II

The third constable nearly shot me through the head at sight. The

twinkle of his pistol caught my eye; I threw up my arms and declared

myself a friend, not, as I believe, one second too soon. Never have I

seen a man more pitiably excited than this brave fellow on the back

lawn. Brave he was beyond all question; but cool he was not, and I

fancy the combination must be rarer in real life than elsewhere. The

man on the lawn stood over six feet in his boots, and every inch of

him was shaking like a jelly. Yet if our quarry had chosen that moment

to make a dash for it on this side, it would have gone hard with him,

for my constable was suffering from nothing more discreditable than

over-eagerness for the fray.

Would that I could say as much for myself! Already I entirely regretted

my absurd proceeding, and longed with all my heart to escape. It

was out of the question. I had put my hand most officiously to the

plough, but there it must stay; and as it was too late to reconsider my

position, so there was now no sense in investigating the hare-brained

impulse upon which I had acted. Yet I turned it over in my mind,

standing there with my naked feet in the cold dew, and I deplored my

conscious cowardice no less than my unthinking folly. One thing is

certain, had I reckoned at all, it was without the bank-robber, whom

his would-be imitator had put quite out of my head. And here they had

him in this house! We saw their lanterns moving from room to room on

the ground-floor; and I should be sorry to say which of us shivered

most (from what different causes), the third constable or myself.

I do not know how long we waited, but in a little the lanterns ceased

to flit behind the panes. The men had evidently gone upstairs, and in

the darkness we heard a sound as terrifying to me as it was evidently

welcome to my companion. "At last!" said he, and crept up to the back

door, open-armed. We had heard the stealthy drawing of bolts; but we

were destined, one of us to disappointment, the other to inexpressible

relief. The door opened, and it was the sergeant upon whom his

subordinate would have pounced. He stood there, beckoning without a

word; and so led us to a locked room next the kitchen. His mate had

gone round the front way to watch the window; we were to force the door

and carry the room by storm; and in it, declared the sergeant, we

should find our man.

We did not; and again I breathed. The room was not only empty; the

window was fastened on the inside; and an accumulation of the loose

fittings of the house, evidently for sale to the incoming tenant,

seemed to explain the locked door. At least I said so, and the

explanation was received better than it deserved. We now proceeded, all

four of us (abandoning system in our unsuccess), to search the cellar;

but our man was not there, and I began to tell myself he was not in the

house at all. Thus, as my companions lost their heads and rushed to the

attics as one man, I found mine and elected to remain below. The room

we had broken into was the one I chose to wait in; for I had explored

no other, and wherever else he might be, the robber was not here. Judge

then of my feelings when I heard him moving under my feet. Horror glued

me where I stood, unable to call out, unable to move; my eyes fast as

my feet to the floor, watching a board that moved in the dim light

of a candle-end found and lit by one of the constables at our first

inspection. The board moved upward; a grimy face appeared through the

aperture; it was that of my old schoolfellow, Deedes _major_.

"For God's sake, Beetle, help me out of this!" he whispered.

"Deedes!" I could only murmur; and again, "Deedes!"

"Yes, yes," said he impatiently. "Think of the old school--and tell me

where they are. Are they gone?"

"Only upstairs. What on earth's at the bottom of this, Deedes?" I asked

him sternly.

"A mistake--a rotten mistake!" said he. "They gave chase to me shortly

after I left you. I got in here, but the one chap daren't follow me

alone, and I ripped up this floor and got under while he was whistling

away outside. I spotted a loose board by treading on it, and that bit

of luck's just saved my bacon."

"Has it? I'm not so sure," said I, walking to the door and listening.

"What do they want you for?"

"Would you believe it? For sticking up the bank--when I was out at my

lunch! Did you ever hear such rot?"

"I don't know; if you're an innocent man, why not behave like one? Why

hide--they're coming down!" I broke off, hearing them. "Stop where you

are! You can never get out in time!"

In the candle-light his face gleamed very pale between the blotches of

dust and dirt; but I fancied it brightened at my involuntary solicitude.

"You will help me?" he whispered eagerly. "For the sake of the good old

school," he wheedled, playing still upon the soft spot I had discovered

to him earlier in the night. It was a soft spot still. I remembered him

in the fifteen and the eleven; then overcame the memory, and saw him

for what he was now.

"Hush!" said I from the door. "I want to listen."

"Where are they now?"

"Looking on the next landing."

"Then now's my time!"

"Not it," said I, putting my back against the door.

He rose waist-high through the floor, his dark eyes blazing, his right

hand thrust within his coat; and I knew what was in the hand I could

not see.

"Pot away!" I jeered. "You haven't done murder yet. You daren't do it

now!"

"I dare do anything," he growled. "But you--you'll never go and give a

chap away, Beetle?"

"You'll give yourself away if you don't get under that this instant.

They're coming down, man! Stop where you are, and I'll see you later;

try to get out of it, and I promise you you're a gone coon!"

He disappeared without a word, and I ran out to salute my comrades in

the hall.

"Well," cried I, "what luck?"

"None at all," replied the sergeant angrily. "I could have sworn it was

this house, but I suppose we must try the next. How we've missed him is

more than I can fathom!"

A slaty sky denoted imminent dawn as we emerged from the house; the

chill of dawn was in the air, and there was I in nothing but pyjamahs.

One of the constables remarked upon my condition, and the sergeant

(good man) made me a pathetic speech of thanks, and recommended me my

bed. If they needed further assistance they could get it next door, but

he was afraid his man had made a longer flight than that. And indeed

when I returned to the spot, in my clothes, an hour later, there was

no sign of the police in the road; and I was enabled to slip into the

empty house unobserved.

I got in through an open window, broken near the hasp, by which the

fugitive himself had first effected an entry. In the early morning

light the place looked different and very dirty; and as I entered the

room with the burst door, I thought it also very still. I tore up the

loose boards, and uttered an exclamation which resounded horribly in

the desolation. Deedes was gone. I poked my head below the level of the

floor, but there was no sign of him underneath. As I raised myself,

however, a step just sounded on the threshold, and there he stood in

his socks, smiling, with a revolver in his hand.

For one instant I doubted his intention; the next, the weapon dropped

into his pocket, and his smile broadened as though he had read my fear.

"No fear, Beetle," said he; "it's not for you. I couldn't be sure

it was you, that was all. So you're as good as your word! I hardly

expected you so soon--if at all!"

"Do you remember my word?" said I meaningly, for his coolness irritated

me beyond measure. His very face and hands he had contrived to cleanse

at some of the taps. He might have been in bed all night and neglected

nothing but his chin and his hair. And this was the man of whom a whole

colony would talk this morning, for whom a whole colony would hunt all

day.

"Your word?" said Deedes. "You promised to help me."

"I didn't. I said I'd see you again. If I help you it will be on very

definite terms."

"Half-profits, eh? Well, I'm agreeable, and glad you haven't forgotten

our conversation of last night."

"And I'm glad," I retorted, "to see you make no more bones about your

guilt. Where's the money? I want the lot."

"You're greedy, Beetle!"

"Confound you!" I cried, "do you think I want to compromise myself by

being found here with you? For two pins I'll leave you to get out of

this as best you can. You heard me? I want that twenty thousand pounds.

I want it to pay back into the bank. Then I'll do what I can, but not

until."

I saw his dark eyes blazing as they had blazed in the candle-light.

He was between me and the door, and I knew that for any gain to him I

never should have left that room alive. At least I believed so then;

I believe it still; but at that moment his manner changed. He gave in

to me, and yet maintained a coolness and a courage in his peril, a

dignity in his defeat, which more than fascinated me. They made me his

slave. I could have screened him all day for the pure æsthetic joy of

contemplating those fearless, dare-devil eyes and hearing that cynical

voice of unaffected ease. But the money I insisted on having.

"That's all very well," said he; "but I haven't got it here. I planted

it."

"Tell me where."

"I can't; I could never make it plain; it's not an obvious place

at all. Still I accept your terms. Bring me a change of clothes

to-night--I daren't face daylight--and I give you my word you shall

have the stuff to take back to the bank. I've made a bungle of it;

thought of it for weeks, and bungled it after all! It was that Barwon

business tempted me. I wasn't ready, but couldn't resist the big haul.

All I want now is to get out of it with a whole skin. And by Jove! I

see the way. You go to old I'Anson with the money, and get him to say

he'll see me. Then I'll tell him it was all a practical joke--done for

a bet--anything you like--and if the thing don't altogether blow over,

well, I'll get off lighter than I deserve. The old chap will stand by

me at all events; he's got his reasons."

I refrained from asking what they were. I fancied I knew, and hoped I

did not. But Deedes demanded more than a silent consent to his plans.

"Look here: are you on, Beetle, or are you not?"

"Can I trust you?"

"I give you my word upon it; till yesterday it was the word of an

honest man."

"You want a rig-out as different as possible from what you have on?"

"Yes, and some whiskers or something if you can possibly get hold of

any. Your friends are great on theatricals. Ask to look at their props."

"You'll pay back every penny, and plead a practical joke?"

"My dear chap, it's my only chance. I see no other way out of it,

Beetle. I'm fairly cornered; only help me to pay back before I'm

caught, and at least I'll get off light."

"Very well," said I. "On those conditions I will help you. Where were

you when I came in?"

"In the cellar; it's safer and also more comfortable than under the

floor."

"Then I advise you to go back there, for I'm off. If I'm found here we

shall be run in together."

He detained me, however, a moment more. It was to put a letter in my

hand, a stout missive addressed in pencil to myself.

"You see I've been busy while you were gone," he said, in a tone quite

shy for him. "Read that after your breakfast. It may make you think

less ill of me. And, for the love of Heaven, deliver the enclosures!"

I undertook to do so; my interest, however, was as yet confined to the

outer envelope, a clean piece of stationery, never used before.

"Upon my word," said I, "you have come prepared. No doubt you have

provisions too?"

Deedes produced a packet and a flask. "Sandwiches and whisky," said he,

"in case of need!"

I looked hard at him; it may have been my imagination, but for once I

thought he changed colour.

"Deedes," said I, "you're a cold-blooded, calculating villain; but I

confess I can't help admiring you."

"And trusting me about to-night?" he added, with some little anxiety.

"I wouldn't trust you a bit," I replied, "if it weren't to your own

interest to do everything you've said you'll do. Luckily it is. There's

a hue and cry for you in this town. Every hole and corner will be

watched _but_ the bank. You can't hope to get away; and by far your

wisest plan is the one you've hit upon, to return the money and throw

yourself on your manager's mercy."

"It is," he answered, with his foot upon the cellar stairs; "and you

bet old I'Anson won't make it harder than necessary for me. It's a

clever idea. I should never have thought of it but for you. Old man,

I'm grateful; it's more than I deserve!"

And I left him with my hand aching from a grip as warm as that of

any honest man; and what was stranger yet, the incredible impression

of a catch in my villain's voice. Here, however, I felt I must be

mistaken, but my thoughts were speedily distracted from the anomaly.

I had a milkman to dodge as I made my escape from the garden of the

empty house. And half-way down the road I met none other than the poor

discomfited sergeant of the night.

"Been having another look at the house," said I, with the frankness

that disarms suspicion.

"See anything fresh?"

"Nothing."

"You wouldn't. I don't believe the beggar was in the house two minutes.

Still I thought I'd like to have a squint myself by daylight; and

there'll be little damages to repair where we come in. So long, mister;

you done your best; it wasn't _your_ fault."

He was gone. I looked after him with my heart in my mouth. I watched

him to the gate. Would he come forth alone--or alive? I saw the last of

the sergeant--and fled.