The Yellow Face

by Fred M. White

"It seems almost impossible to believe that that can be Anstruther," Jack said to himself. "No man could improve like that in so short a time. I wonder what Rigby is doing. I hope he won't spoil the pretty scheme by over-haste. Probably in the course of half an-hour he will deem it time to begin."

Evidently Rigby had been of the same opinion, for a full half-hour elapsed before a sound came from outside the house. Anstruther was well into his second theme before there was a sudden knocking and hammering on the front door, and a stentorian voice burst into cries of "Fire! Fire!"

So spontaneous and natural was the whole thing, that Jack was taken absolutely aback for a moment. It occurred to him, of course, that a fire had broken out inside the house, and that some passer-by had discovered it. Again came the hammering on the door and the strident shouts of those outside. Jack made a leap for the hall, and raced up-stairs to the drawing-room three steps at a time. Claire had thrown her book aside, and stood, pale and startled, demanding to know what was the matter.

"Somebody outside is calling 'fire,'" Jack explained hurriedly; "not that I fancy there is much the matter--the kitchen chimney or something of that kind. There they go again!"

Once more the hammering and yelling were upraised; a frightened servant crept across the hall to the front door and opened it. And yet, despite all this turmoil, the beautiful soft strains of music below were continuing. Not for a second did they cease; the player was evidently too wrapped in his music to be conscious of outside disturbances. Not that the clamor lacked force and volume, for now that the front door was open the din was absolutely deafening. Through the break in the disturbance the sweet, liquid strains of music went on. Fond of his instrument as Anstruther might have been, he could be wide awake and alert enough on ordinary occasions, as Jack knew only too well. Why, then, was he so callous on this occasion?

"Had not you better go down and arouse my guardian?" Clare suggested; "surely he is the proper man to look to a thing like this."

Jack tumbled eagerly down the stairs, and thundered with both fists on the study door. As he had more than half expected, no response came to his summons. The music had become still more melodious and dreamy; the player might have been far away. As Jack turned, he saw that some half-dozen men were standing in the hall, one of whom gave him a palpable wink. It was Rigby's wink, and Jack detected it instantly.

"There don't seem to be so very much the matter, sir," Rigby said. "No more than the kitchen fire. Only we thought we'd drop in and let you know. You chaps go to the kitchen and see what you can do."

"How on earth did you manage that?" Jack asked.

"Only a matter of burning a little magnesium light by the back door," Rigby explained, with a grin; "but it seems to me only part of our duty to acquaint the master of the house with the fact that something is wrong. Is that him playing now, Jack?"