ROUNDING UP THE BURGLARS
The predicament in which Bert and his friends found themselves after
overhearing the discussion between the four men in the chapel of the
tower was by no means lessened by an event which happened within five
minutes of the return of Clive and Bert. They were grouped round the
window through which they had gained entrance, debating the question.
Bert, in the manner he favoured when addressing the members of that
august assembly known as the Ranleigh School Debating Society, stood
with his hands beneath his coat, firmly clenched at his back. He leaned
slightly forward, wagged his head impressively when he wished to make a
point, and silenced interruption with a keen and sometimes threatening
glance.
"There you are," he was saying, as if summing up the whole position.
"We arrive here after a bit of a climb."
"Yes, we all know that," interjected Hugh impatiently. "If we hadn't
arrived here, why--well, we shouldn't be here, should we?"
"Don't talk rot," came the rejoinder. "We arrive here after a climb; we
discover four blackguards----"
"One moment," said Clive, gently enough, for he was positively fearful
now of incurring the censure of the great Bert. "You must admit that
they don't exactly appear to be blackguards. One, for instance----"
Bert tossed his head impatiently. He freed one hand from behind his
back, and still leaving the other in its old position, holding his
coat-tails in air, lifted the first, protruded a forefinger and held it
out in a manner half appealing and certainly a little threatening.
"Do let's get on," he growled. "Who's such an ass not to know that
modern burglars are often swells?"
"Agreed," cried Hugh, while Clive nodded.
"All the swell mobsmen of to-day cut a dash. Probably they've been to
the best of schools, and if only you knew it, you rub shoulders with
them when you go to dances and dinners and the theatre."
Bert was really terrific. Hugh blushed to think of his boldness. As if
he and his brother were in the habit of going to dances, of being
invited to dinners, and of accompanying friends to the theatre. Catch
them being bored with one or the other! Why, Bert had only said on the
previous day that dances were a nuisance. That he preferred cricket.
That dinners didn't interest him, for people talked such rot. Besides, a
chap couldn't get half enough to eat. As to theatres, well, there he had
waxed quite indignant. Theatres indeed! Drivel! That had been his actual
expression. And here he was holding forth! Hugh opened his mouth to
protest.
"I say! Draw it mild. How can chaps rub shoulders with burglars at
dances, dinners, and theatres if they never go, or hardly ever?"
Bert fixed him with a piercing glance. "Ass!" he hissed. "Who's meaning
us? You means Dick and Tom and Harry. I wouldn't be bored with such
things. But other folks are, and they rub shoulders with fine fellows,
handsome chaps able to debate any question, and in the King's best
English too, who are common robbers all the same. But you wouldn't be
supposed to know all that, Hugh. You're too young."
There was pity in his tones. Hugh crumpled up instantly. His indignation
a few hours ago would have been surprising. He might even have launched
himself at Bert, for sometimes their breezes led to violence. But now?
He wished the ground would open and swallow him. Bert's scorn and pity
made him positively miserable.
"Sorry!" he managed to murmur.
"Oh, you can't help that, no more can Clive. You're both of you kids,
and it's kindest to tell you. But do let us get ahead. We've discovered
four blackguards down below, and we know the police are after them. We
have heard of frequent burglaries in these parts of late, and we have
overheard these fellows boasting of how they have put the police off the
track. Now they're contemplating another. We've got to act, and----"
It was just at this precise moment that the event occurred which added
to their difficulties, and, in fact, threw them into a condition of
great excitement. A low, reverberating crash came bursting through the
doorway of the room and reached their ears sharply. They looked at one
another in dismay.
"A revolver shot," said Bert hoarsely.
"Perhaps they've had a row," suggested Clive after a minute's silence.
"Perhaps they were dividing the stuff taken on former occasions and
couldn't agree. There's another."
Five shots rang out in swift succession, and there was a half-smothered
shout. Hugh looked doubtfully out of the window. He wondered if Bert
would recommend a precipitate retirement, and sincerely hoped he would.
Clive, too, followed the direction of his glance, and felt somewhat
faint-hearted. But Bert rose to the occasion, just as he had done
before.
"You stay here. I'll go and see what's happening," he said.
"I'll come too," cried Clive eagerly, while Hugh showed a decided
inclination to follow. But their friend checked the impulse with a wave
of his hand.
"Stay here," he said. "If there's shooting, better have only one hurt.
If I don't get back within five minutes you'll know that something's
happened. Then bolt for it. Hunt up the police, tell 'em the whole tale,
and bring 'em along with you. Of course, they'd better come armed.
Rather! Listen to that. There's more shooting. They must be hiding
behind the pillars and potting at one another. Now, do as you're told.
Just hop if I'm not back in five minutes."
He went off without another glance at them, and we must record the
impression his courage created. Clive and Hugh were positively
astounded.
"Never knew him like this before. What's happened to him?" asked the
former.
Hugh shook his head dolefully. The whole thing was astounding and
somewhat painful. Even in the midst of such excitement the thought was
uppermost in his mind that Bert had shone brightly in this adventure,
while he, Hugh, who as a rule thrust himself to the front as if he
recognised his own superiority, was acting like a baby, and would
willingly have bolted a moment ago if it hadn't been for his brother's
example.
"I'm jiggered!" was all that he could exclaim, somewhat mournfully.
Afterwards they stood by the window listening eagerly, every little
sound causing them to stir and start. And when the shots were repeated,
which was every few moments, they positively jumped.
How slowly those fatal minutes passed too. Clive dragged a battered
Waterbury from his waistcoat pocket, shook it violently to make sure
that it was running, for, in spite of its general excellence, this same
watch had of late struck work on occasion. What else could you expect?
The ingenious Clive and Hugh had imagined that they had a startling
improvement to add to the watch. It had surprised them that no
watchmaker had ever hit upon such a simple invention. The thing was, in
fact, brilliant and childishly simple, so much so that they burned to
put it into practice. That meant that the cheap but reliable Waterbury
possessed by Clive had promptly been laid on the operating table. Its
vitals had been exposed. Its springs had been stirred with a canny
instrument of Clive's own making, and then, the greatest triumph of
all, the simple and brilliant improvement had been added.
"Simply ripping!" was Hugh's enthusiastic comment, as he watched his
friend's dexterous fingers. "It'll go like a bird after this. You'll
make a pot of money by selling the invention."
Alas! The stupid watch resented this unasked-for interference. There was
something wrong with the invention added. Perhaps it didn't fit. Perhaps
the vitals of the Waterbury had been slightly injured. Whatever the
cause, the watch refused to go regularly after that experiment, even
though Clive reluctantly withdrew his brilliant addition from the
interior. It had a habit of stopping. Then it would plunge ahead without
rhyme or reason. But it was going now.
"He left us two minutes twenty seconds ago," he said hoarsely.
"And gave us the limit of five. My eye! Ain't they shooting! It must be
a regular battle."
The shots came frequently still to their ears, sharp and very distinct,
while occasionally there was a shout. Hugh looked out of the window,
wondering whether anyone passing on the road would hear the noise and
come in their direction.
"We'd wave then," he told Clive.
"What?" asked that latter, giving his Waterbury a bang on the stone
edge of the window. "Beastly thing's trying to stop. It gave a sort of
whir. You know. You've heard it."
"I was wondering if anyone on the road would hear and come along. We'd
wave," repeated Hugh.
"Of course. Any juggins would do that. But they won't hear. The sound
breaks up in the building. You wouldn't hear it if you were down below
in that old garden. How's time? I do wish Bert'd come back. Supposing he
don't? What then?"
"We run for it."
"And leave him?"
"Those were his or--er, his wishes," said Hugh hurriedly.
"Oh! Then I suppose we must, though I don't like leaving him. But it's
better than all being murdered. George! It's four minutes five seconds
since he left us."
They counted the remaining seconds anxiously. They were breathless when
the full five minutes had gone. Clive tucked the Waterbury sadly back
into his pocket and looked enquiringly at his friend.
"Give him five minutes' grace," he said.
Hugh nodded. He noticed that the firing had become almost furious. Then
there was a loud and startled shout, when it ceased all of a sudden.
There was blank despair on their faces now. What better evidence could
they have of Bert's downfall?
"Those brutes have bagged him," groaned Hugh. "If--if only we had
revolvers."
"I'm awfully sorry," said Clive lamely, for Hugh looked as if he would
burst into tears.
"Awfully near blubbing," Clive told himself. And then, as if he felt
that the responsibility of the situation had fallen on his own
shoulders, he clutched Hugh by the arm and thrust him towards the
window.
"Let's go," he said. "No use giving him longer grace. Let's get off to
the police. We can then show them the way back and help in the capture."
Sadly and desperately did the two clamber down the ivy to the ground
beneath. They sneaked away from the tower as if they were afraid that
shots might follow them. Then they plunged into the copse in which their
bicycles lay, and having found the latter, mounted their own and
sprinted off to the village as fast as the wheels and their feet would
allow. Two breathless lads at length threw themselves from their
machines at the gate of the cottage which did duty as a police depot.
"What's amiss?" asked the police sergeant, coming to the door in his
shirt sleeves to answer their loud and peremptory summons. "What!
Mister Clive and Mister Hugh! You ain't been diggin' more pits fer Mr.
Rawlings, have you?"
There was a stupid grin on his face. His insolence made the boys' blood
boil. Were they never to hear the last of that business?
"I'm fairly sick of hearing of it," Hugh had grumbled on the previous
day, for as is the case in the country, the tale had flown swiftly. Sly
glances of amusement were cast after the retreating figure of Mr.
Rawlings. That pompous individual now was far less patronising than on
former occasions. He even nodded, instead of treating those who greeted
him politely, as is the pleasant fashion in the country, to a lordly
lifting of his stick. Mrs. Darrell's gardener chuckled perhaps half a
dozen times a day when he thought of the occurrence.
"Of all the imps, them's they," he had often asserted down at the public
which he frequented. "And mind you, I ain't so sure as some of their
elders and their betters too, as you'd think, ain't mightily pleased at
what happened. Bless you! The parson, he sent his boys away to school at
once. Mister Hugh, he tells me that he and Mr. Bert come in fer a
lickin'. But that don't prevent parson from bein' amused, do it? That
don't prevent him thinking that it sarved Mr. Rawlings right. It's just
this. You think of a man as you find him, and parson don't think much of
him up at the Hall, if I'm a good un at guessing."
Whether the old fellow was a good un or not, the fact remained that the
story was known far and wide, and the boyish escapade of our heroes
condoned, if not actually approved of. Still, it was galling, to say the
least, to call upon a police sergeant and to have the fellow casting the
same old tale at them.
Clive lifted his head pompously. It was a way his father had had when in
possession of the property, though he was an easy enough man to get on
with. The sergeant recognised the movement. He remembered a reprimand he
himself had received from Clive's father. Suddenly he lost his grin and
became stern and attentive.
"Beggin' pardon," he said, "but what's happened? A fire? Or is it
someone that's got killed? Or is it poachers?"
"Poachers?" asked Hugh in astonishment.
"Poachers, to be sure. Haven't I been worrited almost off my head of
late with tales of 'em, and information that they was working? There's
that farmer Stiggins. He comes ridin' in two weeks ago and says as
there's going to be a raid by poachers up at Squire Green's covers way
over by Pendleton Bottom. I gets on my bicycle, calls for Irwin, the
constable, along by the cross roads, and we goes and hides with the
keepers. But no poachers come along. Young gents, there was a burglary
that night over in the opposite direction. There was three of 'em at it,
we reckoned, and they got clear away with five diamond rings, silver
forks and knives by the bushel, a box o' cigars, a bottle o' brandy and
a self-filling pen. You ain't come to tell me of more poachers?"
Clive had recovered his breath by then. He was so impatient to tell his
tale that he could positively have struck the sergeant.
"Poachers! Bother poachers!" he cried, though his eyes went to Hugh's
with a significance there was no denying. Here, indeed, was
corroboration of the story he had heard, and more proof, if any were
needed, of the importance of their discovery. "We've come about
burglars, your burglars," he cried. "Three of them, and a fourth who
keeps watch when they're away and sends tales of poachers to the police.
I heard them telling the story. They've been fooling you nicely, but
we've got 'em now, sergeant."
It was the officer's turn to gasp. He pushed his untidy hair far back
from his forehead, and stared hard at the boys.
"Just tell the tale straight through," he said eagerly. "You've bagged
three burglars, you two has done that--never!"
"Ass! Who said we'd bagged them?" shouted Hugh angrily. "We've found out
where they're hiding. We listened to their talk, and we know that they
intend to make another attempt at burglary this very evening. They
started shooting----"
"Ah!" The sergeant started and flushed. "Then they're armed?" he asked,
with some show of anxiety.
"Rather! Huge revolvers. They started a row. Bert--you know my
brother--well, he was awfully plucky. He went off to see what the row
was about, and they shot him."
His lip trembled. Hugh had been too fully engaged up till now to realise
the seriousness of his probable loss. But the mention of it to the
sergeant unnerved and unmanned him for the moment. A second later he was
watching the sergeant closely. The latter dived into the narrow opening
of his cottage, reached for his coat and helmet and donned them swiftly,
as much as to say that the very action made him into a real sergeant and
showed that he was ready to do his duty. Then he produced a note-book,
drew out a pencil and bit the lead. Having opened the book, he then
looked at a watch as ponderous as Clive's Waterbury and noted the time
down in his book with a business-like air which was most impressive. A
few scribbled lines were hurriedly added.
"'At two fifty-two I was called by Mister Darrell and Mister Hugh
Seymour,'" he read. "'They was on bicycles.'"
"Wrong," interrupted the latter. "We'd dismounted."
"But you come on bicycles," the sergeant reproved him severely. "'From
information then received I learned that the said young gentlemen had
discovered four burglars, the same as did a robbery two weeks ago, and
the same most likely as has done others in these parts. From information
received----'"
"You've said that once," said Clive impatiently.
"And I'll have to say it again. It's the law," declared the officer
sternly. "It's the law, sir. 'Well, from information received, I learned
that the said burglars were armed, and that Mister Bert Seymour had been
shot.' Now, where's the place?"
"The old tower that's haunted."
"Ha! I suspected it. I've seed lights there of nights of late. People
says it's haunted; but I'd made up my mind to see what them lights
meant. It's lucky you went there first. I'd have been there to-night,
perhaps, young gents. So it's at the tower? And there's four of the
ruffians? That means that help's required. You young gentlemen come
along with me at once. There's no time to be lost. I'll pick up the
constable, and then get along to the Rector and Mr. Newdigate. They're
magistrates."
Once more the officer dived into his cottage, to appear again armed with
a bludgeon and wheeling his bicycle. In a trice they were all three
mounted and racing away towards the cross roads, where the constable had
his quarters. By the time the Rectory was reached their excitement had,
if anything, increased, the more so since a dozen or more of the
neighbours had joined them. Stevens, the village butcher, followed in
his cart, a hay-fork gripped in one hand so as to be ready. There were a
couple of young farm labourers, the local sweep, a big lusty fellow who
might be expected to tackle at least two of the burglars. Ahead went the
Rector, mounted on his tricycle, and very soon the second of the
magistrates had joined him riding in his car, to which the Rector
transferred his person, loaning his own machine to Tom, a youth employed
about the village. By the time the cavalcade came in sight of Merton
Tower there were at least twenty followers, while the brace of shot-guns
resting in the back of the leading car showed that the band were bent on
business, and were determined to meet violence with violence.
"If they shoots, why, of course, I shoot," the sergeant told Hugh
hoarsely as they came nearer to the tower. "I don't like bloodshed--not
me! But when there's desperate criminals to be dealt with, why, they has
to have what they deserves. Where did you say you left the road to get
at the tower?"
The two who had given the alarm, and had helped to discover the
burglars, promptly pointed out the spot, and dismounted opposite the gap
through which they had passed with their machines. The car was brought
to a standstill instantly, and a boy who had attached himself to the
gang a little time before was left in charge. Then, headed by Clive and
Hugh, with the sergeant and the constable immediately behind them, and
followed by the Rector and his fellow magistrate, the whole party thrust
their way quietly through the cover of the wood which led to the base of
the tower. Very soon they were halted at the edge of the copse, with the
massive door within sight of them.
"That's where we got in," whispered Clive, pointing to the window above,
and to the ivy growing thickly up to it.
"You clambered up by the ivy!" gasped the Rector, turning pale. "What
recklessness! But we can't do that. Are the doors bolted?"
"Fast," said Hugh. "But there's a postern in one, which is padlocked."
"Then we'll soon make short work o' that," declared the sergeant,
suddenly taking the lead. "Now, gentlemen, we've got to take
precautions, or else we'll have these gaolbirds escaping. Constable, you
just slip round to the far side, taking a few of these lads with you,
and watch to see that no one breaks away. Take one of the guns, and
shoot if one of the four we're after lifts a weapon or refuses to
surrender."
There was determination written on the face of the officer. Some of the
gaping rustics around turned pale beneath their tan. The Rector raised
one hand as if to protest, and then, realising the situation, refrained
from speaking.
"Now," went on the officer, "I take the other gun. Bill Watson, you've
brought along that bar I asked for?"
A burly fellow with a smith's apron around his middle came forward. "I'm
ready," he said. "If there's a padlock, it won't stand much from this
thing. But supposing they shoot?"
"I'll be there beside you," said the sergeant at once. "Don't you fear.
If there's going to be hanky-panky, I'll be first with it."
By now the constable had gone off to the far side of the tower, taking
some of the gang with him. All was in readiness for the attack upon the
stronghold of the burglars. The sergeant looked about him to make sure
that every avenue of escape was closed, and then led the way forward
from cover. The smith went with him, the Rector and his fellow
magistrate followed, while the rustics came in rear, some rather
timorously, some impelled merely by overweening curiosity, others
because of their natural courage.
"Now, Bill Watson, do your duty," commanded the sergeant, when they had
reached the doors. "In the name of the King, break open that lock."
Bill made short work of the matter. His bar was thrust at once into the
hasp of the lock. He put his weight into the business. There was a dull
snap, and at once the padlock fell from the door. Promptly the sergeant
pushed it open and made ready to enter.
"Gentlemen," he said, turning to those who stood about him, "in the
execution of my duty I am bound to enter. I can ask, but cannot demand
your help."
Hugh almost cheered him. The fellow was so cool, and so dignified. One
saw that he was ready if need be to enter alone, and brave the very
worst. But that, of course, was out of the question. Hugh pressed
forward and Clive with him. The Rector lifted his hat and stepped up to
the door, and then one by one they entered. It was dark within, but a
match which the officer struck showed that the way was clear. Guided by
Clive, he went in the direction of the chapel. They crossed the floor of
a huge room, passed through a wide passage, and then came to a doorway.
Ah! the space beyond was flooded with light. It was clear that here the
roof had fallen.
"The chapel," whispered Clive.
"And the burglars," said Hugh, beneath his breath, pointing to four
figures in the distance.
"Forward!" ordered the sergeant sternly. "Rush 'em!"
[Illustration: "'FORWARD!' ORDERED THE SERGEANT STERNLY. 'RUSH 'EM!'"]
They started out into the chapel at a run. With a shout of triumph they
threw themselves upon the four men within, bowled them over before they
had recovered from their astonishment or could use their weapons, and
soon had them tethered in the corners. It was exciting work while it
lasted. Clive and Hugh tackled Peter, and were almost killed by the
frantic struggles of that burly ruffian. It took them quite three
minutes to recover their breath. Then they went to one of the corners,
where poor Bert lay huddled on the same iron bedstead which he and Clive
had noticed.
"Merely stunned, not otherwise hurt," said the Rector, who was bending
over him. "It seems that he must have fallen from the floor above. I
will cross-question those ruffians."
The three fellows whom Bert and his friends had decided must be swell
mobsmen stood at the far end of the chapel surrounded by a crowd of
exultant rustics, and now with hands firmly bound. A great noise came
from their direction, and going towards them Clive heard first one and
then another of the dishevelled rascals expostulating.
"What's the meaning of this violence and of this extraordinary assault?"
the man whom Clive knew as Joe was demanding. "Answer at once, sergeant.
Why are peaceful people thus attacked and set upon by ruffians with an
officer of the law to lead them?"
That officer might have been a mile away. He stood, note-book and pencil
in hand, and once more took the time by his watch.
"I have to warn you that anything you say will be used in evidence
against you," he said coolly, having noted the time.
"Humbug! Evidence indeed! You'll require that, my man," came the heated
answer.
"I charge you with being notorious burglars, with lying here ready to
commit another offence. My witnesses, who overheard you discussing your
plans, are Mister Clive Darrell and Mister Hugh Seymour."
Very pompously did the sergeant give the information. The man called
Joe looked as if he would explode, so great was his indignation. But
though the mention of our two young friends' names may have meant
nothing to him, they seemed to attract the attention of another of the
three who stood in the background till that moment almost unobserved. He
started forward, looked closely at Clive and Hugh, and then, to the
amazement of his comrades and all present, broke into a fit of
uncontrollable laughter. He almost grovelled in his ecstasy. The Rector
was really alarmed for the man's reason, while Bill Watson, the smith,
stepped farther away and raised his iron bar in readiness for
self-protection. It was Joe and the sergeant who first noticed the
curious change which had come over Clive and his young friend. They were
backing away. They looked horribly frightened. Clive had gone a fiery
red, while Hugh was almost purple. They looked, in fact, as if they had
seen the ghost said to haunt this ancient tower, and as if the sight had
scared them out of their wits.
"I--I think we'd better be going," Clive managed to blurt out at last.
"Er--yes," agreed Hugh huskily.
"One moment, young gents," said the sergeant. "Why, if that chap ain't
still laughin'. See here, my man, you just cut it short, or----"
He was interrupted by another gust. The burglar immediately in front of
the one so vastly amused joined him in his merriment. Then Joe saw the
fun, wherever it existed, and presently there were all three shaking
with mirth, while their captors looked on sternly. And then the one who
had set the fashion stepped to the front, torn and dishevelled after his
encounter. Clive and Hugh backed away, and would have bolted, but at a
glance from him stood rooted to the spot.
"Sergeant," said the man, "I'm Mr. Canning, a master at Ranleigh School.
Ask those boys if they recognise me."
No need to ask. The faces of our two young friends supplied the answer.
It was actually and decidedly Mr. Canning, the "Peach," as many called
him, because of his blooming cheeks, the master so fond of giving
"impots." Clive groaned aloud as he looked at him. Hugh wished the
remaining roof of the chapel might fall in and bury him yards deep.
"Oh!" exclaimed the sergeant, looking glum of a sudden.
"And these are my friends. Mr. Oxon here, whom we call Joe, is the owner
of Merton Tower. To proceed, there is a legend of buried treasure. He
has lately come upon a clue hidden away in an ancient family manuscript.
What more natural than that he should invite his friends to help him
search for the missing valuables? What more natural than that the
strictest secrecy should be employed? That these boys have discovered us
is unfortunate. The fact that we have been taken for burglars is readily
understood. It is a most excusable and humorous mistake. Allow me to
assure you that we are the most harmless of individuals. As to the boy
who fell into the chapel, he is merely stunned. We have been wondering
how he managed to get into the tower. I suppose I should have recognised
him. I didn't. As to the shots, we were merely amusing ourselves with a
six-shooter. There. You have a full explanation."
Oh, the misery of it all! The stern looks of the Rector, the grins of
the rustics, the smothered anger of the sergeant and constable. Never
were Clive and Bert and Hugh more miserable than on the days which
followed. People laughed aloud whenever they met them. At church half
the congregation stared them out of face. While the thought that Mr.
Canning had been one of their captures made all three turn almost yellow
at the thought of the coming term at Ranleigh and the consequences of
their late adventure. The worst of all undoubtedly was the fact that
Masters managed to get wind of the business.
"How's burglars?" he asked, ungrammatically, immediately on encountering
his old friends on their return to Ranleigh.
There was strife for the ten minutes which followed.