“Bid your men follow us!” I said to Mr. Bradbury; so we went out among the rogues in the hall, and up the stairway and by the gallery to my grandfather’s room.
“Wait here,” said Mr. Bradbury to his men; and opening the door, drew back the curtain and stepped with me into the room. My grandfather, wrapped in his gown, lay in his chair. He seemed the very figure of death; the candlelight and the dancing fire showed his face livid; his eyes staring at us were anguished; no one was with him except Thrale, who held a glass. My grandfather’s hands gripped the arms of his chair; the sweat dripped from his face. All the while the lamenting winds were beating on the windows, the curtains of the bed were waving; the flickering lights and shadows dancing a ghostly dance about the room. His voice came gasping. “Bradbury! Ah, not too late,—though death’s crying out for me this night.”
“I am here,” said Mr. Bradbury simply, “somewhat ahead of the appointed time, Mr. Craike. I have with me the document drawn in accordance with your instructions. I ask but your approval and signature, sir. Go, Thrale! Your grandson, sir, must not remain.”
“Nay, bid him wait outside the door. Go, lad, go!”
I went out after Thrale, and Mr. Bradbury locked the door upon me. I waited in the corridor with the three fellows standing grim about me. I wondered that presently Mr. Bradbury should summon the two runners into the room, leaving me with his third attendant. I heard the tempest battering upon the old house, and shuddered for the deathly chill of the corridor and for the shadows seeming to cower beyond the radius of the candlelight. The tall fellow by me was growling presently at my ear, “D’ye not know me, master? Roger Galt, as got ye out of the Stone House. Didn’t think to see me here, did ye? ‘Set a thief to catch a thief,’ says Mr. Bradbury. Hist!”
Chapter XXX. Not Yet
But ere I might question Roger Galt, I saw my uncle come swiftly out of the darkness of the corridor; remarking me holding a candle high he gave me not a word and only a malignant glance, and without knocking he would have thrust open the door. But Mr. Bradbury had turned the key; and the gentleman turning to me, his face revealing his rage, though his voice was smooth, he said, “So, nephew, though you’re heir of Craike, you permit Bradbury to lock you out in the cold! What’s the gentleman’s business then?”
“Business at which he’d not have you or me disturb him,” I answered.
He assented, “Ay, no doubt! But would he keep me from my father’s death-bed?”—and knocked angrily upon the door.
Awhile Mr. Bradbury paid no heed; my uncle, knocking repeatedly and failing to obtain an answer, drew away from the door; and, mastering his choler, said quizzically to me, “Well for you, John, you’re telling yourself, no doubt, that Bradbury and his hinds found their way into this house to-night. You’re bidding fair to lose your guardian and protector—eh?”