I USE A POKER
TO anyone who watched unseen, our progress homeward would undoubtedly
have presented itself as peculiar. Dr. Firth’s suggestion that the
jewels would be more secure in his safe filled Judy and Jack with a
vision of the thief coming to find his hidden booty. They scented danger
in every clump of scrub, and earnestly demanded of Dr. Firth whether he
had a revolver.
“Certainly I have—an excellent one,” he answered. “It’s in its case at
home.”
“Fancy you coming out to look for the jewels without it!” rebuked Judy.
“I never heard of anything so careless. And if you meet the thief he’s
simply certain to be armed to the teeth!”
“I shall defy him to his teeth—even if false!” said the Doctor stoutly.
“Precious lot of good defying would be if he had a six-shooter!” growled
Jack, who looked with a lofty scorn upon all literature that did not
deal with the Far West. “Why, you’re as good as a dead man if he gets
the drop on you! I think each of us three ought to take a tobacco-tin
and scoot—he’d never suspect any of us.”
“It’s a noble idea, but I like the feel of them in my pockets,”
responded the Doctor cheerfully. “I must e’en take my chance. Do you
really think any modest burglar is going to be foolhardy enough to
attack four desperadoes like ourselves—to say nothing of Sandy?”
“He’d pot you from behind a tree as soon as look at you,” said Judy,
with gloom. “Anyhow, Jack, you and me’ll go ahead and scout. And you
bring up the rear, Miss Earle—you might walk backwards as much as you
can, in case he tries to stalk us from behind!”
We obeyed. Thus might have been seen two small forms flitting through
the trees, peering in every direction: halting now and then, with lifted
hand, to scan a possible danger-point: then, reassured, darting off to
right or left, to reappear presently, perhaps examining a hollow stump,
perhaps up a tree to obtain a wider view. In the rear, I endeavoured to
be as sleuth-like as possible—dutifully walking backwards whenever I
fancied they glanced in my direction, wherefore I twice sat down heavily
on a tussock. In my next expedition of the kind the rear will be a
position I shall carefully shun. Between our two forces, Dr. Firth
stalked majestically, his chest thrown out, his hands clenched over his
pockets—looking rather like Papa in _The Swiss Family Robinson_. Sandy
was the only one of the party on whom life sat lightly. He hunted
rabbits with a joyous freedom that I envied greatly.
We parted where the track branched off towards The Towers. Judy and Jack
were profoundly uneasy at letting Dr. Firth continue his journey alone,
preferring to risk the loss of their dinner rather than let him go home
unguarded. It took all our persuasion, coupled with the reminder that
their mother would certainly be worried about them, to induce them to
say good-bye. They beguiled the way back to The Towers with the
dreariest predictions of what might be expected to happen to him and the
jewels deprived of their vigilance and mine.
We were very late for dinner, but Mrs. McNab had not worried. I do not
think, that day, that she was capable of worrying. She was a different
woman: there was a new light in her eyes, a little colour in her cheeks;
her voice had lost the hard ring that had made it so repellent. Julia
reported that she had taken her food like a Christian, and that you’d
hardly know her, for the spirit she had on her. “’Tis bein’ forced away
from the owld writin’,” said Julia. “If I’d me way the divil a pen she’d
see between now an’ Patrick’s Day!”
She made us sit in her room after dinner while the children told her
about their day. It was nervous work, for the discovery of the jewels
was naturally uppermost in their minds, and just as “all roads lead to
Rome,” so every topic we chose seemed only to merge into that crowning
achievement of the day. Luckily, their mother was too blissfully content
to notice occasional stumbling and hesitation. She gave them ready
sympathy and outward attention, but I knew that half her mind was so
busy rejoicing that she did not hear half they said.
As for Judy and Jack, they noticed nothing of her abstraction. They were
only amazed at the change in her. I found them discussing it in bed when
I went out on the balcony to tuck them in.
“Never knew Mother so jolly,” said Jack. “Did you, Miss Earle? She was
all smiling and int’rested—and generally about three minutes of us is
all she can stick!”
“She looked so pretty, too,” Judy added. “Her eyes were all big and
soft. Miss Earle, you do really think she’s better, don’t you?” The
child put her hand out and drew me down beside her. “She—she made me
frightened,” she said, with a catch in her voice. “You don’t think she’s
going to be very ill, do you?”
“No, she isn’t,” I answered quickly—not very sure of my own voice.
“She’s really ever so much better: in a few days she will be up. Mother
has had a great deal of worry for a long time, old Fellow-Members, and
now I hope that worry has gone.”
Jack made a spring across from his bed and snuggled down beside Judy and
me.
“Miss Earle—was the worry something to do with—with the job we helped
you with last night?”
“Yes, it was. But you aren’t going to ask questions.”
“No, of course not. But I just wanted to know that much. It wasn’t any
harm just to ask that, was it?”
“No, indeed it wasn’t, old man. You earned that, you and Judy.”
“I’m glad I know,” Judy said. “Will the worry ever come back! I do hope
it won’t, ’cause I’d love Mother to stay like she is now.”
“I don’t think it will,” I said: I spoke stoutly, but again there was
that sick fear at my heart. “It has been terribly hard for Mother to
carry on, because she couldn’t bear anyone but herself to have the
worry.”
“And things you keep to yourself are ever so much beastlier,” observed
Judy. “Do ask Mother to tell us, after you’ve gone, if it comes back,
Miss Earle. We might be able to help.”
“And anyhow, we’d take care of her,” said Jack. “We’d make her a Member
of the Band, if she’d like—only somehow, she’s never seemed exactly
Band-y before. She’d be a simply ripping Member if she stays like she is
to-night!”
He gave a great yawn, stood up, and dived back to his own bed.
“I’m awful sleepy,” he said. “But we’ve had two wonderful adventures,
haven’t we, Ju? These have been the best two days of my whole life!”
“Me, too,” said Judy.
Would the worry ever come back! The fear was strong on me as I sat by my
window before going to bed. Do as I might I could not shake off the
feeling that Ronald Hull had not done with us yet. Why, I asked myself,
should he go to America, when in Australia he had a sister ready to
beggar herself and risk disgrace to protect him? And if this last dread
were true—if it were he who had hidden the jewels in the hole under the
bank of the creek—was it to be expected that he would leave the country
without them? The evil face, with its cold eyes, seemed to hover before
me in answer. Whatever happened, Ronald Hull would consider nobody in
the world but himself.
I was very tired, and when I went to bed sleep came to me almost at
once, and I dreamed a cheerful dream that Colin and I were chasing Mr.
Hull across a paddock that ended in a precipice. We knew it was there,
and so did he, and he tried to break back and escape; but Colin had not
been a footballer for nothing, and he headed off every rush, countered
every dodge, edging him on all the time: until at last Mr. Hull gave it
up, and, running wildly and calling out unpleasant things, reached the
edge of the cliff and sprang out in mid-air, twisting and turning as he
fell, but never dropping his cigarette from his lips. He disappeared far
below, and I woke up. I do not think it was a lady-like dream, but I
felt astonishingly light-hearted. I knew how Sandy felt when he caught
his rabbit.
I was just dropping off to sleep again when a sound fell upon my ears.
It was so faint that at first I thought I was mistaken; then it came
again, more distinctly, and I sat up, very wide-awake. Surely, some one
was calling for help—a child’s voice.
I sprang out of bed, flung on my dressing-gown and slippers, and ran out
into the corridor. Something was happening downstairs: there was no
light save that of the moon, but I heard a scuffle, and a man’s voice,
low and furious. And then another, and it was Jack’s, crying, “Let go,
you brute!” At that I lost my head altogether. Any sensible person would
have summoned Harry McNab and his friends. But I fled downstairs without
stopping to think, and, following the sounds, dashed into the library.
There were two figures there in the moonlight: Jack, in his pyjamas, a
slight thing in the grip of a tall man who was trying to silence him. I
heard an oath and a low-voiced threat, as I picked up the poker and
struck at him. He let Jack go, turning on me savagely. I dodged his
blow, struck again, and felt the blow go home: heard Jack crying out,
“Look out, Miss Earle—he’ll kill you!” It seemed very likely, as he
rushed at me; but that was no reason for letting him kill Jack.
We circled round each other warily for a moment. Then he made another
rush, and Jack sprang in between us and gripped him by the legs. He fell
heavily over the boy: I sprang again, and hit wildly, caring not where I
hit, and only wishing there were more strength in the blows. And then
came another little figure—Judy, who flung herself across the
struggling man, pounding wildly with her fists. I saw her thrown aside,
and she did not move. Came racing feet, and the voice of Julia—“Let me
at him, the murdherin’ vilyun!” as I hit with my last ounce of strength,
and staggered back.
“Sit on his head, Julia!” shrilled Jack.
“I will so,” said Julia: and did.
I saw Jack crawling away, and flung myself across the struggling legs.
We thrashed backwards and forwards on the floor, Julia keeping up a
steady flow of threats, mingled with remarks addressed to the saints.
And then the light was switched on, and the room was full of
voices—men’s voices, tense and angry. I could not see any of them: I
was trying feebly to keep my hold, knowing I was done. Something like a
thunderbolt caught the side of my head. Then came blackness and silence.