They stood there for half an hour, peering out from the darkness into the moonlight. Suddenly they heard something stirring in the big tree, and next instant Whitworth gripped Carstairs by the arm. "Good God! Did you see that?" Something, a man or an animal, had shot out from the high branches of the tree, and landed on the sill of Carstairs' bedroom window. They stood there motionless, gazing at the thing on the window ledge, astonished, paralysed; all except Bounce. For one second only was he held motionless, the next he was on the lawn throwing his heavy stick at the window sill. The thing turned as the stick struck it, and looking down, snarled like an angry dog; next minute it sprang on to the tree again and disappeared, from sight. That broke the spell, and they all ran out. "Don't shout!" Carstairs whispered, hoarsely.
Before they were there the thing was down the tree and racing across the grass on all fours. They saw Bounce fling himself on to it, and the next thing was an indistinguishable tangle whirling about the lawn. As they raced up the little sailor sprang clear and lashed out with his fist. The thing stood erect, and they saw it was a hunchbacked man. He rushed at Bounce who stepped aside. "Stand back!" he commanded the others in a hoarse whisper. "I'll tackle 'im."
He closed in and they heard the dull thud of a body blow as the hunchback reeled back. He charged again, snarling angrily. And again they heard a thud as Bounce's bony knuckles came in contact with the man's deformed breast bone.
Hiscocks raised his stick and rushed forward, but the sailor motioned him back. They circled round each other in the moonlight, while the other three stood silently by. The weirdness of it seemed to have cast a spell over all of them. They saw the sailor step in, they heard a gasping pant, and next minute the hunchback dropped limply to the ground. At once Bounce bent over him, and pulling some cord from his pocket tied up his wrists and ankles in his masterly, definite manner. "Quick," he whispered, "'e's such a funny built bloke, I couldn't get at 'im afore." He stood up and putting his hand to his mouth sucked it and spat. "Bit me, 'e did," he observed.
"That's nasty."
"Yes! Any'ow now we'll pack 'im up. 'Ave you got the sack, sir?"
Next day, at half-past two in the afternoon, Carstairs called at Darwen's office in London. As soon as they were alone, he produced a revolver.
"We captured a bit of property of yours last night, Darwen."
"Ha! Is that so?" He sat down calmly in his chair, toying with an ebony ruler, watching Carstairs carefully, and smiling all the time.
"Put that ruler down; it's no use, your man has gone back on you. I'll give you twenty-four hours to corpse yourself, however you like, otherwise I put the police on you. Before I leave this office I want a written confession."