CHAPTER XIII
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.