“I don’t think it will,” I said: I spoke stoutly, but again there was that sick fear at my heart. “It has been terribly hard for Mother to carry on, because she couldn’t bear anyone but herself to have the worry.”
“And things you keep to yourself are ever so much beastlier,” observed Judy. “Do ask Mother to tell us, after you’ve gone, if it comes back, Miss Earle. We might be able to help.”
“And anyhow, we’d take care of her,” said Jack. “We’d make her a Member of the Band, if she’d like—only somehow, she’s never seemed exactly Band-y before. She’d be a simply ripping Member if she stays like she is to-night!”
He gave a great yawn, stood up, and dived back to his own bed.
“I’m awful sleepy,” he said. “But we’ve had two wonderful adventures, haven’t we, Ju? These have been the best two days of my whole life!”
“Me, too,” said Judy.
Would the worry ever come back! The fear was strong on me as I sat by my window before going to bed. Do as I might I could not shake off the feeling that Ronald Hull had not done with us yet. Why, I asked myself, should he go to America, when in Australia he had a sister ready to beggar herself and risk disgrace to protect him? And if this last dread were true—if it were he who had hidden the jewels in the hole under the bank of the creek—was it to be expected that he would leave the country without them? The evil face, with its cold eyes, seemed to hover before me in answer. Whatever happened, Ronald Hull would consider nobody in the world but himself.
I was very tired, and when I went to bed sleep came to me almost at once, and I dreamed a cheerful dream that Colin and I were chasing Mr. Hull across a paddock that ended in a precipice. We knew it was there, and so did he, and he tried to break back and escape; but Colin had not been a footballer for nothing, and he headed off every rush, countered every dodge, edging him on all the time: until at last Mr. Hull gave it up, and, running wildly and calling out unpleasant things, reached the edge of the cliff and sprang out in mid-air, twisting and turning as he fell, but never dropping his cigarette from his lips. He disappeared far below, and I woke up. I do not think it was a lady-like dream, but I felt astonishingly light-hearted. I knew how Sandy felt when he caught his rabbit.
I was just dropping off to sleep again when a sound fell upon my ears. It was so faint that at first I thought I was mistaken; then it came again, more distinctly, and I sat up, very wide-awake. Surely, some one was calling for help—a child’s voice.
I sprang out of bed, flung on my dressing-gown and slippers, and ran out into the corridor. Something was happening downstairs: there was no light save that of the moon, but I heard a scuffle, and a man’s voice, low and furious. And then another, and it was Jack’s, crying, “Let go, you brute!” At that I lost my head altogether. Any sensible person would have summoned Harry McNab and his friends. But I fled downstairs without stopping to think, and, following the sounds, dashed into the library.