One--two--three--four--five.
The last stroke of the village church clock died slowly away, and
only the dreary, persistent patter of the rain upon the dead leaves
disturbed the uncanny stillness of a sleeping world.
Mr. Bates stood irresolutely in the wet darkness, his hand upon the
gate which led into the domains of Professor Stenson. At last, very
cautiously, he pushed it open and stepped inside.
Before him lay the drive, lined by laurels and overhung by several
gaunt, leafless elms. It was even blacker than the roadway. Step by
step he felt his way along, till all of a sudden the shrubbery came
to an end, and he found himself at the edge of a small gravelled
space facing the front door.
At the side of the house he could just discern a path, which appeared
to run round to the back. Crouching down and moving his feet as
noiselessly as possible, he advanced along it, keeping one hand
against the ivy-clad wall to guide his steps.
After about twelve yards of this uncomfortable progress, he came
round the corner into a small square yard. There was a back door
with two windows on either side of it, while above these again were,
apparently three rooms. All were in complete darkness.
With his heart in his mouth, Mr. Bates crept up to the first window
and peered through. He could see nothing. It was like staring into
a sheet of black paper. For a second he hesitated, and then, placing
his hand against the sash of the bottom pane, gave it a gentle
tentative push. It yielded instantly to his pressure, sliding up a
matter of two or three inches with a wheezy rattle that made him
start back in a fresh access of alarm. Surely someone must have
heard it! He half turned to run, and then paused irresolutely, his
ears strained for the first sound of any movement within the house.
Nothing happened, however, and, after waiting several minutes, Mr.
Bates regained his courage. Very gingerly he again raised the sash,
and with extreme caution inserted his head through the empty
window-frame. It was the kitchen; of that there could be no doubt,
an unpleasing odour of boiled cabbage and damp clothes and dirty
plates attesting to the professional deficiencies of the owner's late
servant.
Raising himself upon his hands, Mr. Bates lifted his leg and
scrambled in noiselessly over the sill. Then he felt in his pocket
for a match. By the aid of a dry portion of his trousers he struck
it without any superfluous noise, and, shading it with his hand,
gazed nervously about him.
It was evident that Mr. Andrew's vaunt had not been an entirely idle
one. The room was in a state of shocking disorder. Heaped up anyhow
on the table were the dirty appliances of at least three meals. A
mountainous pile of ashes beneath the grate bore eloquent testimony
to daily tasks neglected, and at least three pairs of uncleaned boots
scattered about the floor did nothing to remove the impression. Mr.
Bates looked round with a disapproving and disgusted eye. A tidy man
by nature and training, his fingers itched to set about this
confusion.
The flame of the match reaching his thumb, however, reminded him
sharply that he was there upon other and more pressing business.
Dropping the charred stump with a mild and whispered oath, he ignited
a second, and by its light perceived, on the further side of the
apartment, an open door leading into a larder. On a shelf against
the wall he could just detect the outline of a cold chicken,
apparently still intact.
Mr. Bates did not wait for an invitation. In a moment he had crossed
the floor and entered this attractive storehouse. Seizing the
chicken, he held up the match and gazed round for further
contributions. Half a loaf of bread was the first object to meet his
eye, and this, together with a small piece of German sausage, which
he found on a plate behind it, satisfied his requirements. Thrusting
his booty under his arm, and throwing down his second match, which by
this time had burnt itself away, he stepped out into the darkness of
the kitchen. As he did so, a slight sound made him pause. An
instant later there was a sharp click, and then a blinding flare of
electric light suddenly flooded the room.
Mr. Bates staggered back against the wall, his plunder and his jaw
dropping at the same moment. An elderly gentleman in a Jaeger
dressing-gown with a revolver in his hand, was leaning comfortably
against the kitchen door. He was clean-shaven, with longish white
hair. A pleasant, if somewhat ironical, smile lurked about his face.
"_Flagrante delicto_, Mr. Burglar," he remarked, "or, to use a
language with which you are possibly better acquainted, caught in the
act, eh?"
Mr. Bates licked his lips, which felt very dry. "Yes, sir," he
whispered.
"You will oblige me by keeping your hands above your head. Thank
you. Now permit me to introduce myself. My name is Professor
Stenson."
"Yes, sir," repeated Mr. Bates hoarsely.
"And yours, my friend?"
"William Bates, sir."
"And if you won't think me inquisitive, Mr. Bates, may I ask what you
are doing in my house at this time in the morning?"
Mr. Bates wriggled, his eyes glued on the muzzle of the revolver.
"The fact is, sir," he jerked out, "I was hungry, sir."
"Ah," said the Professor, "and I suppose you mistook The Firs for an
hotel. That is the worst of modern architecture--it has no
distinctive note."
With this statement Mr. Bates apparently agreed. At all events, he
offered no comment on it. When he spoke again, which he did after a
brief pause, his topic was of an altogether different nature.
"If you please, sir," he stammered nervously, "would you mind not
pointing that thing at me, sir? It might go off."
"I have no particular wish to point it at you," replied the
Professor. "The posture is both fatiguing and ridiculous. If you
will take your coat off and place it on the floor, so that I can see
that you are not armed, I shall be delighted to assume a less martial
attitude. Be good enough to keep your hands from your pockets while
you are doing it, or I shall shoot you without hesitation."
With shaking fingers Mr. Bates proceeded to disrobe, being very
careful to hold his tattered garment by the extreme edge. Having
shed it, he stood in his shirt-sleeves, looking about as dishevelled
and miserable a housebreaker as ever cracked a crib.
His captor gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment, and then lowered
his weapon. Mr. Bates breathed an audible sigh of relief.
"And now we are at our ease," said the Professor, "I should be
interested to hear a little more about you. If you won't think me
insulting, your methods, from the technical point of view, appear to
be deplorably amateurish. Why didn't you lock the kitchen door?"
There was something in the Professor's tone which made Mr. Bates feel
a shade less like a trapped rat. He even drew himself up with a
pathetic effort at courage.
"I assure you, sir," he said earnestly, "I am no burglar."
The Professor looked at him quizzically.
"I am inclined to agree with you, Mr. Bates," he said.
"It was very wrong of me to come in here, sir, I admit, but I was
hungry, sir--desperately hungry--and I knew I should find some food
inside. I assure you, sir, I had no intention of taking away
anything else."
"And may I inquire why you were so certain about the contents of my
kitchen? Indeed, how did you even know it was the kitchen?"
"If you please, sir, it was hearing what Mr. Andrew said at the inn
last night."
A sudden look of illumination flashed across the Professor's face.
"Oh," he said, "so that is how the land lies, is it? I am indebted
to the gentle Andrew for the pleasure of your acquaintance, eh?
Well, come, come, don't be reticent, my friend; let us have the whole
story."
Bit by bit, with his eye still on the revolver, Mr. Bates proceeded
to relate the incidents of the previous night, from the time of his
entry into the inn. The Professor listened to him without
interrupting, the same curious, half-ironical, half-good-natured
smile playing all the time about his mouth. Once, when he heard of
the postman's final remark, he laughed out loud.
"So Mercury is evidently a gentleman of penetration," he observed.
"What did you think of Andrew yourself, Mr. Bates?"
"I didn't like him at all, sir. He seemed to me a shifty,
incompetent fellow, and insolent, sir--very insolent."
"I dare say you are right," said the Professor. "He was only
insolent to me once, but that may have been for lack of a second
opportunity. Shifty he certainly was, and as for incompetence--well,
look at the state of this kitchen, Mr. Bates."
Mr. Bates looked. "Yes, sir," he said warmly, "it's disgraceful. It
was the first thing I noticed as I came in. When I was--" He
stopped abruptly.
"Well, well, well, when you were what? Let us have it, my friend."
"I was going to say, sir, that, when I was in service, I should have
died of shame if any one had seen my kitchen in such a state."
The Professor raised his eyebrows. "When you were in service, eh?
So you have risen in the world, Mr. Bates! And how long is it since
you have exchanged the livery for the crape and jack-boots?"
"I beg your pardon, sir?"
"When was your last professional engagement?"
"I have been out of a place, sir, since I left Mr. Houghton, eighteen
months ago."
"And what were you doing for Mr. Houghton?"
"Everything, sir. He was a bachelor gentleman, and didn't care to
have women servants about the house, so I looked after him entirely."
"Dear me! How extremely fortunate!" exclaimed the Professor. "Your
visit is what the vicar would call almost providential, Mr. Bates.
Before I discharge my duty as a citizen, by handing you over to the
local policeman, you will be able to straighten out all this
distressing confusion for me. If you do it efficiently, it will
doubtless be taken into consideration by the magistrate."
"Yes, sir," murmured Mr. Bates dejectedly.
"Well, suppose we start upon the boots, then. It will be pleasant to
have a pair of boots properly cleaned again. You will find the
brushes and some blacking in that cupboard."
Mr. Bates opened the door and took out the articles in question. He
then collected the three pairs of boots which were scattered about
the floor, and silently set to work. The Professor, sitting on a
corner of the kitchen table, with the revolver dangling in his hand,
watched him with amused interest.
When the last boot was finished and laid aside, he got up.
"Your work reflects great credit on you, Mr. Bates," he remarked
approvingly. "I shall be proud to wear them. Do you think you are
equally skilful at washing up plates and dishes?"
"I think so, sir," said Mr. Bates meekly.
"Well, we may as well make certain, eh? Suppose you collect some of
these and bring them into the scullery."
He pushed open a third door, and turned on a switch.
"There is a gas-stove in here, so we can have plenty of hot water in
a few minutes."
Scraping the various remnants from the plates and dishes, Mr. Bates
heaped the latter up into two piles and carried them into the
scullery. The Professor meanwhile had filled a large washing-up pan
with water and placed it on the stove.
"While we are waiting for it to boil," he said, "you might tell me a
little more about your past history. In view of your
accomplishments, how did Mr. Houghton ever bring himself to part with
you?"
"Please, sir, he died."
"A pity," said the Professor. "But surely you should have found
little difficulty in obtaining another place?"
Mr. Bates hung his head.
The Professor looked at him. "Ah," he said, after a short pause. "I
thought there must be some reason. Come, Mr. Bates, what's the
trouble? Never be afraid to speak the truth."
"I was out of a place for about three months, sir, and--and my wife
got very ill, sir, and I had spent all my savings. The doctor said
that the only chance of saving her was to send her out of London. I
went to call on a gentleman about a place, and while I was waiting,
sir, I--I--I saw a couple of sovereigns on the mantelpiece, and I
took them, sir."
"That was very wrong of you, Mr. Bates," said the Professor.
"Yes, sir."
"What happened?"
"The money was missed, and I was arrested, sir. The magistrate was
very good to me. He might have sent me to prison, but he only bound
me over. I am very grateful to him, sir. Still, that finished me as
far as work was concerned, sir."
"And your wife?"