The Gay Adventure: A Romance
they crept, making as little noise as possible. Presently, when Tony
judged they were so placed as to be secure from observation, themselves
able to observe, they halted. "May as well sit down," whispered Tony;
"quite likely we shall have to wait a bit." He spread the sack upon the
ground and the two of them established themselves upon it, clasping
their knees.
The night, most luckily, was fine. There was no hint of rain, and little
dew was falling. There was no moon, and the fitful starlight only served
to display the immensity of the darkness, the monstrous tree-shapes
looming threateningly on them, the overwhelming horror of The Quiet
House. Black against the dark background of the sky it reared its bulk
above them, seeming to menace the guilty pair with nightmare terrors,
starting ghoulish fancies, prosaic fears of the police, a child's dread
of the dark and all its goblins. It was so silent, powerful, unknown.
Mr. Hedderwick's flesh crept with a chill that was not climatic, and
instinctively he huddled closer to his companion.
"Can we smoke?" he breathed.
"No. _They_ might see the glow."
"They," of course meant Brown and his accomplice; but, uttered beneath
that lowering sky, those gloomy trees, in the atmosphere of intrigue and
hypothetical bloodshed, the words assumed an awful import to Mr.
Hedderwick. Romance cut with a keener edge across his quivering soul. He
was getting his fill of adventures, and with an unfeigned zeal he now
wished himself safe at Bloomsbury, even at the price of a Caudle's
welcome. To think that he, a middle-aged--no! an _old_ man, with a good
wife--yes! a _good_ wife, though sometimes a little overbearing--a
churchwarden of Saint Frideswide's and all the rest--to think that he
could be so harebrained and ungrateful as to embark on such an
enterprise! It was incredible: he must be dreaming.... No; it was real.
His right foot was in agony: it had gone to sleep.
"Ouch!" he said, stretching it. "What's the time, Mr. Wild?"
"Can't see. Daren't light a match. 'Fraid they're late. Shut up."
Time passed heavily to the unhappy man. A schoolboy, condemned to a
caning, can face the prospect with a decent front if only the punishment
is not deferred. "Cane me, if you must!" he would say, "but get it over
and let's have done with it!" A fair request, provided the culprit be
not a hardened nature whom it is policy to keep in suspense. In such a
case the Third Degree may be justified. But suppose your culprit to be a
sensitive shrinking nature, to whom the waiting is worse torture than
the actual pain itself, is it not a refinement of cruelty to keep him on
the tenter-hooks? Robert Hedderwick was of such, a gentle, kindly,
romantic, imaginative fool. You who scorn his folly might pardon, could
you but enter into half his feelings as he waits amid the elder-bushes.
At eleven o'clock there was promise of incident to cheer their hearts.
From the other side of the house they heard a voice call sharply, "Who
is there?" No answer was returned, but before the echoes died they saw a
dark figure run silently across the lawn and clamber up the wall where
they had made an entrance. Breathlessly they watched, and in another
moment a second figure, carrying some lethal weapon, walked sharply into
the field of vision. The newcomer made a tour of the house and part of
the garden, but did not disturb the anxious watchers in the elders. As
soon as he had disappeared Robert whispered, "What now? Shall we go
after the man who climbed?"
"No," replied Tony, whispering too. "I don't understand this. It's a
different program. Looks as if something is up. Better wait."
His companion sighed, for he had hoped release was at hand. Instead, he
resigned himself to waiting.
An hour crept by with feet of lead. To the amateur plotters it seemed as
if time itself were standing still. Robert thought it must be two
o'clock at least, but Tony's common sense guessed it to be near
midnight. Once the churchwarden ventured to suggest that honor was
satisfied, curiosity likely to be disappointed; why not retire? Tony
refused doggedly:
"I'm going to see it through now if we wait till five o'clock. No more
lost chances!"
Robert groaned and rubbed his leg.
It was half past one when Robert, half asleep, conscious of nothing but
discomfort, felt Tony plucking at his sleeve. He roused himself
irritably, almost forgetful of their errand. Then, in the dim
foreshadowing of dawn, he saw the outline of a man on the top of the
wall. He awoke fully on the instant, clutching his fellow sufferer in
pure fright, staring with wide-open eyes. The man dropped nimbly down
upon the grass and walked noiselessly across the lawn.
They watched him eagerly, feeling that their sufferings were about to be
rewarded, wondering whether they ought to follow or wait. If the first,
they might be discovered; the second, they might lose him. For once in
his life Tony was at a loss. He had reckoned on Brown's arrival, but not
at a different hour, pursuing a new course. What was the best plan?
Fortunately the period of suspense was short. The figure, which had
disappeared for a moment round the corner of the house, came into view
once more. It still moved with surpassing stealth, but now it was
carrying a long unwieldy object in one hand. It was a ladder. Tony
nearly whistled when he saw this ominous contrivance, and Robert
quivered with a satisfying impatience for the coming drama. Were they to
see a new version of _Romeo and Juliet_, or was it merely a vulgar
burglary?
The man paused, surveyed the blank unlighted house, and then reared his
ladder against a window. He climbed rapidly up, but after a brief
inspection descended with equal swiftness. He raised the ladder with no
obvious effort, carried it some little distance along, and placed it at
another window. It was clear that he was correcting a mistake.
"What"--began Robert in a thick whisper, but Tony clapped a hand on his
mouth, fearing lest the faintest sound might betray them. Not that there
was any real danger, for the night-prowler was twenty yards away, the
wind had begun to rise, and the tree branches were sighing loudly enough
to drown a human murmur. But Tony meant to run no risks: he was
determined to see the play through to the end. Not the quiver of an
eyelash must betray them. At all costs, silence.
They saw Brown--for who else could it be?--rear the ladder, then shift
it a little to get a better foundation. He tried it with his hand to
make sure that it was firm. At last, satisfied and resolute, he placed
one foot upon it and began to climb. The watchers held their breath,
unconscious of the drama within a drama about to burst upon them. Robert
was trembling, his mouth still covered by Tony's precautionary hand.
Brown was on the second rung, when the window above was suddenly flung
open. The mysterious Billy leaned out, jug in hand. "Good evening!" he
said distinctly, in pleasant gentlemanly accents that reached the
watchers in the elders: "good evening. Have a drink?"
The wretched Brown was so _bouleverse_ by the unexpected apparition that
he stood fast, gaping wonderfully, upon the second rung. It was lucky
that he had climbed no higher, for the cascade that fell with unerring
aim fairly upon his countenance was the best part of a gallon of water.
Apart from the hydraulic force exerted the wanton suddenness of the
attack must have dashed him to the ground. He fell prone upon the grass,
striving to disburden himself of an unwanted draft, pitiable, a
spluttering ruin of a conspirator.
"_Glwhtt!_" said Robert from behind the hand of Tony. He was nigh to
bursting with suppressed emotion. "_Glwhtt! oh! glwhtt!_"
Tony, too, found it hard to keep himself in hand. Despite his
disappointment at beholding his fair hopes frustrated, it was no easy
task to check the laugh. To see a man, bold, confident, assured of
success, in one moment converted into a sodden and convulsive mass,
weltering upon the lawn--it was catastrophic. If incongruity be the
basis of the comic spirit, it was here with a vengeance.
"With a vengeance." The thought was impelled by the quick hurry of
events. Brown, after gaspy flounderings for half a minute, recovered
himself and stood erect. He shook an Olympian fist in powerless wrath
toward the window, breathed a crimson oath that might have scorched the
stars, and ran blunderingly toward the wall. He made for his point of
entry by a straight path and dashed blindly through the elders. In his
headlong course he trod convincingly on Robert's fingers, but sped on,
heedless of the yelp of pain. "_Ahoo!_" whooped Mr. Hedderwick, leaping
in his agony, unrecking of the consequences. "_Ahoo! Ahoo!_" He was
wringing his hands in an ecstasy of anguish as Lionel came bursting from
the house, a heavy walking-stick in his hand.
"The wall quick!" said Tony, seizing him by the arm. They had a start of
thirty yards: Brown was over the wall and out of sight by this time, and
there was still hope of escape. Had Tony been alone he would have got
away, for they reached the wall well ahead of the frantic Lionel, aflame
for blood. But chivalry forced him to let Robert climb first. "Up you
go!" he said, thrusting the adventurous churchwarden upon the roller.
There were no spikes to help or hinder on the inner wall. Robert caught
hold of the top bricks and scrabbled piteously with his toes, searching
for a foothold. Tony shoved fiercely from beneath, the thought of prison
or the bowstring beating in his brain. With a heave of which he scarce
thought himself capable he boosted Robert high in the air. Mr.
Hedderwick flew up like a ball of india-rubber, rolled on to the top,
and fell over the other side with a wail of apprehension. Luckily the
mud was soft. But just as he touched the mud, Lionel came up with his
quarry and seized him by the collar. Tony turned and struggled like a
wildcat, but he was no match for the other. Lionel shortened his stick
and drove it upward. With a grunt of pain Tony collapsed. "Whew!" said
Lionel, vastly pleased as he contemplated the fallen foe. "There's one
of 'em, anyhow. I hope I haven't killed the brute."
CHAPTER XXII
A TELEGRAM AND SUNDRIES
The twelve-year-old son of Mr. Glew, who, in the intervals of school and
expiating the inevitable offenses of youth, was utilized to carry
telegrams, came whistling up the drive of The Quiet House. He rang the
bell, and in the fulness of time the summons was answered by a man
servant who had been engaged the day before. He was called Jones.
"Hello! young cock-sparrow!" said Jones cheerfully. "Brought a wire?
Who's it for? Her Imperial Highness or me?"
"Name o' Mortimer," said the youthful Glew. "Catch hold!"
"Mortimer's on the lawn, sunning himself," said Jones. "Better take it
straight round."
"I'm employed to hand telegrams into the house," said the boy with all
the dignity of a government servant. "It's your business to see ole
Mortimer gets it."
"And it's my business to give a clip 'side o' the 'ed," said Jones,
riposting. "So if you don't want a thick ear inside of a jiffy, my lad,
off you go."
Master Glew obeyed, soothing his outraged independence by a cry of "Yar!
red-nosed beef-eater!" as soon as he was out of reach. Jones, regretting
the ungiven clip, banged the door, and the libel-loving Glew went
pleasantly on his way.
He found Lionel in the summer-house and delivered the yellow envelope,
waiting dutifully to see if there was a prepaid reply, hoping for a
possible douceur. In this he was disappointed; for although the
telegram seemed to give unbounded pleasure to the recipient, no money
changed hands, and Master Glew retired, embittered and pessimistic. As
soon as he was alone Lionel read and read again the flimsy slip that