III
The arm-chair critic, reviewing a situation calmly and at his
ease, is apt to make too small allowances for the effect of hurry
and excitement on the human mind. He is cool and detached. He sees
exactly what ought to have been done, and by what simple means
catastrophe might have been averted.
He would have made short work of my present difficulty, I feel
certain. It was ridiculously simple. But I had lost my head, and
had ceased for the moment to be a reasoning creature. In the end,
indeed, it was no presence of mind but pure good luck which saved
me. Just as the door, which had held out gallantly, gave way
beneath the attack from outside, my fingers, slipping, struck
against the catch of the window, and I understood why I had failed
to raise it.
I snapped the catch back, and flung up the sash. An icy wind swept
into the room, bearing particles of snow. I scrambled on to the
window-sill, and a crash from behind me told of the falling of the
door.
The packed snow on the sill was drenching my knees as I worked my
way out and prepared to drop. There was a deafening explosion
inside the room, and simultaneously something seared my shoulder
like a hot iron. I cried out with the pain of it, and, losing my
balance, fell from the sill.
There was, fortunately for me, a laurel bush immediately below the
window, or I should have been undone. I fell into it, all arms and
legs, in a way which would have meant broken bones if I had struck
the hard turf. I was on my feet in an instant, shaken and
scratched and, incidentally, in a worse temper than ever in my
life before. The idea of flight, which had obsessed me a moment
before, to the exclusion of all other mundane affairs, had
vanished absolutely. I was full of fight, I might say overflowing
with it. I remember standing there, with the snow trickling in
chilly rivulets down my face and neck, and shaking my fist at the
window. Two of my pursuers were leaning out of it, while a third
dodged behind them, like a small man on the outskirts of a crowd.
So far from being thankful for my escape, I was conscious only of
a feeling of regret that there was no immediate way of getting at
them.
They made no move towards travelling the quick but trying route
which had commended itself to me. They seemed to be waiting for
something to happen. It was not long before I was made aware of
what this something was. From the direction of the front door came
the sound of one running. A sudden diminution of the noise of his
feet told me that he had left the gravel and was on the turf. I
drew back a pace or two and waited.
It was pitch dark, and I had no fear that I should be seen. I was
standing well outside the light from the window.
The man stopped just in front of me. A short parley followed.
'Can'tja see him?'
The voice was not Buck's. It was Buck who answered. And when I
realized that this man in front of me, within easy reach, on whose
back I was shortly about to spring, and whose neck I proposed,
under Providence, to twist into the shape of a corkscrew, was no
mere underling, but Mr MacGinnis himself, I was filled with a joy
which I found it hard to contain in silence.
Looking back, I am a little sorry for Mr MacGinnis. He was not a
good man. His mode of speech was not pleasant, and his manners
were worse than his speech. But, though he undoubtedly deserved
all that was coming to him, it was nevertheless bad luck for him
to be standing just there at just that moment. The reactions after
my panic, added to the pain of my shoulder, the scratches on my
face, and the general misery of being wet and cold, had given me a
reckless fury and a determination to do somebody, whoever happened
to come along, grievous bodily hurt, such as seldom invades the
bosoms of the normally peaceful. To put it crisply, I was fighting
mad, and I looked on Buck as something sent by Heaven.
He had got as far, in his reply, as 'Naw, I can't--' when I
sprang.
I have read of the spring of the jaguar, and I have seen some very
creditable flying-tackles made on the football field. My leap
combined the outstanding qualities of both. I connected with Mr
MacGinnis in the region of the waist, and the howl he gave as we
crashed to the ground was music to my ears.
But how true is the old Roman saying, _'Surgit amari aliquid'_.
Our pleasures are never perfect. There is always something. In the
programme which I had hastily mapped out, the upsetting of Mr
MacGinnis was but a small item, a mere preliminary. There were a
number of things which I had wished to do to him, once upset. But
it was not to be. Even as I reached for his throat I perceived that
the light of the window was undergoing an eclipse. A compact form
had wriggled out on to the sill, as I had done, and I heard the
grating of his shoes on the wall as he lowered himself for the drop.
There is a moment when the pleasantest functions must come to
an end. I was loath to part from Mr MacGinnis just when I was
beginning, as it were, to do myself justice; but it was unavoidable.
In another moment his ally would descend upon us, like some Homeric
god swooping from a cloud, and I was not prepared to continue the
battle against odds.
I disengaged myself--Mr MacGinnis strangely quiescent during the
process--and was on my feet in the safety of the darkness just as
the reinforcement touched earth. This time I did not wait. My
hunger for fight had been appeased to some extent by my brush with
Buck, and I was satisfied to have achieved safety with honour.
Making a wide detour I crossed the drive and worked my way through
the bushes to within a few yards of where the automobile stood,
filling the night with the soft purring of its engines. I was
interested to see what would be the enemy's next move. It was
improbable that they would attempt to draw the grounds in search
of me. I imagined that they would recognize failure and retire
whence they had come.
I was right. I had not been watching long, before a little group
advanced into the light of the automobile's lamps. There were four
of them. Three were walking, the fourth, cursing with the vigour
and breadth that marks the expert, lying on their arms, of which
they had made something resembling a stretcher.
The driver of the car, who had been sitting woodenly in his seat,
turned at the sound.
'Ja get him?' he inquired.
'Get nothing!' replied one of the three moodily. 'De Nugget ain't
dere, an' we was chasin' Sam to fix him, an' he laid for us, an'
what he did to Buck was plenty.'
They placed their valuable burden in the tonneau, where he lay
repeating himself, and two of them climbed in after him. The third
seated himself beside the driver.
'Buck's leg's broke,' he announced.
'Hell!' said the chauffeur.
No young actor, receiving his first round of applause, could have
felt a keener thrill of gratification than I did at those words.
Life may have nobler triumphs than the breaking of a kidnapper's
leg, but I did not think so then. It was with an effort that I
stopped myself from cheering.
'Let her go,' said the man in the front seat.
The purring rose to a roar. The car turned and began to move with
increasing speed down the drive. Its drone grew fainter, and
ceased. I brushed the snow from my coat and walked to the front
door.
My first act on entering the house, was to release White. He was
still lying where I had seen him last. He appeared to have made no
headway with the cords on his wrists and ankles. I came to his
help with a rather blunt pocket-knife, and he rose stiffly and
began to chafe the injured arms in silence.
'They've gone,' I said.
He nodded.
'Did they hit you with a sand-bag?'
He nodded again.
'I broke Buck's leg,' I said, with modest pride.
He looked up incredulously. I related my experiences as briefly
as possible, and when I came to the part where I made my flying
tackle, the gloom was swept from his face by a joyful smile. Buck's
injury may have given its recipient pain, but it was certainly the
cause of pleasure to others. White's manner was one of the utmost
enthusiasm as I described the scene.
'That'll hold Buck for a while,' was his comment. 'I guess we
shan't hear from _him_ for a week or two. That's the best cure
for the headache I've ever struck.'
He rubbed the lump that just showed beneath his hair. I did not
wonder at his emotion. Whoever had wielded the sand-bag had done
his work well, in a manner to cause hard feelings on the part of
the victim.
I had been vaguely conscious during this conversation of an
intermittent noise like distant thunder. I now perceived that it
came from Glossop's classroom, and was caused by the beating of
hands on the door-panels. I remembered that the red-moustached man
had locked Glossop and his young charges in. It seemed to me that
he had done well. There would be plenty of confusion without their
assistance.
I was turning towards my own classroom when I saw Audrey on the
stairs and went to meet her.
'It's all right,' I said. 'They've gone.'
'Who was it? What did they want?'
'It was a gentleman named MacGinnis and some friends. They came
after Ogden Ford, but they didn't get him.'
'Where is he? Where is Ogden?'
Before I could reply, babel broke loose. While we had been
talking, White had injudiciously turned the key of Glossop's
classroom which now disgorged its occupants, headed by my
colleague, in a turbulent stream. At the same moment my own
classroom began to empty itself. The hall was packed with boys,
and the din became deafening. Every one had something to say, and
they all said it at once.
Glossop was at my side, semaphoring violently.
'We must telephone,' he bellowed in my ear, 'for the police.'
Somebody tugged at my arm. It was Audrey. She was saying something
which was drowned in the uproar. I drew her towards the stairs,
and we found comparative quiet on the first landing.
'What were you saying?' I asked.
'He isn't there.'
'Who?'
'Ogden Ford. Where is he? He is not in his room. They must have
taken him.'
Glossop came up at a gallop, springing from stair to stair like
the chamois of the Alps.
'We must telephone for the police!' he cried.
'I have telephoned,' said Audrey, 'ten minutes ago. They are
sending some men at once. Mr Glossop, was Ogden Ford in your
classroom?'
'No, Mrs Sheridan. I thought he was with you, Burns.'
I shook my head.
'Those men came to kidnap him, Mr Glossop,' said Audrey.
'Undoubtedly the gang of scoundrels to which that man the other
night belonged! This is preposterous. My nerves will not stand
these repeated outrages. We must have police protection. The
villains must be brought to justice. I never heard of such a
thing! In an English school!'
Glossop's eyes gleamed agitatedly behind their spectacles.
Macbeth's deportment when confronted with Banquo's ghost was
stolid by comparison. There was no doubt that Buck's visit had
upset the smooth peace of our happy little community to quite a
considerable extent.
The noise in the hall had increased rather than subsided. A
belated sense of professional duty returned to Glossop and myself.
We descended the stairs and began to do our best, in our
respective styles, to produce order. It was not an easy task.
Small boys are always prone to make a noise, even without
provocation. When they get a genuine excuse like the incursion of
men in white masks, who prod assistant-masters in the small of the
back with Browning pistols, they tend to eclipse themselves. I
doubt whether we should ever have quieted them, had it not been
that the hour of Buck's visit had chanced to fall within a short
time of that set apart for the boys' tea, and that the kitchen had
lain outside the sphere of our visitors' operations. As in many
English country houses, the kitchen at Sanstead House was at the
end of a long corridor, shut off by doors through which even
pistol-shots penetrated but faintly. Our excellent cook had,
moreover, the misfortune to be somewhat deaf, with the result
that, throughout all the storm and stress in our part of the
house, she, like the lady in Goethe's poem, had gone on cutting
bread and butter; till now, when it seemed that nothing could
quell the uproar, there rose above it the ringing of the bell.
If there is anything exciting enough to keep the Englishman or the
English boy from his tea, it has yet to be discovered. The
shouting ceased on the instant. The general feeling seemed to be
that inquiries could be postponed till a more suitable occasion,
but not tea. There was a general movement in the direction of the
dining-room.
Glossop had already gone with the crowd, and I was about to
follow, when there was another ring at the front-door bell.
I gathered that this must be the police, and waited. In the
impending inquiry I was by way of being a star witness. If any one
had been in the thick of things from the beginning it was myself.
White opened the door. I caught a glimpse of blue uniforms, and
came forward to do the honours.
There were two of them, no more. In response to our urgent appeal
for assistance against armed bandits, the Majesty of the Law had
materialized itself in the shape of a stout inspector and a long,
lean constable. I thought, as I came to meet them, that they were
fortunate to have arrived late. I could see Lefty and the
red-moustached man, thwarted in their designs on me, making
dreadful havoc among the official force, as here represented.
White, the simple butler once more, introduced us.
'This is Mr Burns, one of the masters at the school,' he said, and
removed himself from the scene. There never was a man like White
for knowing his place when he played the butler.
The inspector looked at me sharply. The constable gazed into
space.
'H'm!' said the inspector.
Mentally I had named them Bones and Johnson. I do not know why,
except that they seemed to deserve it.
'You telephoned for us,' said Bones accusingly.
'We did.'
'What's the trouble? What--got your notebook?--has been
happening?'
Johnson removed his gaze from the middle distance and produced a
notebook.
'At about half past five--' I began.
Johnson moistened his pencil.
'At about half past five an automobile drove up to the front door.
In it were five masked men with revolvers.'
I interested them. There was no doubt of that. Bones's healthy
colour deepened, and his eyes grew round. Johnson's pencil raced
over the page, wobbling with emotion.
'Masked men?' echoed Bones.
'With revolvers,' I said. 'Now aren't you glad you didn't go to
the circus? They rang the front-door bell; when White opened it,
they stunned him with a sand-bag. Then--'
Bones held up a large hand.
'Wait!'
I waited.
'Who is White?'
'The butler.'
'I will take his statement. Fetch the butler.'
Johnson trotted off obediently.
Left alone with me, Bones became friendlier and less official.
'This is as queer a start as ever I heard of, Mr Burns,' he said.
'Twenty years I've been in the force, and nothing like this has
transpired. It beats cock-fighting. What in the world do you
suppose men with masks and revolvers was after? First idea I had
was that you were making fun of me.'
I was shocked at the idea. I hastened to give further details.
'They were a gang of American crooks who had come over to kidnap
Mr Elmer Ford's son, who is a pupil at the school. You have heard
of Mr Ford? He is an American millionaire, and there have been
several attempts during the past few years to kidnap Ogden.'
At this point Johnson returned with White. White told his story
briefly, exhibited his bruise, showed the marks of the cords on his
wrists, and was dismissed. I suggested that further conversation
had better take place in the presence of Mr Abney, who, I imagined,
would have something to say on the subject of hushing the thing up.
We went upstairs. The broken door of the study delayed us a while
and led to a fresh spasm of activity on the part of Johnson's
pencil. Having disposed of this, we proceeded to Mr Abney's room.
Bones's authoritative rap upon the door produced an agitated
'Who's that?' from the occupant. I explained the nature of the
visitation through the keyhole and there came from within the
sound of moving furniture. His one brief interview with Buck had
evidently caused my employer to ensure against a second by
barricading himself in with everything he could find suitable for
the purpose. It was some moments before the way was clear for our
entrance.
'Cub id,' said a voice at last.
Mr Abney was sitting up in bed, the blankets wrapped tightly about
him. His appearance was still disordered. The furniture of the
room was in great confusion, and a poker on the floor by the
dressing-table showed that he had been prepared to sell his life
dearly.
'I ab glad to see you, Idspector,' he said. 'Bister Burds, what is
the expladation of this extraordinary affair?'
It took some time to explain matters to Mr Abney, and more to
convince Bones and his colleague that, so far from wanting a hue
and cry raised over the countryside and columns about the affair
in the papers, publicity was the thing we were anxious to avoid.
They were visibly disappointed when they grasped the position of
affairs. The thing, properly advertised, would have been the
biggest that had ever happened to the neighbourhood, and their
eager eyes could see glory within easy reach. Mention of a cold
snack and a drop of beer, however, to be found in the kitchen,
served to cast a gleam of brightness on their gloom, and they
vanished in search of it with something approaching cheeriness,
Johnson taking notes to the last.
They had hardly gone when Glossop whirled into the room in a state
of effervescing agitation.
'Mr Abney, Ogden Ford is nowhere to be found!'
Mr Abney greeted the information with a prodigious sneeze.
'What do you bead?' he demanded, when the paroxysm was over. He
turned to me. 'Bister Burds, I understood you to--ah--say that
the scou'drels took their departure without the boy Ford.'
'They certainly did. I watched them go.'
'I have searched the house thoroughly,' said Glossop, 'and there
are no signs of him. And not only that, the Boy Beckford cannot be
found.'
Mr Abney clasped his head in his hands. Poor man, he was in no
condition to bear up with easy fortitude against this succession
of shocks. He was like one who, having survived an earthquake, is
hit by an automobile. He had partly adjusted his mind to the quiet
contemplation of Mr MacGinnis and friends when he was called upon
to face this fresh disaster. And he had a cold in the head, which
unmans the stoutest. Napoleon would have won Waterloo if
Wellington had had a cold in the head.
'Augustus Beckford caddot be fou'd?' he echoed feebly.
'They must have run away together,' said Glossop.
Mr Abney sat up, galvanized.
'Such a thing has never happened id the school before!' he cried.
'It has aldways beed my--ah--codstant endeavour to make my boys
look upod Sadstead House as a happy hobe. I have systebatically
edcouraged a spirit of cheerful codtedment. I caddot seriously
credit the fact that Augustus Beckford, one of the bost charbig
boys it has ever beed by good fortude to have id by charge, has
deliberately rud away.'
'He must have been persuaded by that boy Ford,' said Glossop,
'who,' he added morosely, 'I believe, is the devil in disguise.'
Mr Abney did not rebuke the strength of his language. Probably the
theory struck him as eminently sound. To me there certainly seemed
something in it.
'Subbthig bust be done at once!' Mr Abney exclaimed. 'It
is--ah--ibperative that we take ibbediate steps. They bust
have gone to Londod. Bister Burds, you bust go to Londod by the
next traid. I caddot go byself with this cold.'
It was the irony of fate that, on the one occasion when duty
really summoned that champion popper-up-to-London to the
Metropolis, he should be unable to answer the call.
'Very well,' I said. 'I'll go and look out a train.'
'Bister Glossop, you will be in charge of the school. Perhaps you
had better go back to the boys dow.'
White was in the hall when I got there.
'White,' I said, 'do you know anything about the trains to
London?'
'Are you going to London?' he asked, in his more conversational
manner. I thought he looked at me curiously as he spoke.
'Yes. Ogden Ford and Lord Beckford cannot be found. Mr Abney
thinks they must have run away to London.'
'I shouldn't wonder,' said White dryly, it seemed to me. There was
something distinctly odd in his manner. 'And you're going after
them.'
'Yes. I must look up a train.'
'There is a fast train in an hour. You will have plenty of time.'
'Will you tell Mr Abney that, while I go and pack my bag? And
telephone for a cab.'
'Sure,' said White, nodding.
I went up to my room and began to put a few things together in a
suit-case. I felt happy, for several reasons. A visit to London,
after my arduous weeks at Sanstead, was in the nature of an
unexpected treat. My tastes are metropolitan, and the vision of an
hour at a music-hall--I should be too late for the theatres--with
supper to follow in some restaurant where there was an orchestra,
appealed to me.
When I returned to the hall, carrying my bag, I found Audrey
there.
'I'm being sent to London,' I announced.
'I know. White told me. Peter, bring him back.'
'That's why I'm being sent.'
'It means everything to me.'
I looked at her in surprise. There was a strained, anxious
expression on her face, for which I could not account. I declined
to believe that anybody could care what happened to the Little
Nugget purely for that amiable youth's own sake. Besides, as he
had gone to London willingly, the assumption was that he was
enjoying himself.
'I don't understand,' I said. 'What do you mean?'
'I'll tell you. Mr Ford sent me here to be near Ogden, to guard
him. He knew that there was always a danger of attempts being made
to kidnap him, even though he was brought over to England very
quietly. That is how I come to be here. I go wherever Ogden goes.
I am responsible for him. And I have failed. If Ogden is not
brought back, Mr Ford will have nothing more to do with me. He
never forgives failures. It will mean going back to the old work
again--the dressmaking, or the waiting, or whatever I can manage
to find.' She gave a little shiver. 'Peter, I can't. All the pluck
has gone out of me. I'm afraid. I couldn't face all that again.
Bring him back. You must. You will. Say you will.'
I did not answer. I could find nothing to say; for it was I who
was responsible for all her trouble. I had planned everything. I
had given Ogden Ford the money that had taken him to London. And
soon, unless I could reach London before it happened, and prevent
him, he, with my valet Smith, would be in the Dover boat-train on
his way to Monaco.
