“Then you’re going to be disappointed.” With a gingerly reluctance which would have meant sudden death had he been faced by an earnest antagonist, Dennis produced his revolver. “’Twould mean nothing if you drove the chariot of the Angel Gabriel, you’d not get through that gate!”
A wordy combat ensued interrupted only by the appearance on the Avenue side of the barrier of young Mr. Brinsley Sloane. He hesitated, turning slightly pale at sight of Dennis’ formidable weapon. The latter called out peremptorily:
“’Round to the other gate if you want to get in! This guy’ll get out if you open this one! Police orders!”
“Really!” Brinsley Sloane stared through his huge-rimmed glasses. “This is extraordinary! What has the fellow done, officer?”
Dennis swelled visibly at the appellation.
“Nothing yet,” he admitted. “He won’t, either, unless he’s wishful to croak!”
“Is the fellow mad?” Young Sloane addressed the chauffeur who, scenting an ally, broke into injured explanations. The argument became a triangular affair although the scion of the Sloanes remained discreetly on the neutral ground beyond the gate. It was ended at last by a subdued hubbub at the farther one. Dennis turned to behold the inspector drive slowly in with several familiar officials of the department; his car was followed by a larger one packed with husky men and bristling with long-handled shovels.
Dennis uttered a startled exclamation and Brinsley Sloane let himself hurriedly in with his key while the Parsons’ chauffeur no longer exhibited any desire to depart. Martin appeared suddenly from nowhere and addressed the astounded deputy.
“Beat it, Riordan; Mac wants you! I’ll take over your job.”
Dennis needed no second bidding. He set off at a shambling run, unconsciously brandishing his revolver as he went and Goddard, Trafford and McCarty emerged from the house to meet him. He noticed as in a daze that the tutor braced his employer with an almost filial manner and the older man leaned heavily upon him, pallid but composed.