AN HONOURABLE RETREAT
It was not what they expected. Their faces showed it; they were so
unmistakably startled. They looked at each other, then at the
unconscious woman, then back again at one another. Mr Burton bit his
lip.
'Who the deuce is that?'
'Servants, perhaps.'
The suggestion was the Flyman's.
'Then confound the servants! Why can't they take a little extra time
to-night? They know their mistress is away.'
The knocking came again--a regular rat-tat-tat.
'That's no servants. They wouldn't make that row.'
'You can never tell. Nowadays they make what row they please; they
fancy themselves. Brutes!'
'Visitors, perhaps.'
'Confound them, whoever it is!'
They spoke in whispers, an appreciable pause between each man's
speaking, as if each in turn waited for something to happen. Mr Burton
was outwardly the most self-possessed, being the kind of man who would
probably smile as he mounted the gallows. The Flyman had his eyes
nearly shut, his fists clenched, his shoulders a little hunched, as if
gathering himself together to resist a coming attack. Mr Thomas Cox
was visibly tremulous; his great head twitched upon his shoulders; he
was apparently in danger of physical collapse. It was curious to
observe the contrasting attitudes of the three men as they stood about
the recumbent woman.
The knocking was repeated, still more loudly, as if the knocker waxed
impatient.
'We shall have to let 'em in. Anyhow, we shall have to see who's
there. They'll knock the door down.'
This was the Flyman. Mr Cox suggested an alternative.
'Can't we--can't we get away? Isn't there another way out?'
Mr Burton enlightened him.
'My dear Cox, there's only one way into a flat, and there's only one
way out, unless you try the window, which means a drop of perhaps a
hundred feet. I'm not dropping. The Flyman's right; we shall have to
see who's there. There needn't be trouble, unless you give yourself
away. It depends who it is. I'll lay this dear little girl of mine
upon her bed; she'll be more comfortable there, and not so
conspicuous. I know which is her room. Then we'll see who's come to
call on you.'
Displaying a degree of strength with which one would hardly have
credited his slight figure, lifting Miss Casata off the floor, he bore
her from the room. During his absence there came the knocking for the
fourth time, this time furiously. When he returned, a marked change
had taken place in his appearance. There were signs of strange
disorder on his countenance, as if during his brief withdrawal he had
been unstrung by some overwhelming shock. The Flyman at once observed
his altered looks.
'What's happened? What's the matter?'
'Curse you, Flyman!'
'What have I done now?'
'I say, curse you!'
'Is she--dead?'
'No, she's not. I'm going to open the door. If it's the servants, I'll
send them away, pretending to give them a message from her; if it's
callers, I'll tell them a lie; if it's anybody who wants to make
himself unpleasant, you two look out. I'm not going to be bluffed out
of this before I've got that ruby.'
'Burton, be careful what you do, for all our sakes.'
This was Mr Cox. The retort was hardly courteous.
'You be hanged!'
Mr Burton reached the front door as the knocking was recommencing.
From where they were they could not see what he did, but they could
hear. They heard him open; a feminine voice inquire, in tones of
indignation,--
'What's the meaning of this? Why am I kept waiting?'
Then the front door slammed, the drawing-room door was thrown
violently open, and two young ladies came through it, one after the
other, with such extremely indecorous rapidity as to suggest that they
could scarcely be entirely responsible for their own proceedings, as,
indeed, they were not. Mr Horace Burton had propelled them forward
with his own right arm before they themselves had the least idea what
was about to happen. And, following right upon their heels, he closed
the drawing-room door, turned the key and stood with his back against
it, surveying them with his habitual, benignant smile.
It was what they call upon the stage a tableau, The smiling gentleman,
the two bewildered ladies, the two other almost equally bewildered
men, for it was an open question which were the more surprised by the
singularity of Mr Burton's behaviour--Miss Bewicke and Miss Broad or
Mr Thomas Cox and the Flyman.
The peculiar nature of her reception seemed to have driven Miss
Broad's wits completely from her. She gazed around like a woman
startled out of sleep, who has no notion of what has roused her. Miss
Bewicke had apparently retained some fragments of hers. She looked at
Mr Burton, then at Mr Cox and the Flyman, then back at the gentleman
who stood before the door. She eyed him up and down with a mixture, as
it seemed, of amusement, anger and contempt. Could a voice have stung,
hers would have stung him then. But this gentleman was pachydermatous.
'So it's you?'
'I guess it is.'
'How dare you come here?'
'That's the problem.'
'It's one which will soon be solved.'
She moved across the room. He checked her.
'It's no good your ringing the bell. There's no one to answer.'
As she turned to face him, Miss Broad spoke, with an apparent partial
return to consciousness.
'Who is this person?'
'This person is Horace Burton, of whom you may have heard. I cannot
tell you who the other persons are. They look as if they were friends
of his.'
'So this is Horace Burton?'
Miss Broad regarded the gentleman in question as if he were some
unclean thing, which, possibly, she considered him to be. He, on the
other hand, continued genial as ever.
'And you're Miss Broad--Letty, I believe? I'm pleased to meet you,
cousin that is to be.'
'Cousin--your cousin? I shall never be a cousin of yours.'
'No? That's hard on Guy. He's counting on the money.'
'You despicable creature!' She turned away, presenting him with a good
view of her back, and put a question to Miss Bewicke. 'What is he
doing here? Surely you don't allow him in your rooms?'
Mr Burton took upon himself to answer for the lady.
'I'll tell you what I'm doing here; she can't. I'm now for the first
time going to tell her also. It'll be giving her a little piece of
information which I know she'll value. Miss Bewicke, I've come here in
search of a quarter of million of money.'
'Is that so? You really are too modest! It was surely scarcely worth
your while to come for such a trifle! I need hardly say that you will
find several little sums of that amount lying loose about the
premises!'
'Indeed? Well, I want one; that's all.'
'Mr Burton, will you be so good as to leave my rooms?'
'I'll leave them on the wings of the wind, whatever that may be, when
I have my uncle's ruby.'
'When you have what?'
'My uncle's ruby. My dear cousin Guy committed burglary here last
night in quest of it, so I'm sure you won't mind my paying you a
little call this evening as a sort of sequel.'
'I suppose Louise Casata told you about Mr Holland?'
'There's no charge for supposing.'
'Probably the same person also informed you that he went away with
what he sought?'
'Did he, Miss Bewicke?'
'You had better refer to your informant.'
'I'm referring to you. I'm asking you if Guy Holland left these rooms
last night in possession of my uncle's ruby?'
'Ask Miss Casata; ask your cousin even, but don't ask me.'
'I am asking you. You've been playing some confounded trick.'
'Mr Burton!'
'I don't wish to hurt your feelings, Miss Bewicke, so I'll say you've
been amusing yourself with some dainty, delicate device, and I
shouldn't be surprised to learn that you have that ruby on your person
at this moment.'
Miss Bewicke, walking to the bell, pressed her finger against the
button, so that it kept up a continuous ringing. Mr Burton watched her
with a smile.
'You see, there's no one there. You might have taken my word.'
'Where is Miss Casata?'
'Where is she? That's the question. Where's everyone?'
'If I am unable to attract the attention of my own servants, thanks to
you, my friends in the next flat will hear the unceasing tinkling of
the bell, and guess that there is something wrong.'
'I should be sorry, Miss Bewicke, to have to seem rude to a lady--'
'On the contrary, I should imagine that few things would give you
greater pleasure; you are that kind of person.'
'At the same time, I must request you to leave that bell alone.'
He went closer to her. His moving away from it left the door
unguarded. Over her shoulder she shot a glance at Miss Broad. That
young lady, catching it, perceived the little ruse she had been
playing. Hurrying to the door, she began to turn the key, and had
already unlocked it when Mr Burton came rushing back to the post which
he had been beguiled into deserting.
'You darling!' he cried.
Seizing Miss Broad by the waist he dragged her from the door. As he
whirled her round, she struck him with her clenched fist on his right
ear, the blow being delivered with such good judgment, force and
fortune that it carried the young gentleman clean off his feet and
right over on to his back.
'Bravo!' exclaimed Miss Bewicke. 'Now, Letty, open the door!'
But Miss Bewicke was a little hasty in supposing that the road was
free. As Mr Burton fell, he prevented Miss Broad from moving by
clutching at her skirts. She struggled to release herself in vain; he
gripped too tight. And the Flyman, hastening to occupy the fallen
hero's place, confronted Miss Bewicke as she advanced.
'It's no good,' he observed. 'There's no road this way.'
She was not to be baffled without an effort.
'If you'll let me pass, I'll give you--'
'You won't give me anything, because you won't pass. Now, don't you be
silly, or you'll be sorry. You won't bowl me over with a clip on the
ear from your little fist.'
This was said because, encouraged, perhaps, by Miss Broad's success,
Miss Bewicke showed signs of actual violence. The apparent
recognition, however, of some peculiar quality on the face of the man
in front of her caused her to relinquish her purpose, if it was ever
formed. Instead, turning to Miss Broad, she took her by the hand.
'Come, quick!' she cried.
Mr Burton, reassured by the Flyman's arrival, loosed the lady's skirt
as he ascended to his feet. The quick-witted proprietress of the
rooms, taking instant advantage of Miss Broad's freedom, rushed her
towards the door through which, not long since, he had carried Miss
Casata. Divining their purpose, he tore after them as soon as he had
regained his perpendicular.
'Stop them, you fools! Move yourself, Cox!'
But Mr Cox did not move himself. He remained motionless where he was
standing, and Mr Burton, in spite of his impetuosity, was too late.
They were not only through before he reached the door, but had banged
it in his face, and turned the key on the other side. He shook the
handle in vain.
'Open, you cats!'
They were not likely to comply with his civil invitation. He addressed
himself to Mr Cox, on his face, all at once, a very peculiar look of
pallor.
'I shouldn't be surprised if you swing for this.'
'Swing? For letting them through that door? Who do you think you're
talking to?'
'I'm talking to you, my friend. What's the betting that your letting
them through that door doesn't turn out a hanging matter for you? I'll
take short odds.' He turned to the Flyman. 'Let me through there.
There's another way into where they are; I'll see if I can get at
them. You stay here, in case they try to double. Cox is no good. I'll
be even with him for this.'
Mr Burton crossed to a door, which was on the other side of the little
hall. Unlocked, it admitted him to the kitchen. From the kitchen he
passed to another room, apparently where the servants slept. On the
opposite side of this was still another door. He eyed it.
'If I remember rightly, that leads into her room.'
The door was locked; the key was in the lock upon the other side. He
stooped to see; it was in a position which prevented anything being
visible. He rattled the handle; rapped with his knuckles at the panel,
without result. All was silent.
'It is her room. I wonder what they're up to? They're very still. They
can't--'
He stopped, probably because the stillness of which he spoke was
broken by a woman's cry--a mingling of surprise, anguish, fear. He
retraced his steps towards the kitchen, whispering to himself two
words,--
'They have!'
Taking the key from one side of the lock, replacing it in the other,
he locked the door of the servants' room behind him. The key itself he
pocketed.
'Except through the drawing-room, there's only this way out, so we've
trapped you anyhow.'
As if to make assurance doubly sure, he locked the door of the kitchen
also. Again he pocketed the key.