“Or calling a cab.”
“Hark! there it is again.”
These were the two whistles by which Frederick summoned the detective.
“It is not a boy whistling a tune,” said Pelham, “nor a summons for a cab. I don’t suppose it concerns us, but you have succeeded in putting a stop to my work. I’ll do no more. Your dead husband’s Will, if he made one, and anything else he wrote, will soon be out of reach of living man. Now for the finishing touches.”
He poured the spirit about the room, and saturated some sheets of paper with it, placing them beneath the boards in such a way as to produce an effectual blaze the moment a light was applied to them.
“I am quite an artist,” he said, laughing. “In five minutes there will be a conflagration which will spread too rapidly for a fire engine to extinguish until everything on this floor at least is burnt to ashes. Grace, old girl, this is a business that suits me; I was never meant for milk-and-water work. The house on fire, and we a mile away, and all danger will be over.”
His gleeful tone jarred upon his guilty associate.
“Work in silence,” she said, with a shudder. “Do you forget what was done in this room the last time we were here together?”
“Forget!” he exclaimed. “No, I shall never forget. But it does not trouble me. Every man for himself—it is nature’s law, and he is a fool who allows himself to be trampled on and ruined, when he has the opportunity of putting his enemy out of the way. Well, it is done, and I am going to reap. These last twelve months I have led the life of a dog; now I’ll live like a gentleman. There! everything is ready. Now for escape. Grace, you go first to the top of the house, and wait for me. The moment I set fire to this rubbish, I will join you. We will get back into the next house, where there will be plenty of people to help to save the furniture; we will mix with them, and in the confusion slip off. A kiss, Grace, for luck!”
They kissed each other, and she went to the door, and turned the handle, but could not open the door. It was fast.