"Oh, Bagsby," I said nervously, "I--I suppose there is no danger of the
picture thief being around."
"Not for pictures, anyhow, Miss," he returned jocularly, and started
off.
_Not for pictures, anyhow!_
I stood at the door and watched the tail light of the motor disappear
down the drive, show for an instant a spark by the dilapidated lodge and
then go out entirely.
* * * * *
The second part of the story begins about here. The first part, as you
have seen, has been purely political: the rest is romance, intermingled
with crime. It is a little late to bring in a hero, but to have done it
earlier would have spoiled the story, besides being distinctly
untruthful. And I suppose a real novelist would have had the hero turn
out to be the sunburned gentleman of some pages before; but the fact is
he wasn't, and I never saw the sunburned gentleman again.
Well, after Bagsby left, and I had examined the supper in the hamper and
lighted more candles in the drawing-room, I began to wish we had not cut
the telephone wire so soon. It was perfectly dark, and any one could
step in through the windows--open to air the house--and cut my throat
and take my string of pearls which Father had had matched for me and
walk away calmly and be safe ten feet from the house in the undergrowth.
And then Bagsby's ghost began to walk in my mind and I quite lost sight
of the fact that it was not authenticated.
It was blowing by that time, and every joint of the rheumatic old house
creaked and groaned. The candles flickered and nearly went out, and the
motto cards began to fly around the room as if carried by invisible
fingers. One of them said, "You have been weighed and found wanting,"
and another one, "Beware!" They had all the effect of spirit messages
on me. When I tried to close the windows I found them stuck in their
dilapidated frames. I wanted desperately to hide in a corner behind one
of the high-backed chairs, but it was dusty there and hardly dignified
for a person who was abducting the Prime Minister. And then it would be
ignominious to faint there and have some one peer over the back and say:
"Why, here she is!"
So, to divert my mind from ghosts and gentlemen burglars who steal
pictures, I began to investigate the hamper. There were _pâté_ and salad
and sandwiches and quite a lot of stuff. But all at once I remembered
that Daphne had given me the small silver and that I had laid it on my
bed and left it there. And most of the provisions were too messy for a
P.M. to manage with his fingers. Luckily, I remembered something Violet
had said when Daphne gave me the silver.
"Personally," she had announced, "I am not in favor of feeding him at
all. Or else I would give him prison fare. But if you're going to be
mushy over him you'll probably find some dishes and forks in a little
closet over the dining-room fireplace. They were kept there to use if
Basil ever went down for the shooting, and I dare say they are still
there."
So I picked up a candle and trembled through the darkness toward where
the breakfast-room ought to be. I went through a square garden-hall
which shook when I did, and the motor coat around my shoulders made the
shadow of a pirate on the wall.
I found the breakfast-room and the mantel cupboard at last, and, putting
the candle on a chair, stood for a moment listening, my hands clapped
over my heart. I thought I heard some one walking over bare boards near
by, but the sounds, whatever they were, ceased.
The mantel cupboard was locked. I pulled and twisted at the knob to no
purpose. Finally, I dug at the lock with a hairpin, and something gave;
the door swung open with a squeak, and a moment later I had a flannel
case in my hands and was taking out some silver forks. At that moment a
plate in the cupboard fell forward with a slam, and something leaped on
to the forks, which I dropped with a crash. The candle went out
immediately and, gasping for breath, I backed against the cupboard and
stood staring into the blackness of the room.
The door by which I had entered was a faint, yellowish rectangle from
the distant hall lamp. That is, it had been a rectangle. It was partly
obscured now. And gradually the opacity took on the height and breadth
and general outline of a man. He was pointing a revolver at me!