I
The dawn of what promised to be an eventful day broke grayly over
Healthward Ho. By seven o'clock, however, the sun had forced its way
through the mists and at eight precisely one of its rays, stealing
in at an upper window, fell upon Sergeant-Major Flannery, lovely in
sleep. He grunted, opened his eyes, and, realizing that another morning
had arrived with all its manifold tasks and responsibilities, heaved
himself out of bed and after a few soldierly setting-up exercises began
his simple toilet. This completed, he made his way to the kitchen,
where a fragrant smell of bacon and coffee announced that breakfast
awaited him.
His companions in the feast, Rosa, the maid, and Mrs. Evans, the cook,
greeted him with the respectful warmth due to a man of his position
and gifts. However unpopular Mr. Flannery might be with the resident
patients of Healthward Ho--and Admiral Sir James Rigby-Rudd, for one,
had on several occasions expressed a wistful desire to skin him--he
was always sure of a hearty welcome below stairs. Rosa worshipped his
moustache, and Mrs. Evans found his conversation entertaining.
To-day, however, though the moustache was present in all its pristine
glory, the conversation was lacking. Usually it was his custom,
before so much as spearing an egg, to set things going brightly with
some entertaining remark on the state of the weather or possibly the
absorbing description of a dream which he had had in the night, but
this morning he sat silent--or as nearly silent as he could ever be
when eating.
"A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Flannery," said Mrs. Evans, piqued. The
Sergeant-Major started. It came to him that he had been remiss.
"I was thinking, ma'am," he said, poising a forkful of bacon, "of what
I may call the sadness of life."
"Life is sad," agreed Mrs. Evans.
"Ah!" said Rosa, the maid, who, being a mere slip of a girl and only
permitted to join in these symposia as a favour, should not have spoken
at all.
"That verlent case upstairs," proceeded Mr. Flannery, swallowing the
bacon and forking up another load. "Now, there's something that makes
your heart bleed, if I may use the expression at the breakfast table.
That young fellow, no doubt, started out in life with everything
pointing to a happy and prosperous career.
"Good home, good education, everything. And just because he's allowed
himself to fall into bad 'abits, there he is under lock and key, so to
speak."
"Can he get out?" asked Rosa. It was a subject which she and the cook
discussed in alarmed whispers far into the night.
Mr. Flannery raised his eyebrows.
"No, he cannot get out. And, if he did, you wouldn't have nothing to
fear, not with me around."
"I'm sure it's a comfort feeling that you are around, Mr. Flannery,"
said Mrs. Evans.
"Almost the very words the young fellow's sister said to me when she
left him here," rumbled Mr. Flannery complacently. "She said to me,
'Sergeant-Major,' she said, 'it's such a relief to feel that there's
someone like you 'ere, Sergeant-Major,' she said. 'I'm sure you're
wonderful in any kind of an emergency, Sergeant-Major,' she said." He
sighed. "It's thinking of 'er that brings home the sadness of it all to
a man, if you understand me. What I mean, here's that beautiful young
creature racked with anxiety, as the saying is, on account of this
worthless brother of hers...."
"I didn't think she was so beautiful," said Rosa.
An awful silence followed these words, the sort of silence that would
fall upon a housekeeper's room if, supposing such a thing possible,
some young under-footman were to contradict the butler. Sergeant-Major
Flannery's eyes bulged, and he drank coffee in a marked manner.
"Don't you talk nonsense, my girl," he said shortly.
"A girl can speak, can't she? A girl can make a remark, can't she?"
"Certainly she can speak," replied Mr. Flannery. "Undoubtedly she can
make a remark. But," he added with quiet severity, "let it be sense.
That young lady was the most beautiful young lady I've ever seen. She
had eyes"--he paused for a telling simile--"eyes," he resumed devoutly,
"like twin stars." He turned to Mrs. Evans, "When you've got that
case's breakfast ready, ma'am, perhaps you would instruct someone to
bring it out to me in the garden and I'll take it up to him. I shall be
smoking my pipe in the shrubbery."
"You're not going already, Mr. Flannery?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"But you haven't finished your breakfast."
"I have quite finished my breakfast, ma'am," said Sergeant-Major
Flannery. "I would not wish to eat any more."
He withdrew. To the pleading in the eyes of Rosa he pointedly paid
no attention. He was not aware of the destructive effect which the
moustache nestling between his thumb and forefinger had wrought on the
girl's heart, but he considered rightly that if you didn't keep women
in their place occasionally, where were you? Rosa was a nice little
thing, but nice little things must not be allowed to speak lightly of
goddesses.
In the kitchen which he had left conversation had now resolved itself
into a monologue by Mrs. Evans, on the Modern Girl. It need not be
reported in detail, for Mrs. Evans on the Modern Girl was very like all
the other members of the older generation who from time to time have
given their views on the subject in the pulpit and the press. Briefly,
Mrs. Evans did not know what girls were coming to nowadays. They spoke
irreverently in the presence of their elders. They lacked respect. They
thrust themselves forward. They annoyed good men to the extent of only
half finishing their breakfasts. What Mrs. Evans's mother would have
said if Mrs. Evans in her girlhood had behaved as Rosa had just behaved
was a problem which Mrs. Evans frankly admitted herself unable to solve.
And at the end of it all the only remark which Rosa vouchsafed was a
repetition of the one which had caused Sergeant-Major Flannery to leave
the table short one egg and a slice of bacon of his normal allowance.
"I didn't think she was so beautiful," said Rosa, tossing a bobbed
auburn head.
Whether this deplorable attitude would have reduced Mrs. Evans to
a despairing silence or caused her to repeat her observations with
renewed energy will never be known, for at this moment one of the bells
above the dresser jangled noisily.
"That's Him," said Mrs. Evans. "Go and see what He wants." She usually
referred to the proprietor of Healthward Ho by means of a pronoun with
a capital letter, disapproving, though she recognized its aptness, of
her assistant's preference for the soubriquet of Old Monkey Brand. "If
it's His breakfast, tell Him it'll be ready in a minute."
Rosa departed.
"It's not His breakfast," she announced, returning. "It's the Case
Upstairs's breakfast. Old Monkey Brand wants to have a look at it
before it's took him."
"Don't call Him Old Monkey Brand."
"Well, it's what he looks like, isn't it?"
"Never mind," replied Mrs. Evans, and resumed her speculations as to
what her mother would have said.
"He's to have some bacon and eggs and toast and a potter coffee," said
Rosa, showing rather a lack of interest in Mrs. Evans's mother. "And
old Lord Twist wants to have a look at it before it's took him. It all
depends what you call beautiful," said Rosa. "If you're going to call
anyone beautiful that's got touched-up hair and eyes like one of those
vamps in the pictures, well, all I can say is..."
"That's enough," said Mrs. Evans.
Silence reigned in the kitchen, broken only by the sizzling of bacon
and the sniffs of a modern girl who did not see eye to eye with her
elders on the subject of feminine beauty.
"Here you are," said Mrs. Evans at length. "Get me one of them trays
and the pepper and salt and mustard and be careful you don't drop it."
"Drop it? Why should I drop it?"
"Well, don't."
"There was a woman in _Hearts and Satins_ that had eyes just like
hers," said Rosa, balancing the tray and speaking with the cold scorn
which good women feel for their erring sisters. "And what she didn't
do! Apart from stealing all them important papers relating to the
invention...."
"You're spilling that coffee."
"No, I'm not."
"Well, don't," said Mrs. Evans.
II
Out in the garden, hidden from the gaze of any who might espy him and
set him to work, Sergeant-Major Flannery lolled in the shrubbery,
savouring that best smoke of the day, the after-breakfast pipe. He was
still ruffled, for Dolly had made a deep impression on him and any
statement to the effect that she was not a thing of loveliness ranked
to his thinking under the head of blasphemy.
Of course, he mused, there was this to be said for the girl Rosa,
this rather important point to be put forward in extenuation of her
loose speech--she worshipped the ground he walked on and had obviously
spoken as she did under the sudden smart of an uncontrollable
jealousy. Contemplated in this light her remarks became almost
excusable, and, growing benevolent under the influence of tobacco, Mr.
Flannery began to feel his resentment changing gradually into something
approaching tenderness.
Rosa, when you came to look at it squarely, was, he reflected, rather
to be pitied than censured. Young girls, of course, needed suppressing
at times, and had to be ticked off for their own good when they got
above themselves, but there was no doubt that the situation must have
been trying to one in her frame of mind. To hear the man she worshipped
speaking with unrestrained praise of the looks of another of her sex
was enough to upset any girl. Properly looked at, in short, Rosa's
outburst had been a compliment, and Sergeant-Major Flannery, now
definitely mollified, decided to forgive her.
At this moment he heard footsteps on the gravel path that skirted the
shrubbery, and became alert and vigilant. He was not supposed to smoke
in the grounds at Healthward Ho because of the maddening effect the
spectacle could not fail to have upon the patients if they saw him. He
knocked out his pipe and peered cautiously through the branches. Then
he perceived that he need have had no alarm. It was only Rosa. She
was standing with her back to him holding a laden tray. He remembered
now that he had left instructions that the Case's breakfast should be
brought out to him, preliminary to being carried up the ladder.
"Mr. Flanner-ee!" called Rosa, and scanned the horizon.
It was not often that Sergeant-Major Flannery permitted himself any
action that might be called arch or roguish, but his meditations in the
shrubbery, added to the mellowing influence of tobacco, had left him in
an unusually light-hearted mood. The sun was shining, the little birds
were singing, and Mr. Flannery felt young and gay. Putting his pipe in
his pocket, accordingly, he crept through the shrubbery until he was
immediately behind the girl and then in a tender whisper uttered the
single word:
"Boo!"
All great men have their limitations. We recognize the inevitability of
this and do not hold it against them. One states, therefore, not in any
spirit of reproach but simply as a fact of historical interest, that
tender whispering was one of the things that Sergeant-Major Flannery
did not do well. Between intention and performance there was, when Mr.
Flannery set out to whisper tenderly, a great gulf fixed. The actual
sound he now uttered was not unlike that which might proceed from the
fog horn of an Atlantic liner or a toastmaster having a fit in a
boiler shop, and, bursting forth as it did within a few inches of her
ear without any warning whatsoever, it had on Rosa an effect identical
with that produced on Colonel Wyvern at an earlier point in this
chronicle by John Carroll's sudden bellow outside the shop of Chas.
Bywater, Chemist. From trivial causes great events may spring. Rosa
sprang about three feet. A sharp squeal escaped her and she dropped the
tray. After which, she stood with a hand on her heart, panting.
Sergeant-Major Flannery recognized at once that he had done the wrong
thing. His generous spirit had led him astray. If he had wished to
inform Rosa that all was forgotten and forgiven he should have stepped
out of the shrubbery and said so in a few simple words, face to face.
By acting, as it were, obliquely and allowing himself to be for the
moment a disembodied voice, he had made a mess of things. Among the
things he had made a mess of were a pot of coffee, a pitcher of milk,
a bowl of sugar, a dish of butter, vessels containing salt, mustard,
and pepper, a rack of toast, and a plateful of eggs and bacon. All
these objects now littered the turf before him; and, emerging from the
shrubbery, he surveyed them ruefully.
"Oo-er!" he said.
Oddly enough, relief rather than annoyance seemed to be the emotion
dominating his companion. If ever there was an occasion when a girl
might excusably have said some of the things girls are so good at
saying nowadays, this was surely it. But Rosa merely panted at the
Sergeant-Major thankfully.
"I thought you was the Case Upstairs!" she gasped. "When I heard that
ghastly sound right in my ear I thought it was him got out."
"You're all right, my girl," said Mr. Flannery. "I'm 'ere."
"Oh, Mr. Flannery!"
"There, there!" said the Sergeant-Major.
In spite of the feeling that he was behaving a little prematurely, he
slipped a massive arm around the girl's waist. He also kissed her. He
had not intended to commit himself quite so definitely as this, but it
seemed now the only thing to do.
Rosa became calmer.
"I dropped the tray," she said.
"Yes," said Mr. Flannery, who was quick at noticing things.
"I'd better go and tell him."
"Tell Mr. Twist?"
"Well, I'd better, hadn't I?"
Mr. Flannery demurred. To tell Mr. Twist involved explanations, and
explanations, if they were to be convincing, must necessarily reveal
him, Mr. Flannery, in a light none too dignified. It might be that,
having learned the facts, Mr. Twist would decide to dispense with
the services of an assistant who, even from the best motives, hid in
shrubberies and said "Boo!" to maidservants.
"You listen to me, my girl," he advised. "Mr. Twist is a busy gentleman
that has many responsibilities and much to occupy him. He don't want
to be bothered with no stories of dropped trays. All you just do is
run back to the kitchen and tell Mrs. Evans to cook the Case some more
breakfast. The coffee pot's broke, but the cup ain't broke and the
plate ain't broke and the mustardan-pepperan-salt thing ain't broke.
I'll pick 'em up and you take 'em back on the tray and don't say
nothing to nobody. While you're gone I'll be burying what's left of
them eggs."
"But Mr. Twist put something special in the coffee."
"Eh? How do you mean?"
"When I took him in the tray just now, he said, 'Is that the Case
Upstairs' breakfast?' and I said Yes, it was, and Old Monkey Brand put
something that looked like a aspirin tablet or something in the coffee
pot. I thought it might be some medicine he had to have to make him
quiet and keep him from breaking out and murdering all of us."
Mr. Flannery smiled indulgently.
"That Case Upstairs don't need nothing of that sort, not when I'm
around," he said. "Doctor Twist's like all these civilians. He gets
unduly nervous. He don't understand that there's no need or necessity
or occasion whatsoever for these what I may call sedatives when I'm on
the premises to lend a 'and in case of any verlence. Besides, it don't
do anybody no good always to be taking these drugs and what not. The
Case 'ad 'is sleeping draught yesterday, and you never know it might
not undermine his 'ealth to go taking another this morning. So if Mr.
Twist asks you has the Case had his coffee, you just say 'Yes, sir,' in
a smart and respectful manner, and I'll do the same. And then nobody
needn't be any the wiser."
Mr. Flannery's opportunity of doing the same occurred not more than
a quarter of an hour later. Returning from the task of climbing the
ladder and handing in the revised breakfast at John's window, he
encountered his employer in the hall.
"Oh, Flannery," said Mr. Twist.
"Sir?"
"The--er--the violent case. Has he had breakfast?"
"He was eatin' it quite 'earty when I left him not five minutes ago,
sir."
Chimp paused.
"Did he drink his coffee?" he asked carelessly.
"Yes, sir," replied Sergeant-Major Flannery in a smart and respectful
manner.
"Oh! I see. Thank you."
"Thank _you_, sir," said Sergeant-Major Flannery.
III
In describing John as eating his breakfast quite 'earty, Sergeant-Major
Flannery, though not as a rule an artist in words, had for once
undoubtedly achieved the _mot juste_. Hearty was the exact adjective to
describe that ill-used young man's methods of approach to the eggs and
bacon and coffee which his gaoler had handed in between the bars of the
window. Neither his now rooted dislike of Mr. Flannery nor any sense of
the indignity of accepting food like some rare specimen in a zoo could
compete in John with an appetite which had been growing silently within
him through the night watches. His headache had gone, leaving in its
place a hunger which wolves might have envied. Placing himself outside
an egg almost before the Sergeant-Major had time to say "Oo-er!" he
finished the other egg, the bacon, the toast, the butter, the milk, and
the coffee, and, having lifted the plate to see if any crumbs had got
concealed beneath it and finding none, was compelled reluctantly to
regard the meal as concluded.
He now felt considerably better. Food and drink had stayed in him that
animal ravenousness which makes food and drink the only possible object
of a man's thoughts; and he was able to turn his mind to other matters.
Having found and swallowed a lump of sugar which had got itself
overlooked under a fold of the napkin, he returned to the bed and
lay down. A man who wishes to think can generally do so better in a
horizontal position. So John lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling,
pondering.
He certainly had sufficient material for thought to keep him occupied
almost indefinitely. The more he meditated upon his present situation
the less was he able to understand it. That the villain Twist, wishing
to get away with the spoils of Rudge Hall, should have imprisoned
him in this room in order to gain time for flight would have been
intelligible. John would never have been able to bring himself to
approve of such an action, but he had to admit its merits as a piece of
strategy.
But Twist had not flown. According to Sergeant-Major Flannery, he was
still on the premises, and so, apparently, was his accomplice, the
black-hearted Molloy. But why? What did they think they were doing? How
long did they suppose they would be able to keep a respectable citizen
cooped up like this, even though his only medium of communication with
the outer world were a more than usually fat-headed sergeant-major? The
thing baffled John completely.
He next turned his mind to thoughts of Pat, and experienced a feverish
concern. Here was something to get worried about. What, he asked
himself, must Pat be thinking? He had promised to call for her in the
Widgeon Seven at one o'clock yesterday. She would assume that he had
forgotten. She would suppose....
He would have gone on torturing himself with these reflections for
a considerable time, but at this moment he suddenly heard a sharp,
clicking sound. It resembled the noise a key makes when turning in
a lock, and was probably the only sound on earth which at that
particular point in his meditations would have had the power to arrest
his attention.
He lifted his head and looked around. Yes, the door was opening. And it
was opening, what was more, in just the nasty, slow, furtive, sneaking
way in which a door would open if somebody like the leper Twist had
got hold of the handle.
In this matter of the hell-hound Twist's mental processes John was
now thoroughly fogged. The man appeared to be something very closely
resembling an imbecile. When flight was the one thing that could do
him a bit of good, he did not fly, and now, having with drugs and
imprisonment and the small talk of sergeant-majors reduced a muscular
young man to a condition of homicidal enthusiasm, he was apparently
paying that young man a social call.
However, the mental condition of this monkey-faced, waxed-moustached
bounder and criminal was beside the point. What was important was to
turn his weak-mindedness to profit. The moment was obviously one for
cunning and craftiness, and John accordingly dropped his head on the
pillow, cunningly closed his eyes, and craftily began to breathe like
one deep in sleep.
The ruse proved effective. After a moment of complete silence, a board
creaked. Then another board creaked. And then he heard the door close
gently. Finally, from the neighbourhood of the door, there came to him
a sound of whispering. And across the years there floated into John's
mind a dim memory. This whispering ... it reminded him of something.
Then he got it. Ages ago ... when he was a child ... Christmas
Eve ... His father and mother lurking in the doorway to make sure that
he was asleep before creeping to the bed and putting the presents in
his stocking.
The recollection encouraged John. There is nothing like having done a
thing before and knowing the technique. He never had been asleep on
those bygone Christmas Eves, but the gift-bearers had never suspected
it, and he resolved that, if any of the old skill and artistry still
lingered with him, the Messrs. Twist and Molloy should not suspect it
now. He deepened the note of his breathing, introducing into it a motif
almost asthmatic.
"It's all right," said the voice of Mr. Twist.
"Okay?" said the voice of Mr. Molloy.
"Okay," said the voice of Mr. Twist.
Whereupon, walking confidently and without any further effort at
stealth, the two approached the bed.
"I guess he drank the whole potful," said Mr. Twist.
Once more John found himself puzzling over the way this man's mind
worked. By pot he presumably meant the coffee pot standing on the tray
and why the contents of this should appear to him in the light of a
soporific was more than John could understand.
"Say, listen," said Mr. Twist. "You go and hang around outside the
door, Soapy."
"Why?" inquired Mr. Molloy, and it seemed to John that he spoke coldly.
"So's to see nobody comes along, of course."
"Yeah?" said Mr. Molloy, and his voice was now unmistakably dry. "And
you'll come out in a minute and tell me you're all broke up about it
but he hadn't got the ticket on him after all."
"You don't think...?"
"Yes, I do think."
"If you can't trust me that far...."
"Chimpie," said Mr. Molloy, "I wouldn't trust you as far as a snail
could make in three jumps. I wouldn't believe you not even if I knew
you were speaking the truth."
"Oh, well if that's how you feel..." said Mr. Twist, injured. Mr.
Molloy, still speaking in that unfriendly voice, replied that that was
precisely how he did feel. And there was silence for a space.
"Oh, very well," said Mr. Twist at length.
John's perplexity increased. He could make nothing of that "ticket."
The only ticket he had in his possession was the one Bolt, the
chauffeur, had given him to give to his uncle for some bag or other
which he had left in the cloak room at Shrub Hill Station. Why should
these men...!
He became aware of fingers groping toward the inner pocket of his coat.
And as they touched him he decided that the moment had come to act.
Bracing the muscles of his back he sprang from the bed, and with an
acrobatic leap hurled himself toward the door and stood leaning against
it.
IV
In the pause which followed this brisk move it soon became evident to
John, rubbing his shoulders against the oak panels and glowering upon
the two treasure seekers, that if the scene was to be brightened by
anything in the nature of a dialogue the ball of conversation would
have to be set rolling by himself. Not for some little time, it was
clear, would his companions be in a condition for speech. Chimp Twist
was looking like a monkey that has bitten into a bad nut, and Soapy
Molloy, like an American Senator who has received an anonymous telegram
saying "All is discovered. Fly at once." This sudden activity on the
part of one whom they had regarded as under the influence of some of
the best knock-out drops that ever came out of Chicago had had upon
them an effect similar to that which would be experienced by a group of
surgeons in an operating theatre if the gentleman on the slab were to
rise abruptly and begin to dance the Charleston.
So it was John who was the first to speak.
"Now, then!" said John. "How about it?"
The question was a purely rhetorical one, and received no reply. Mr.
Molloy uttered an odd, strangled sound like a far-away cat with a
fishbone in its throat, and Chimp's waxed moustache seemed to droop
at the ends. It occurred to both of them that they had never realized
before what a remarkably muscular, well-developed young man John was.
It was also borne in upon them that there are exceptions to the rule
which states that big men are always good-humoured. John, they could
not help noticing, looked like a murderer who had been doing physical
jerks for years.
"I've a good mind to break both your necks," said John.
At these unpleasant words, Mr. Molloy came to life sufficiently to be
able to draw back a step, thus leaving his partner nearer than himself
to the danger zone. It was a move strictly in accordance with business
ethics. For if, Mr. Molloy was arguing, Chimp claimed seventy per cent.
of the profits of their little venture, it was only fair that he should
assume an equivalent proportion of its liabilities. At the moment, the
thing looked like turning out all liabilities, and these Mr. Molloy was
only too glad to split on a seventy-thirty basis. So he moved behind
Chimp, and round the bulwark of his body, which he could have wished
had been more substantial, peered anxiously at John.
John, having sketched out his ideal policy, was now forced to descend
to the practical. Agreeable as it would have been to take these two men
and bump their heads together, he realized that such a course would be
a deviation from the main issue. The important thing was to ascertain
what they had done with the loot, and to this inquiry he now directed
his remarks.
"Where's that stuff?" he asked.
"Stuff?" said Chimp.
"You know what I mean. Those things you stole from the Hall."
Chimp, who had just discovered that he was standing between Mr. Molloy
and John, swiftly skipped back a pace. This caused Mr. Molloy to skip
back, too. John regarded this liveliness with a smouldering disfavour.
"Stand still!" he said.
Chimp stood still. Mr. Molloy, who had succeeded in getting behind him
again, stood stiller.
"Well?" said John. "Where are the things?"
Even after the most complete rout on a stricken battle field a beaten
general probably hesitates for an instant before surrendering his
sword. And so now, obvious though it was that there was no other course
before them but confession, Chimp and Soapy remained silent for a
space. Then Chimp, who was the first to catch John's eye, spoke hastily.
"They're in Worcester."
"Whereabouts in Worcester?"
"At the depôt."
"What depôt?"
"There's only one, isn't there?"
"Do you mean the station?"
"Sure. The station."
"They're in the Left Luggage place at the station in Worcester," said
Mr. Molloy. He spoke almost cheerfully, for it had suddenly come to
him that matters were not so bad as he had supposed them to be, and
that there was still an avenue unclosed which might lead to a peaceful
settlement. "And you've got the ticket in your pocket."
John stared.
"That ticket is for a bag my uncle sent the chauffeur to leave at Shrub
Hill."
"Sure. And the stuff's inside it."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll tell you what I mean," said Mr. Molloy.
"Atta-boy!" said Chimp faintly. He, too, had now become aware of the
silver lining. He sank upon the bed, and so profound was his relief
that the ends of his moustache seemed to spring to life again and cease
their drooping.
"Yes, sir," said Mr. Molloy, "I'll tell you what I mean. It's about
time you got hep to the fact that that old uncle of yours is one of
the smoothest birds this side of God's surging Atlantic Ocean. He
was sitting in with us all along, that's what he was doing. He said
those heirlooms had never done him any good and it was about time they
brought him some money. It was all fixed that Chimpie here should swipe
them and then I was to give the old man a cheque and he was to clean up
on the insurance, besides. That was when he thought I was a millionaire
that ran a museum over in America and was in the market for antiques.
But he got on to me, and then he started in to double-cross us. He took
the stuff out of where we'd put it and slipped it over to the depôt at
Worcester, meaning to collect it when he got good and ready. But the
chauffeur gave the ticket to you, and you came over here, and Chimpie
doped you and locked you up."
"And you can't do a thing," said Chimp.
"No, sir," agreed Mr. Molloy, "not a thing, not unless you want to
bring that uncle of yours into it and have him cracking rocks in the
same prison where they put us."
"I'd like to see that old bird cracking rocks, at that," said Chimp
pensively.
"So would I like to see him cracking rocks," assented Mr. Molloy
cordially. "I can't think of anything I'd like better than to see him
cracking rocks. But not at the expense of me cracking rocks, too."
"Or me," said Chimp.
"Or you," said Mr. Molloy, after a slight pause. "So there's the
position, Mr. Carroll. You can go ahead and have us pinched, if you
like, but just bear in mind that if you do there's going to be one of
those scandals in high life you read about. Yes, sir, real front-page
stuff."
"You bet there is," said Chimp.
"Yes, sir, you bet there is," said Mr. Molloy.
"You're dern tooting there is," said Chimp.
"Yes, sir, you're dern tooting there is," said Mr. Molloy.
And on this note of perfect harmony the partners rested their case and
paused, looking at John expectantly.
John's reaction to the disclosure was not agreeable. It is never
pleasant for a spirited young man to find himself baffled, nor is it
cheering for a member of an ancient family to discover that the head of
that family has been working in association with criminals and behaving
in a manner calculated to lead to rock-cracking.
Not for an instant did it occur to him to doubt the story. Although the
Messrs. Twist and Molloy were men whose statements the prudent would
be inclined to accept as a rule with reserve, on this occasion it was
evident that they were speaking nothing but the truth.
"Say, listen," cried Chimp, alarmed. He had been watching John's face
and did not like the look of it. "No rough stuff!"
John had been contemplating none. Chimp and his companion had ceased
to matter, and the fury which was making his face rather an unpleasant
spectacle for two peace-loving men shut up in a small room with him
was directed exclusively against his uncle Lester. Rudge Hall and its
treasures were sacred to John; and the thought that Mr. Carmody, whose
trust they were, had framed this scheme for the house's despoilment was
almost more than he could bear.
"It isn't us you ought to be sore at," urged Mr. Molloy. "It's that old
uncle of yours."
"Sure it is," said Chimp.
"Sure it is," echoed Mr. Molloy. Not for a long time had he and his old
friend found themselves so completely in agreement. "He's the guy you
want to soak it to."
"I'll say he is," said Chimp.
"I'll say he is," said Mr. Molloy. "Say listen, let me tell you
something. Something that'll make you feel good. I happen to know that
old man Carmody is throwing the wool over those insurance people's eyes
by offering a reward for the recovery of that stuff. A thousand pounds.
He told me so himself. If you want to get him good and sore, all you've
got to do is claim it. He won't dare hold out on you."
"Certainly he won't," said Chimp.
"Certainly he won't," said Mr. Molloy. "And will that make him good and
sore!"
"Will it!" said Chimp.
"Will it!" said Mr. Molloy.
"Wake me up in the night and ask me," said Chimp.
"Me, too," said Mr. Molloy.
Their generous enthusiasm seemed to have had its effect. The ferocity
faded from John's demeanour. Something resembling a smile flitted
across his face, as if some pleasing thought was entertaining him. Mr.
Molloy relaxed his tension and breathed again. Chimp, in his relief,
found himself raising a hand to his moustache.
"I see," said John slowly.
He passed his fingers thoughtfully over his unshaven chin.
"Is there a car in your garage?" he asked.
"Sure there's a car in my garage," said Chimp. "Your car."
"What!"
"Certainly."
"But that girl went off in it."
"She sent it back."
So overwhelming was the joy of these tidings that John found himself
regarding Chimp almost with liking. His car was safe after all. His
Arab Steed! His Widgeon Seven!
Any further conversation after this stupendous announcement would,
he felt, be an anti-climax. Without a word he darted to the door and
passed through, leaving the two partners staring after him blankly.
"Well, what do you know about that?" said Chimp.
Mr. Molloy's comment on the situation remained unspoken, for even as
his lips parted for the utterance of what would no doubt have been a
telling and significant speech, there came from the corridor outside a
single, thunderous "Oo-er!" followed immediately by a sharp, smacking
sound, and then a noise that resembled the delivery of a ton of coals.
Mr. Molloy stared at Chimp. Chimp stared at Mr. Molloy.
"Gosh!" said Chimp, awed.
"Gosh!" said Mr. Molloy.
"That was Flannery!" said Chimp, unnecessarily.
"'Was,'" said Mr. Molloy, "is right."
It was not immediately that either found himself disposed to leave
the room and institute inquiries--or more probably, judging from that
titanic crash, a post-mortem. When eventually they brought themselves
to the deed and crept palely to the head of the stairs they were
enabled to see, resting on the floor below, something which from
its groans appeared at any rate for the moment to be alive. Then
this object unscrambled itself and, rising, revealed the features of
Sergeant-Major Flannery.
Mr. Flannery seemed upset about something.
"Was it you, sir?" he inquired in tones of deep reproach. "Was it you,
Mr. Twist, that unlocked that Case's door?"
"I wanted to have a talk with him," said Chimp, descending the stairs
and gazing remorsefully at his assistant.
"I have the honour to inform you," said Mr. Flannery formally, "that
the Case has legged it."
"Are you hurt?"
"In reply to your question, sir," said Mr. Flannery in the same formal
voice, "I _am_ hurt."
It would have been plain to the most casual observer that the man was
speaking no more than the truth. How in the short time at his disposal
John had managed to do it was a mystery which baffled both Chimp and
his partner. An egg-shaped bump stood out on the Sergeant-Major's
forehead like a rocky promontory, and already he was exhibiting one of
the world's most impressive black eyes. The thought that there, but
for the grace of God, went Alexander Twist filled the proprietor of
Healthward Ho with so deep a feeling of thankfulness that he had to
clutch at the banister to support himself.
A similar emotion was plainly animating Mr. Molloy. To have been
shut up in a room with a man capable of execution like that--a man,
moreover, nurturing a solid and justifiable grudge against him, and to
have escaped uninjured was something that seemed to him to call for
celebration. He edged off in the direction of the study. He wanted a
drink, and he wanted it quick.
Mr. Flannery, pressing a hand to his wounded eye, continued with the
other to hold Chimp rooted to the spot. It was an eye that had much of
the quality of the Ancient Mariner's, and Chimp did not attempt to move.
"If you had listened to my advice, sir," said Mr. Flannery coldly,
"this would never have happened. Did I or did I not say to you, Mr.
Twist, did I or did I not repeatedly say that it was imperative and
essential that that Case be kept securely under lock and key? And then
you go asking for it, sir, begging for it, pleading for it, by opening
the door and giving him the opportunity to roam the 'ouse at his sweet
will and leg it when so disposed. I 'ad just reached the 'ead of the
stairs when I see him. I said Oo-er! I said, and advanced smartly at
the double to do my duty, that being what I am paid for, an' what I
draw my salary for doing, and the next thing I know I'd copped it
square in the eye and him and me was rolling down the stairs together.
I bumped my 'ead against the woodwork at the bottom or it may have
been that chest there, and for a moment all went black and I knew no
more." Mr. Flannery paused. "All went black and I knew no more," he
repeated, liking the phrase. "And when I came to, as the expression is,
the Case had gone. Where he is now, Mr. Twist, 'oo can say? Murdering
the patients as like as not or...."
He broke off. Outside on the drive, diminishing in the distance,
sounded the engine of a car.
"That's him," said Mr. Flannery. "He's gorn!" He brooded for a moment.
"Gorn!" he resumed. "Gorn to range the countryside and maybe 'ave 'alf
a dozen assassinations on his conscience before the day's out. And
you'll be responsible, Mr. Twist. On that Last Awful Day, Mr. Twist,
when you and I and all of us come up before the Judgment Seat, do
you know what'll 'appen? I'll tell you what'll 'appen. The Lord God
Almighty will say, angry-like, ''Oo's responsible for all these corpses
I see laying around 'ere?' and 'E'll look at you sort of sharp, and
you'll have to rise up and say, 'It was me! I'm responsible for them
corpses.' If I'd of done as Sergeant-Major Flannery repeatedly told me
and kep' that Case under lock and key, as the saying is, there wouldn't
have been none of these poor murdered blokes.' That's what you'll 'ave
to rise and say, Mr. Twist. I will now leave you, sir, as I wish to go
into the kitchen and get that young Rosa to put something on this nasty
bruise and eye of mine. If you 'ave any further instructions for me,
Mr. Twist, I'll be glad to attend to them. If not, I'll go up to my
room and have a bit of a lay-down. Good morning, sir."
The Sergeant-Major had said his say. He withdrew in good order along
previously prepared lines of retreat. And Chimp, suddenly seized with
the same idea which had taken Soapy to the study, moved slowly off down
the passage.
In the study he found Mr. Molloy, somewhat refreshed, seated at the
telephone.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Playing the flute," replied Mr. Molloy shortly.
"Who are you 'phoning to?"
"Dolly, if you want to know. I've got to tell her about all this
business going bloo-ey, haven't I? I've got to break it to her that
after all her trouble and pains she isn't going to get a cent out of
the thing, haven't I?"
Chimp regarded his partner with disfavour. He wished he had never seen
Mr. Molloy. He wished he might never see him again. He wished he were
not seeing him now.
"Why don't you go up to London and tell her?" he demanded sourly.
"There's a train in twenty minutes."
"I'd rather do it on the 'phone," said Mr. Molloy.