But though we started to the door, and Roger and the runners went scurrying down the corridor, Mother Mag had vanished like a ghost in the darkness of the house.
Chapter XXXV. Departure of Mr. Charles Craike
We went out presently to descend the stairs in search of Sir Gavin Masters and his men. My uncle strode out ahead of us, Oliver slipped away; I held Mr. Bradbury’s arm as he would have hurried off, to direct search for Mother Mag, and to insure that if Mistress Barwise and the rogues left the house, they did not bear their plunder of plate away with them. I whispered to him, “There’s in the room—in the wall there—a box—stuffed with gems. My grandfather revealed them to me, ere he died. My uncle knows of them; he sought to rob me of them. I’ll not trust them here!”
“Ay, ay,” said Mr. Bradbury, “I had some notion of them,—by the old man’s talk this night. Where are they hid?”
I dragged the hangings back. I took the key, unlocked the iron door, and drew the box out of its hiding place. “Pray take my pistol, sir,” said I. “The box is heavy—bursting with the jewels in it. I’ve never looked upon such jewels—like fire! My uncle will not rest till he’s laid hands on them.”
Mr. Bradbury took my pistol; he paused an instant to pull back the curtains from the bed, and reverently draw the coverlet over the old man’s body. Blowing out all the candles then, save one to light us down the stair, he went before me from the room, pausing to lock the door upon the dead; and cried out to Roger and the runners, still searching for old Mag along the corridors, to go with us down the stairs. As we descended, I heard voices muttering in the hall; and saw the gleam of lanterns, and made out it might be half-a-dozen stout fellows. I saw, as we passed by them, that every man was armed with cutlass, pistol or bludgeon. Sir Gavin Masters, emerging from the doorway, cried out jovially, “Ah, John Craike! So your throat’s not cut yet, and ye’re not kidnapped. Where’s the old man, Bradbury? The devil of a time you’ve been!”
“Pray step with us into the dining-room, Sir Gavin,” said Mr. Bradbury. “Old Mr. Craike is dead—an hour or more since!”
“Murdered!” the justice roared.
“Nay, nay—though there’s been wild doings here this night,” said Mr. Bradbury. “The rats are scuttling all about the house.”
“Ay, I’ve heard them scurrying, squeaking. Have we men enough with us to trap ’em, Bradbury?”