"There's some ho--horrible mistake," he began to whimper. "But if the
worst comes to the worst, you'll _adopt_ me, won't you?"
Still holding him by the ear, I led him forth and flung him into the cab,
in a corner of which the trembling Horrex had already huddled himself.
He fell, indeed, across Horrex's knees, and at once screamed aloud.
"Softly, softly, Master 'Erbert," whispered the poor man soothingly.
"It's only poor old Horrex, that you've known since a boy."
"Horrex?" Master Herbert straightened himself up. "Do I understand you
to say, sir, that your name is Horrex? Then allow me to tell you, Horrex,
that you are no gentleman. You hear?" He spoke with anxious lucidity,
leaning forward and tapping the butler on the knee. "No gentleman."
"No, sir," assented Horrex.
"That being the case, we'll say no more about it. I decline to argue
with you. If you're waking, call me early--there's many a black, black
eye, Horrex, but none so black as mine. Call me at eleven-fifteen,
bringing with you this gentleman's blood in a bottle. Goo'-night, go to
bye-bye. . . ."
By the fleeting light of a street-lamp I saw his head drop forward, and a
minute later he was gently snoring.
It was agreed that on reaching home Master Herbert must be smuggled into
the basement of No. 402 and put to rest on Horrex's own bed; also that,
to avoid the line of carriages waiting in the Cromwell Road for the
departing guests, the cab should take us round to the gardens at the back.
I carried on my chain a key which would admit us to these and unlock the
small gate between them and the kitchens. This plan of action so
delighted Horrex that for a moment I feared he was going to clasp my
hands.
"If it wasn't irreverent, sir, I could almost say you had dropped on me
from heaven!"
"You may alter your opinion," said I grimly, "before I've done dropping."
At the garden entrance we paid and dismissed the cab. I took Master
Herbert's shoulders and Horrex his heels, and between us we carried his
limp body across the turf--a procession so suggestive of dark and secret
tragedy that I blessed our luck for protecting us from the casual
intrusive policeman. Our entrance by the kitchen passage, however, was
not so fortunate. Stealthily as we trod, our footsteps reached the ears
in the servants' hall, and we were met by William and a small but compact
body of female servants urging him to armed resistance. A kitchen-maid
fainted away as soon as we were recognised, and the strain of terror
relaxed.
I saw at once that Master Herbert's condition caused them no surprise.
We carried him to the servants' hall and laid him in an armchair, to rest
our arms, while the motherly cook lifted his unconscious head to lay a
pillow beneath it.
As she did so, a bell jangled furiously on the wall above.
"Good Lord!" Horrex turned a scared face up at it. "The library!"
"What's the matter in the library?"
But he was gone: to reappear, a minute later, with a face whiter than
ever.
"The mistress wants you at on'st, sir, if you'll follow me. William, run
out and see if you can raise another cab--four-wheeler."
"What, at this time of night?" answered William. "Get along with you!"
"Do your best, lad." Mr. Horrex appealed gently but with pathetic
dignity. "If there's miracles indoors there may be miracles outside.
This way, sir!"
He led me to the library-door, knocked softly, opened it, and stood aside
for me to enter.
Within stood his mistress, confronting another policeman!
Her hands rested on the back of a library-chair: and though she stood up
bravely and held herself erect with her finger-tips pressed hard into the
leather, I saw that she was swaying on the verge of hysterics, and I had
the sense to speak sharply.
"What's the meaning of this?" I demanded.
"This one--comes from Marlborough Street!" she gasped.
I stepped back to the door, opened it, and, as I expected, discovered
Horrex listening.
"A bottle of champagne and a glass at once," I commanded, and he sped.
"And now, Miss Joy, if you please, the constable and I will do the
talking. What's your business?"
"Prisoner wants bail," answered the policeman.
"Name?"
"George Anthony Richardson."
"Yes, yes--but I mean the prisoner's name."
"That's what I'm telling you. 'George Anthony Richardson,
four-nought-two, Cromwell Road'--that's the name on the sheet,
and I heard him give it myself."
"And I thought, of course, it must be you," put in Clara; "and I wondered
what dreadful thing could have happened--until Horrex appeared and told me
you were safe, and Herbert too--"
"I think," said I, going to the door again and taking the tray from
Horrex, "that you were not to talk. Drink this, please."
She took the glass, but with a rebellious face. "Oh, if you take that
tone with me--"
"I do. And now," I turned to the constable, "what name did he give for
his surety?"
"Herbert Jarmayne, same address."
"Herbert Jarmayne?" I glanced at Clara, who nodded back, pausing as she
lifted her glass! "Ah! yes--yes, of course. How much?"
"Two tenners."
"Deep answering deep. Drunk and disorderly, I suppose?"
"Blind. He was breaking glasses at Toscano's and swearing he was Sir
Charles Wyndham in _David Garrick_: but he settled down quiet at the
station, and when I left he was talking religious and saying he pitied
nine-tenths of the world, for they were going to get it hot."
"Trewlove!" I almost shouted, wheeling round upon Clara.
"I beg your pardon?"
"No, of course--you wouldn't understand. But all the same it's Trewlove,"
I cried, radiant. "Eh?"--this to Horrex, mumbling in the doorway--"the
cab outside? Step along, constable: I'll follow in a moment--to identify
your prisoner, not to bail him out." Then as he touched his hat and
marched out after Horrex, "By George, though! Trewlove!" I muttered,
meeting Clara's eye and laughing.
"So you've said," she agreed doubtfully; "but it seems a funny sort of
explanation."
"It's as simple as A B C," I assured her. "The man at Marlborough Street
is the man who let you this house."
"I took it through an agent."
"I'm delighted to hear it. Then the man at Marlborough Street is the man
for whom the agent let the house."
"Then you are not Mr. Richardson--not 'George Anthony'--and you didn't
write _Larks in Aspic?_" said she, with a flattering shade of
disappointment in her tone.
"Oh! yes, I did."
"Then I don't understand in the least--unless--unless--" She put out two
deprecating hands. "You don't mean to tell me that this is your house,
and we've been living in it without your knowledge! Oh! why didn't you
tell me?"
"Come, I like that!" said I. "You'll admit, on reflection, that you
haven't given me much time."
But she stamped her foot. "I'll go upstairs and pack at once," she
declared.
"That will hardly meet the case, I'm afraid. You forget that your brother
is downstairs: and by his look, when I left him, he'll take a deal of
packing."
"Herbert?" She put a hand to her brow. "I was forgetting. Then you are
not Herbert's friend after all?"
"I have made a beginning. But in fact, I made his acquaintance at Vine
Street just now. Trewlove--that's my scoundrel of a butler--has been
making up to him under my name. They met at the house-agent's, probably.
The rogue models himself upon me: but when it comes to letting my house--
By the way, have you paid him by cheque?"
"I paid the agent. I knew nothing of you until Herbert announced that
he'd made your acquaintance--"
"Pray go on," said I, watching her troubled eyes. "It would be
interesting to hear how he described me."
"He used a very funny word. He said you were the rummiest thing in
platers he'd struck for a long while. But, of course, he was talking of
the other man."
"Of course," said I gravely: whereupon our eyes met, and we both laughed.
"Ah, but you are kind!" she cried. "And when I think how we have treated
you--if only I _could_ think--" Her hand went up again to her forehead.
"It will need some reparation," said I. "But we'll discuss that when I
come back."
"Was--was Herbert very bad?" She attempted to laugh, but tears suddenly
brimmed her eyes.
"I scarcely noticed," said I; and, picking up my hat, went out hurriedly.