Madame de Mellissie?" I asked.
"I don't know who it is from," said Mr. Chandos. "It is anonymous."
"Anonymous! And about me!"
I stood looking at him. I connected this letter with the two sovereigns
I had just found: was any one at work to ruin me in the estimation of
Chandos House?
"Mr. Chandos, that is not a pleasant letter, is it?"
"Anonymous letters never are pleasant ones," he rejoined. "If I had my
way, the writers of such should all be shaken in a bag together and
sunk in the bottom of the sea. Do not let it trouble you; it defeats
its own ends."
"Will you allow me to read it?"
"It would give you no pleasure."
"But it might give me some light; and light is what I want just now; I
do indeed. Let me see it, Mr. Chandos! I request it as a favour."
"Very well. My showing it to you will prove the sort of estimation I
have for it."
Taking the letter from his unresisting hand, I opened it and laid it
before me. It ran as follows:—
"Mr. Chandos,—It is rumoured that you have some trouble in your house,
and are suspecting your servants. The probability is that they are
honest; they have been with you long enough to be proved. There are two
strangers under your roof: the companion to Mrs. Chandos, and the
younger lady, Miss Hereford. Please just reflect that all the
misfortunes have occurred since these ladies entered Chandos. In doing
this, perhaps you will find a way out of the wood. The suggestion is
offered by
"A Friend."
"This would implicate Mrs. Penn as well as myself!" I exclaimed.
"Yes," he said. "Forgetting that Mrs. Penn is a sufferer. Or perhaps
not knowing it."
The tears rose: I could not help it. "Then—do you doubt _me_, Mr.
Chandos?"
He touched my arm; and those grave eyes of his, half laughing then,
looked right into mine.
"Doubt you? So greatly that I am deliberating whether I shall not call
in the police again and give you in charge."
It was said in jest I knew, but at that moment it told upon me, and the
sobs were palpably near the surface. Hickens was heard approaching with
the basin of water.
"Oh, Anne, Anne! you are a very simple child."
"Will you see to your hand, sir?"
"Ay, it wants seeing to."
It was the palm that was cut; badly, I thought. Mr. Chandos seemed to
understand what to do, and dressed it himself with the butler's help, I
watching the process. When we were alone again, I took the little
parcel from my pocket, and gave it to Mr. Chandos.
"Will you please to open that, sir?"
"Two sovereigns," he cried, as he did so. "What of them?"
I told him all about it, where I found them. He held them close to the
light, and smiled.
"They are the sovereigns I lost out of my desk, Anne."
"Are you sure?"
"Sure? Here are the marks. See."
Standing close, I looked where he pointed. The marks were plain. I went
to my seat and sat down.
"And you found them in your trunk! Anne, who is your enemy in the
house?"
"I did not know I had one, sir. So far as I am aware I have not given
offence to any within it. I must quit it now."
"Oh, indeed! What else would you like to do?"
I could no longer keep my tears back; it was of no use trying, and they
ran over my checks. "It seems to me, Mr. Chandos, that I am no longer
safe in it."
"You are perfectly safe, Anne, for you possess in it a powerful
protector. One who will not suffer harm to reach you; who will be a
shield to you in every assault; who will guard annoyance from you so
far as shall be practicable."
I knew that he alluded to himself, and thanked him in my heart. But—so
far as was practicable! There it lay. If I really had a hidden enemy,
who might shield me? Mr. Edwin Barley it could not be; and I fell back
to the suspecting of Lizzy Dene.
Mr. Chandos began telling off the inmates on his fingers.
"There's my mother, Mrs. Chandos, myself, Hill, Hickens; for all these
I can answer. Then come the servants. For some of them I can equally
answer, Lizzy Dene being one; but I regard them all as honest and
trustworthy."
"Therefore the uncertain ones are only Mrs. Penn and myself."
"And Mrs. Penn is certainly exempted," he rejoined. "For she has been
meddled with in an equal degree with any of us."
"That leaves only me!"
"Just so; only you. But Anne," bending those earnest eyes upon me, "I
would answer for you with my _life_."
"If it is not Lizzy Dene that is my enemy, who else can it be?" I
exclaimed, foolishly speaking what was in my thoughts.
"Why should you think it to be Lizzy Dene more than any one else?" he
hastily cried, in a resenting sort of tone. "She can have no cause of
enmity against you."
There flashed across me that interview with Mr. Edwin Barley. If it was
Lizzy Dene who had held it, who was in league with him, no need to
search for a motive.
"That I have an enemy is indisputable. The letter you have just
received and these sovereigns prove it."
"Anne, Lizzy Dene could not have written such a letter as this."
That he was prejudiced in favour of Lizzy Dene, determined to admit
nothing against her, seemed evident; and I let the subject drop.
But now the strangest incident was to occur; an alarming incident; nay,
it might rather be called a scene. In the minute's silence that had
supervened, Mrs. Penn glided into the room without notice. The word
"glided" is not inapplicable; she came softly in, scarcely seeming to
move, her face scared, her voice sunk to a whisper.
"Mr. Chandos! Do you know that there are mounted police outside the
house?"
He rose from his seat, looking at her as if he thought she must be
dreaming.
"Mounted police!" he repeated.
"They are riding quietly up, three of them; I saw their sabres flash in
the starlight. I had gone to the library to get a book for Mrs.
Chandos; she having sent to Hill for the key; when I thought I heard a
noise as of horsemen, and opened the shutters to look out. Oh, Mr.
Chandos! what can they have come for? They once rode up to a house
where I was staying, in the same silent manner; it was to make
investigations in a charge of murder."
I had seen Mr. Chandos turn pale before; you have heard me say so; but
I never saw a tinge so livid in man or woman as that which overspread
his countenance now. He retained nevertheless his self-possession; ay,
and that quiet tone of command which somehow is rarely disobeyed.
"You will be so kind as return immediately to Mrs. Chandos," he calmly
said to Mrs. Penn. "_Close the doors of the east wing_ as soon as you
have entered, and keep her attention amused. She is excitable—as you by
this time probably know—and this visit must be kept from her
cognizance."
Allowing no time for answer or dissent, he took Mrs. Penn by the hand
somewhat peremptorily, and watched her go upstairs. Then he stole to
the hall-door and put up its bar without noise. As for me, I do not
know that I had ever in my whole life felt so sick and frightened. All
the past scene at Mr. Edwin Barley's, when the mounted police had come
there, recurred to me: and Mr. Chandos's manner completed the dread. I
put my hands on his arm; reticence was forgotten in the moment's
terror; as he stood listening in the middle of the oak-parlour.
"Tell me what it is! Tell me!"
"Oh, Anne, this is an awful blow," he said, in the deepest agitation,
as if he had never heard my words. "I joked about the police coming to
take you in charge, but——"
"Not for me! They cannot have come for me!" I reiterated foolishly, in
my confused alarm.
"Would to heaven they had come for you! I mean, would they had come for
one who could as readily be exonerated as you! Mercy! mercy! so the
blow has fallen at last!"
The words brought to my memory what Mrs. Penn had said, about a sword
hanging by a single hair over Mr. Chandos and his family. I don't think
he knew what he was about. He walked across the hall towards the
stairs, hesitated, and came back, listening evidently for the knocking
of the police; all in the deepest agitation and alarm.
"It may be well for me not to go!" he muttered. "Better that I should
be here to face them when they enter! Anne, run you and find Hill:
bring her hither quickly: but make no alarm."
I knew it was the hour of supper in the housekeeper's room, and ran to
it. Hill was seated at the head of the table, the upper-servants round
her.
"Mrs. Hill," I said, appearing among them without ceremony, "Mr.
Chandos wants you for a moment. Instantly, if you please."
"There! His hand has burst out bleeding again!" surmised Hickens, who
occupied the chair opposite Hill. Mrs. Hill said nothing, but rose and
followed me. As we passed through the hall, there came a loud ring at
the front door, and a knocking at it as if with sabres.
"Hill," Mr. Chandos whispered, drawing her into the oak-parlour, and
there was a world of dread and terror in his tone, "the police are
outside the house, mounted."
She shrieked out aloud, making the room ring. The woman actually
trembled all over.
"Hush!" interrupted Mr. Chandos. "Don't lose _your_ senses, Hill."
"Oh, Mr. Harry! the police at last! It's what I have dreamt of ever
since that awful night!"
"Well, you and I must be calm. You know the plan decided upon; if it
ever came to this. I may not go; I must stay and face it. Make you
haste! And—Hill! _lock_ the outer door of the east wing on the outside;
Mrs. Chandos must not see these men."
Hill did not stay to listen. She appeared to take in all, and was
flying up the stairs, breathless and panting. There came another ring,
another noise as with the sabres: and Robin, one of the under men, who
was coming across the hall, increased his speed. Mr. Chandos arrested
him.
"Robin, desire Hickens to attend himself. I wish it."
The man turned back, and Mr. Chandos stood for a moment against the
wall, his hands on his pale face.
"Mr. Chandos!" I said, in emotion great as his, "why are you afraid?
what dreadful thing is it! Confide in me! tell me!"
"That you may run from me, as the rest will do! You have said the word,
Anne—dreadful. That is it."
Hickens was advancing to the hall. Mr. Chandos went out to him; I
looked from the parlour-door.
"Hickens," said Mr. Chandos, speaking with apparent carelessness,
"these may be the police at the door. If so, they may enter."
"Them police again, sir!" returned Hickens, in consternation. "Weren't
they satisfied with their last visit? Whatever can they want at this
hour?"
"That's my business," replied Mr. Chandos. And Hickens turned to the
entrance.
"What a cowardly donkey that Joseph is, barring up the house before
bedtime!" quoth Hickens to himself as he threw wide the door.
Threw it wide, and admitted two of the officers. The other one remained
with the horses.