Suddenly a new idea flashed through his brain, and he quickened his steps. The hole that Isobel had let him see—that would be the very place to hide it in. If once he could put it there, without any one seeing him, and replace the old duster, it might lie for months before it was discovered; and even if it were discovered no one could trace the theft back to him. He would push it well along inside the hollow branch, so that even Isobel would not be likely to find it. How stupid of him not to have thought of it sooner! But there was time to do it yet, if only Aunt Dora would stay out a little longer. It was getting dark, and the gardeners would have gone home to tea. It was a splendid chance, if only he could slip out without being seen.
While these thoughts were passing through his mind he had gone to his room, and noiselessly locked the door and drawn a chair up to the wardrobe. He dared not put the chair on the washstand, as he had done in the morning, in case of another accident, but he dragged his father’s portmanteau forward and lifted it on to the chair, and when he was mounted on that he found he could, with an effort, just touch the parcel with the tips of his fingers. He looked round for something which would raise him a little higher. The travelling-rug—but that had been left downstairs; a pillow—that would do. Quick as thought he jumped to the floor, and pulled one of the pillows from under the coverlet. Taking off his slippers in case he soiled it, he mounted the unsteady pile. How soft and uneven the pillow was. His feet slipped and sank in it. And there were footsteps on the staircase. Was it Anne, or was it Aunt Dora come back? With a desperate effort he raised himself on tiptoe, and seized the parcel; and then, overbalancing himself, he fell with a crash, carrying both the pillow and the portmanteau with him.
At that moment a knock came to the door.
‘What in all the living world are you doing, Master Vivian?’
It was only Anne after all, and Vivian breathed freely again.
‘One moment, Anne,’ he cried; and, quick as lightning, he pushed the pillow under the coverlet again and returned the portmanteau to its place. Then he hid the little packet containing the pistol and caps under his jacket, and unlocked the door.
Anne, tired of waiting, had gone on to Ralph’s bedroom, and when she came back Vivian was gone and the room was empty.
‘Whatever has he been up to now?’ she said to herself, as she noted the tumbled bed-clothes and the overturned chair, which Vivian in his haste had forgotten to pick up. ‘That boy is up to mischief, or my name is not Anne Martin. This is the second time that he has fallen in this room to-day, and it’s clear that it was that chair he fell from.’
So saying, she picked up the chair, and, getting on to it, she proceeded to take a survey of the top of the wardrobe and the bed-hangings, but she found no trace of anything to arouse her suspicions; and with a shake of her head at the sight of the dust which had accumulated since she looked up there last, she got down again, muttering to herself as she did so, ‘If that young gentleman lived in this house I would see that the mistress put an end to the overturning of ewers and crumpling of pillows, especially when he was sleeping in the very best bedroom.’