The Burglary.
“The de’ils ha been quick about it,” muttered Sandy; “and they’ve gone through the libr’y window, while, if that door I broke open has been mended again, it’s a strange thing to me. What shall I do?—ring them all up? No,” he said, after a pause; “then perhaps we shouldn’t catch them, for before I could get round again from the bell, they’d have slipped out of the window. No, we must catch them, for it strikes me verra strongly that if this is Mr Jock Gurdon, I should like to see him transported to the other side of the watter.”
For a few moments Sandy McCray stood thoughtful and puzzling what to do. He could easily have alarmed the burglars, for such they evidently were; but then that was not sufficient—there must be a capture made. But suddenly a bright thought struck him—he would run round to the butler’s pantry, and try and rouse whoever slept there. But did any one sleep there? Gurdon’s place had never been filled up, and it was most likely that the footman and under-butler still kept their places in the hall.
“I have it,” muttered Sandy, at last; and setting off across the lawn at a brisk trot, he made his way to the kitchen-garden, but what he sought was not there, of course not: it was round by the potting shed, he recollected then; and on cautiously proceeding there, he picked up from where it lay beside a wall a twenty-round light garden ladder, and set off with it to the front of the house, where he had spoken to Jane that morning.
“One—two—three—four; that’s the window,” muttered Sandy, and the next instant, exerting his great strength, he raised the ladder and rested the top against the window sill.
Fortunately, the window entered so quickly by the burglars was on the other side of the house, and the gardener was able to take his steps for giving an alarm unheard by them.
“Gude save us!” he muttered, climbing up. “I hope he winna shute me!”
The next minute he listened attentively, and then gave three sharp taps upon one pane, followed by two other similar signals, ere the blind was dragged back, the window thrown open, and Sir Murray’s hands were tightly grasping his throat.
“Hoot awa’ Sir Mooray, and tak’ awa’ ye’re hands from a man’s weam.”
“Hand over the letter, you scoundrel, or I’ll hurl you down!” exclaimed Sir Murray, through his teeth.
“The duel’s been sleeping in his clothes, and gone half daft,” muttered Sandy. And then, in a whisper: “Let me in, Sir Mooray, and look sharp, for there are burglars in the house!”
The gardener’s announcement seemed to bring his master to his right senses, and, loosing his hold, Sandy stepped lightly into the chamber.
“You’ll just have a pair of pistols, or dirk, or something, Sir Mooray,” said the man.
His master stepped to a drawer, and drew out a small double-barrelled pair, examined the nipples to see if they were capped, and then handed one to his servant, but the latter shook his head.
“Na—na,” he said; “I might be blowing his brains out with the thing, and I dinna wush that. I’ll take the poker, Sir Mooray; and now, if ye’re ready, the sooner we’re at them the better.”
“Ring the alarm-bell!” said Murray.
“Nay, nay, gude sir; let’s take them ourselves. Stop the hole up where they come in, and then we can ring if ye like; but while we’re ringing bells they’ll be off, and only to come again.”
Giving up the leadership to his servant, Sir Murray followed him into the corridor, and from thence to the grand staircase, but all was still. Hastily descending to the library, the unrepaired door was found—like the window—wide open, when Sandy’s first step was to close both carefully, and then rejoin his master.
“Heard anything, sir?” he whispered.
“Not a sound,” said Sir Murray, hoarsely; “but, do you think they are burglars? Stay here an instant, while I ascend to her ladyship’s room,” he said, hurriedly, as a thought—a base, suspicious thought of a meditated elopement—crossed his mind. “They may have gone that way.”
“Hoot, mon, stay where ye are,” whispered Sandy. “D’ye hear that? They’re packing up the plate, and—hist! look there,” he said, in a low tone, as a faint light shone in the distance on their right, making plain the face of a man standing in the second of the suite of drawing-rooms, the doors of which had been set wide open.
Sandy recognised the face at the same instant as Sir Murray, and the same name rose to their lips, McCray muttering fiercely:
“Stop ye here, Sir Mooray, and lay hold of the de’ils taking the plate. They winna face yer pistols. I’ll deal with this one.”
Thrusting his master aside, McCray stepped lightly over the soft carpets, followed for a few seconds by the baronet’s eyes, but the light then faded away, and as Sir Murray stood, now breathing hard and excited, as he felt that it was indeed a burglary in progress, he heard a muttered oath, the crashing over of a set of fire-irons, the heavy sounds of blows, and knocking down of furniture, followed directly after by a rapid rush, and he felt himself dashed to the ground, one pistol exploding as he fell; but he was up again the next moment, to be knocked down with greater violence than before, as a Scotch oath rang in his ear; and then, at the same instant, there was a crash and splintering of glass, and as he rose to his feet, he became aware that those who had knocked him down had gone through the library and leapt boldly through the closed window, the night wind now coming with a loud sigh through the shivered panes.
“The scoundrel has escaped, and the other gone in pursuit,” muttered Sir Murray, just as loud shrieks for help were heard from above-stairs, followed by the loud ringing of the alarm-bell.
The next minute lights were held over the balustrade, and timid faces were seen, gazing down; but the lights also revealed to Sir Murray’s gaze the crape-veiled features of two men, each bearing a bag, which now, upon finding that they were discovered, they dropped, with a loud, jingling noise, upon the stone floor—a sound which told plainly enough of their contents.
“Stand!” cried Sir Murray, as they turned to flee down the long passage up which they had come—a passage leading to the pantry—“stand, or I fire! I cannot miss you at this distance!”
One of the men uttered an oath, in his rage, for now a light appeared at the other end of the passage, showing a footman, armed with a blunderbuss, which seemed to alarm him as much as it did the burglars.
“It’s no go,” muttered one of the men. “Stow that, gov’nor, and I’ll give up. Come on, Joe.”
“Not I,” exclaimed the other, making a spring to get by Sir Murray, but in vain: true to his word, the baronet fired, and with a shriek of agony, the man sprang into the air, and then fell heavily upon the stone floor, which was soon stained with his blood.
“Why didn’t you give up, then, like a man?” whined his sympathising companion, who was now hastily secured by two of the men-servants. “The gent wouldn’t have hurt yer, if yer had only give up when he arst. There, don’t pull a cove about like that, and yer needn’t tie so tight. I ain’t agoin’ to run away so as to get shot, I can tell you.”
“Lift the other up,” said Sir Murray, hoarsely; when the man was found to be bleeding profusely, though evidently not wounded in a vital spot.
“You are not hurt, Murray?” whispered a voice at his ear just then, and the baronet turned to find Lady Gernon anxiously scanning his face.
“No; not dead yet,” he said, brutally. “Go to your own room.”
Lady Gernon turned away with a weary sigh, and Sir Murray stood guard over his prisoners, when a shudder of terror ran through the party assembled; for, faintly heard, apparently from somewhere in the grounds, came what sounded like a wild appeal for help.