“I think the whole idea of getting in black trackers is very foolish,” she said. “It will only alarm the district and cause a great deal of unnecessary publicity. The daily papers always make a fuss about a case when they are employed.”
“Yes, they think it’s romantic!” said Dicky. “We’ll have all the Press photographers down, and the place will be overrun with them, taking snapshots. We had all better go about in our best clothes, because if they meet us in a body they will attack us with their cameras, and it would be painful if ‘Mrs. McNab’s house-party at The Towers’ appeared as we’re looking now!”
“I will not have that!” Mrs. McNab exclaimed heatedly. “Harry, I insist that no one shall take photographs here—if you meet any newspaper people you are to discourage them, no matter what they say. To photograph a private house for a newspaper is an unwarrantable impertinence! Do not let there be any mistake about it.”
“Be polite, if you must, Harry, but be plain!” laughed Dicky.
“I’ll be plain, all right,” rejoined Harry. “My boot shall, if necessary, defend the sanctity of our home! What are you getting in such a fuss about, Mother? I don’t for a moment suppose that any newspaper would bother its head about us.”
“Newspapers nowadays would do anything for sensation,” answered his mother gloomily. “And I hate publicity given to one’s private affairs: it is insupportable. They would drag all one’s family history through the mire for the sake of selling a few copies.” Her voice rose angrily. “This robbery is spoiling all our peace! I warned Dr. Firth, but he would not be careful—he might have saved himself if he had listened to me.”
Every one was looking at her now curiously. Harry frowned.
“Oh, what’s the use of bothering your head about it, Mother! It’s not going to spoil my peace—not if I know it: or my dinner either. I’m as hungry as a hunter, and, thank goodness, there’s the dressing-gong! Come along, everybody: I mean to have a jolly good dance to-night, burglar or no burglar!”
The dressing-gong was the signal also for the schoolroom dinner, so I herded the children upstairs, glad to escape from a scene that had had its unpleasant side. Looking out for a moment as I closed the schoolroom door I caught a glimpse of Mrs. McNab coming up the wide staircase. I was glad that she did not see me, for she was uttering incoherent words in a harsh whisper, with a little curious gesture of helplessness. There was a look in her eyes that struck fear into my heart. I longed for to-morrow and for Dr. Firth.
I kept my fellow-pirates with me in the schoolroom that evening. To go down to the drawing-room and be drawn into dancing would have been hateful to me; to my overwrought mind there seemed an air of mystery, almost of tragedy, overhanging the house, and I wanted the children to be where I could watch them all the time. They were sufficiently tired to be willing to remain quietly while I read to them. I remember the book was Newbolt’s Happy Warrior, and when I had finished the story of Bayard we talked of the old ideals of knighthood and chivalry. It was the point I liked best about my outlaws that they were perfectly sound on matters of honour. A lie was to either an unthinkable thing, and they held very definite views about betraying a confidence.