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Chapter 12
I
In those grey days there was one thought, of the many that
occupied my mind, which brought with it a certain measure of
consolation. It was the reflection that this state of affairs
could not last for ever. The school term was drawing to a close.
Soon I should be free from the propinquity which paralysed my
efforts to fight. I was resolved that the last day of term should
end for ever my connection with Sanstead House and all that was in
it. Mrs Ford must find some other minion. If her happiness
depended on the recovery of the Little Nugget, she must learn to
do without happiness, like the rest of the inhabitants of this
horrible world.
Meanwhile, however, I held myself to be still on duty. By what
tortuous processes of thought I had arrived at the conclusion I do
not know, but I considered myself responsible to Audrey for the
safeguarding of the Little Nugget, and no altered relations
between us could affect my position. Perhaps mixed up with this
attitude of mind, was the less altruistic wish to foil Smooth Sam.
His continued presence at the school was a challenge to me.
Sam's behaviour puzzled me. I do not know exactly what I expected
him to do, but I certainly did not expect him to do nothing. Yet
day followed day, and still he made no move. He was the very model
of a butler. But our dealings with one another in London had left
me vigilant, and his inaction did not disarm me. It sprang from
patience, not from any weakening of purpose or despair of success.
Sooner or later I knew he would act, swiftly and suddenly, with a
plan perfected in every detail.
But when he made his attack it was the very simplicity of his
methods that tricked me, and only pure chance defeated him.
I have said that it was the custom of the staff of masters at
Sanstead House School--in other words, of every male adult in the
house except Mr Fisher himself--to assemble in Mr Abney's study
after dinner of an evening to drink coffee. It was a ceremony,
like most of the ceremonies at an establishment such as a school,
where things are run on a schedule, which knew of no variation.
Sometimes Mr Abney would leave us immediately after the ceremony,
but he never omitted to take his part in it first.
On this particular evening, for the first time since the beginning
of the term, I was seized with a prejudice against coffee. I had
been sleeping badly for several nights, and I decided that
abstention from coffee might remedy this.
I waited, for form's sake, till Glossop and Mr Abney had filled
their cups, then went to my room, where I lay down in the dark to
wrestle with a more than usually pronounced fit of depression
which had descended upon me. Solitude and darkness struck me as
the suitable setting for my thoughts.
At this moment Smooth Sam Fisher had no place in my meditations.
My mind was not occupied with him at all. When, therefore, the
door, which had been ajar, began to open slowly, I did not become
instantly on the alert. Perhaps it was some sound, barely audible,
that aroused me from my torpor and set my blood tingling with
anticipation. Perhaps it was the way the door was opening. An
honest draught does not move a door furtively, in jerks.
I sat up noiseless, tense, and alert. And then, very quietly,
somebody entered the room.
There was only one person in Sanstead House who would enter a room
like that. I was amused. The impudence of the thing tickled me. It
seemed so foreign to Mr Fisher's usual cautious methods. This
strolling in and helping oneself was certainly kidnapping _de
luxe_. In the small hours I could have understood it; but at
nine o'clock at night, with Glossop, Mr Abney and myself awake and
liable to be met at any moment on the stairs, it was absurd. I
marvelled at Smooth Sam's effrontery.
I lay still. I imagined that, being in, he would switch on the
electric light. He did, and I greeted him pleasantly.
'And what can I do for _you_, Mr Fisher?'
For a man who had learned to control himself in difficult
situations he took the shock badly. He uttered a startled
exclamation and spun round, open-mouthed.
I could not help admiring the quickness with which he recovered
himself. Almost immediately he was the suave, chatty Sam Fisher
who had unbosomed his theories and dreams to me in the train to
London.
'I quit,' he said pleasantly. 'The episode is closed. I am a man
of peace, and I take it that you would not keep on lying quietly
on that bed while I went into the other room and abstracted our
young friend? Unless you have changed your mind again, would a
fifty-fifty offer tempt you?'
'Not an inch.'
'Just so. I merely asked.'
'And how about Mr Abney, in any case? Suppose we met him on the
stairs?'
'We should not meet him on the stairs,' said Sam confidently. 'You
did not take coffee tonight, I gather?'
'I didn't--no. Why?'
He jerked his head resignedly.
'Can you beat it! I ask you, young man, could I have foreseen
that, after drinking coffee every night regularly for two months,
you would pass it up tonight of all nights? You certainly are my
jinx, sonny. You have hung the Indian sign on me all right.'
His words had brought light to me.
'Did you drug the coffee?'
'Did I! I fixed it so that one sip would have an insomnia patient
in dreamland before he had time to say "Good night". That stuff
Rip Van Winkle drank had nothing on my coffee. And all wasted!
Well, well!'
He turned towards the door.
'Shall I leave the light on, or would you prefer it off?'
'On please. I might fall asleep in the dark.'
'Not you! And, if you did, you would dream that I was there, and
wake up. There are moments, young man, when you bring me pretty
near to quitting and taking to honest work.'
He paused.
'But not altogether. I have still a shot or two in my locker. We
shall see what we shall see. I am not dead yet. Wait!'
'I will, and some day, when I am walking along Piccadilly, a
passing automobile will splash me with mud. A heavily furred
plutocrat will stare haughtily at me from the tonneau, and with a
start of surprise I shall recognize--'
'Stranger things have happened. Be flip while you can, sonny. You
win so far, but this hoodoo of mine can't last for ever.'
He passed from the room with a certain sad dignity. A moment later
he reappeared.
'A thought strikes me,' he said. 'The fifty-fifty proposition does
not impress you. Would it make things easier if I were to offer my
cooperation for a mere quarter of the profit?'
'Not in the least.'
'It's a handsome offer.'
'Wonderfully. I'm afraid I'm not dealing on any terms.'
He left the room, only to return once more. His head appeared,
staring at me round the door, in a disembodied way, like the
Cheshire Cat.
'You won't say later on I didn't give you your chance?' he said
anxiously.
He vanished again, permanently this time. I heard his steps
passing down the stairs.
II
We had now arrived at the last week of term, at the last days of
the last week. The holiday spirit was abroad in the school. Among
the boys it took the form of increased disorderliness. Boys who
had hitherto only made Glossop bellow now made him perspire and
tear his hair as well. Boys who had merely spilt ink now broke
windows. The Little Nugget abandoned cigarettes in favour of an
old clay pipe which he had found in the stables.
As for me, I felt like a spent swimmer who sees the shore almost
within his reach. Audrey avoided me when she could, and was
frigidly polite when we met. But I suffered less now. A few more
days, and I should have done with this phase of my life for ever,
and Audrey would once more become a memory.
Complete quiescence marked the deportment of Mr Fisher during
these days. He did not attempt to repeat his last effort. The
coffee came to the study unmixed with alien drugs. Sam, like
lightning, did not strike twice in the same place. He had the
artist's soul, and disliked patching up bungled work. If he made
another move, it would, I knew, be on entirely fresh lines.
Ignoring the fact that I had had all the luck, I was inclined to
be self-satisfied when I thought of Sam. I had pitted my wits
against his, and I had won. It was a praiseworthy performance for
a man who had done hitherto nothing particular in his life.
If all the copybook maxims which had been drilled into me in my
childhood and my early disaster with Audrey had not been
sufficient, I ought to have been warned by Sam's advice not to
take victory for granted till the fight was over. As Sam had said,
his luck would turn sooner or later.
One realizes these truths in theory, but the practical application
of them seldom fails to come as a shock. I received mine on the
last morning but one of the term.
Shortly after breakfast a message was brought to me that Mr Abney
would like to see me in his study. I went without any sense of
disaster to come. Most of the business of the school was discussed
in the study after breakfast, and I imagined that the matter had
to do with some detail of the morrow's exodus.
I found Mr Abney pacing the room, a look of annoyance on his face.
At the desk, her back to me, Audrey was writing. It was part of
her work to take charge of the business correspondence of the
establishment. She did not look round when I came in, nor when Mr
Abney spoke my name, but went on writing as if I did not exist.
There was a touch of embarrassment in Mr Abney's manner, for which
I could not at first account. He was stately, but with the rather
defensive stateliness which marked his announcements that he was
about to pop up to London and leave me to do his work. He coughed
once or twice before proceeding to the business of the moment.
'Ah, Mr Burns,' he said at length, 'might I ask if your plans for
the holidays, the--ah--earlier part of the holidays are settled?
No? ah--excellent.'
He produced a letter from the heap of papers on the desk.
'Ah--excellent. That simplifies matters considerably. I have no
right to ask what I am about to--ah--in fact ask. I have no claim
on your time in the holidays. But, in the circumstances, perhaps
you may see your way to doing me a considerable service. I have
received a letter from Mr Elmer Ford which puts me in a position
of some difficulty. It is not my wish--indeed, it is foreign to my
policy--to disoblige the parents of the boys who are entrusted to
my--ah--care, and I should like, if possible, to do what Mr Ford
asks. It appears that certain business matters call him to the
north of England for a few days, this rendering it impossible for
him to receive little Ogden tomorrow. It is not my custom to
criticize parents who have paid me the compliment of placing their
sons at the most malleable and important period of their lives, in
my--ah--charge, but I must say that a little longer notice would
have been a--in fact, a convenience. But Mr Ford, like so many of
his countrymen, is what I believe is called a hustler. He does it
now, as the expression is. In short, he wishes to leave little
Ogden at the school for the first few days of the holidays, and I
should be extremely obliged, Mr Burns, if you should find it
possible to stay here and--ah--look after him.'
Audrey stopped writing and turned in her chair, the first
intimation she had given that she had heard Mr Abney's remarks.
'It really won't be necessary to trouble Mr Burns,' she said,
without looking at me. 'I can take care of Ogden very well by
myself.'
'In the case of an--ah--ordinary boy, Mrs Sheridan, I should not
hesitate to leave you in sole charge as you have very kindly
offered to stay and help me in this matter. But we must recollect
not only--I speak frankly--not only the peculiar--ah--disposition
of this particular lad, but also the fact that those ruffians who
visited the house that night may possibly seize the opportunity to
make a fresh attack. I should not feel--ah--justified in
thrusting so heavy a responsibility upon you.'
There was reason in what he said. Audrey made no reply. I heard
her pen tapping on the desk and deduced her feelings. I, myself,
felt like a prisoner who, having filed through the bars of his
cell, is removed to another on the eve of escape. I had so braced
myself up to endure till the end of term and no longer that this
postponement of the day of release had a crushing effect.
Mr Abney coughed and lowered his voice confidentially.
'I would stay myself, but the fact is, I am called to London on
very urgent business, and shall be unable to return for a day or
so. My late pupil, the--ah--the Earl of Buxton, has been--I can
rely on your discretion, Mr Burns--has been in trouble with the
authorities at Eton, and his guardian, an old college friend of
mine--the--in fact, the Duke of Bessborough, who, rightly or wrongly,
places--er--considerable reliance on my advice, is anxious to consult
me on the matter. I shall return as soon as possible, but you will
readily understand that, in the circumstances, my time will not be my
own. I must place myself unreservedly at--ah--Bessborough's disposal.'
He pressed the bell.
'In the event of your observing any suspicious characters in
the neighbourhood, you have the telephone and can instantly
communicate with the police. And you will have the assistance of--'
The door opened and Smooth Sam Fisher entered.
'You rang, sir?'
'Ah! Come in, White, and close the door. I have something to say
to you. I have just been informing Mr Burns that Mr Ford has
written asking me to allow his son to stay on at the school for
the first few days of the vacation.'
He turned to Audrey.
'You will doubtless be surprised, Mrs Sheridan, and possibly--ah--
somewhat startled, to learn the peculiar nature of White's position
at Sanstead House. You have no objection to my informing Mrs Sheridan,
White, in consideration of the fact that you will be working together
in this matter? Just so. White is a detective in the employment of
Pinkerton's Agency. Mr Ford'--a slight frown appeared on his lofty
brow--'Mr Ford obtained his present situation for him in order that
he might protect his son in the event of--ah--in fact, any attempt
to remove him.'
I saw Audrey start. A quick flush came into her face. She uttered
a little exclamation of astonishment.
'Just so,' said Mr Abney, by way of comment on this. 'You are
naturally surprised. The whole arrangement is excessively unusual,
and, I may say--ah--disturbing. However, you have your duty to
fulfil to your employer, White, and you will, of course, remain
here with the boy.'
'Yes, sir.'
I found myself looking into a bright brown eye that gleamed with
genial triumph. The other was closed. In the exuberance of the
moment, Smooth Sam had had the bad taste to wink at me.
'You will have Mr Burns to help you, White. He has kindly
consented to postpone his departure during the short period in
which I shall be compelled to be absent.'
I had no recollection of having given any kind consent, but I was
very willing to have it assumed, and I was glad to see that Mr
Fisher, though Mr Abney did not observe it, was visibly taken
aback by this piece of information. But he made one of his swift
recoveries.
'It is very kind of Mr Burns,' he said in his fruitiest voice,
'but I hardly think it will be necessary to put him to the
inconvenience of altering his plans. I am sure that Mr Ford would
prefer the entire charge of the affair to be in my hands.'
He had not chosen a happy moment for the introduction of the
millionaire's name. Mr Abney was a man of method, who hated any
dislocation of the fixed routine of life; and Mr Ford's letter had
upset him. The Ford family, father and son, were just then
extremely unpopular with him.
He crushed Sam.
'What Mr Ford would or would not prefer is, in this particular
matter, beside the point. The responsibility for the boy, while he
remains on the school premises, is--ah--mine, and I shall take
such precautions as seem fit and adequate to--him--myself,
irrespective of those which, in your opinion, might suggest
themselves to Mr Ford. As I cannot be here myself, owing
to--ah--urgent business in London, I shall certainly take
advantage of Mr Burns's kind offer to remain as my deputy.'
He paused and blew his nose, his invariable custom after these
occasional outbursts of his. Sam had not wilted beneath the storm.
He waited, unmoved, till all was over:
'I am afraid I shall have to be more explicit,' he said: 'I had
hoped to avoid scandal and unpleasantness, but I see it is
impossible.'
Mr Abney's astonished face emerged slowly from behind his
handkerchief.
'I quite agree with you, sir, that somebody should be here to help
me look after the boy, but not Mr Burns. I am sorry to have to say
it, but I do not trust Mr Burns.'
Mr Abney's look of astonishment deepened. I, too, was surprised.
It was so unlike Sam to fling away his chances on a blundering
attack like this.
'What do you mean?' demanded Mr Abney.
'Mr Burns is after the boy himself. He came to kidnap him.'
Mr Abney, as he had every excuse for doing, grunted with
amazement. I achieved the ringing laugh of amused innocence. It
was beyond me to fathom Sam's mind. He could not suppose that any
credence would be given to his wild assertion. It seemed to me
that disappointment had caused him momentarily to lose his head.
'Are you mad, White?'
'No, sir. I can prove what I say. If I had not gone to London with
him that last time, he'd have got away with the boy then, for
certain.'
For an instant an uneasy thought came to me that he might have
something in reserve, something unknown to me, which had
encouraged him to this direct attack. I dismissed the notion.
There could be nothing.
Mr Abney had turned to me with a look of hopeless bewilderment. I
raised my eyebrows.
'Ridiculous,' I said.
That this was the only comment seemed to be Mr Abney's view. He
turned on Sam with the pettish anger of the mild man.
'What do you _mean_, White, by coming to me with such a
preposterous story?'
'I don't say Mr Burns wished to kidnap the boy in the ordinary
way,' said Sam imperturbably, 'like those men who came that night.
He had a special reason. Mr and Mrs Ford, as of course you know,
sir, are divorced. Mr Burns was trying to get the boy away and
take him back to his mother.'
I heard Audrey give a little gasp. Mr Abney's anger became
modified by a touch of doubt. I could see that these words, by
lifting the accusation from the wholly absurd to the somewhat
plausible, had impressed him. Once again I was gripped by the
uneasy feeling that Sam had an unsuspected card to play. This
might be bluff, but it had a sinister ring.
'You might say,' went on Sam smoothly, 'that this was creditable
to Mr Burns's heart. But, from my employer's viewpoint and yours,
too, it was a chivalrous impulse that needed to be checked. Will
you please read this, sir?'
He handed a letter to Mr Abney, who adjusted his glasses and began
to read--at first in a detached, judicial way, then with startled
eagerness.
'I felt it necessary to search among Mr Burns's papers, sir, in
the hope of finding--'
And then I knew what he had found. From the first the blue-grey
notepaper had had a familiar look. I recognized it now. It was
Cynthia's letter, that damning document which I had been mad
enough to read to him in London. His prediction that the luck
would change had come amazingly true.
I caught Sam's eye. For the second time he was unfeeling enough to
wink. It was a rich, comprehensive wink, as expressive and joyous
as a college yell.
Mr Abney had absorbed the letter and was struggling for speech. I
could appreciate his emotion. If he had not actually been
nurturing a viper in his bosom, he had come, from his point of
view, very near it. Of all men, a schoolmaster necessarily looks
with the heartiest dislike on the would-be kidnapper.
As for me, my mind was in a whirl. I was entirely without a plan,
without the very beginnings of a plan, to help me cope with this
appalling situation. I was crushed by a sense of the utter
helplessness of my position. To denounce Sam was impossible; to
explain my comparative innocence was equally out of the question.
The suddenness of the onslaught had deprived me of the power of
coherent thought. I was routed.
Mr Abney was speaking.
'Is your name Peter, Mr Burns?'
I nodded. Speech was beyond me.
'This letter is written by--ah--by a lady. It asks you in set
terms to--ah--hasten to kidnap Ogden Ford. Do you wish me to read
it to you? Or do you confess to knowing its contents?'
He waited for a reply. I had none to make.
'You do not deny that you came to Sanstead House for the
deliberate purpose of kidnapping Ogden Ford?'
I had nothing to say. I caught a glimpse of Audrey's face, cold
and hard, and shifted my eyes quickly. Mr Abney gulped. His face
wore the reproachful expression of a cod-fish when jerked out of
the water on the end of a line. He stared at me with pained
repulsion. That scoundrelly old buccaneer Sam did the same. He
looked like a shocked bishop.
'I--ah--trusted you implicitly,' said Mr Abney.
Sam wagged his head at me reproachfully. With a flicker of spirit
I glared at him. He only wagged the more.
It was, I think, the blackest moment of my life. A wild desire for
escape on any terms surged over me. That look on Audrey's face was
biting into my brain like an acid.
'I will go and pack,' I said.
'This is the end of all things,' I said to myself.
I had suspended my packing in order to sit on my bed and brood. I
was utterly depressed. There are crises in a man's life when
Reason fails to bring the slightest consolation. In vain I tried
to tell myself that what had happened was, in essence, precisely
what, twenty-four hours ago, I was so eager to bring about. It
amounted to this, that now, at last, Audrey had definitely gone
out of my life. From now on I could have no relations with her of
any sort. Was not this exactly what, twenty-four hours ago, I had
wished? Twenty-four hours ago had I not said to myself that I
would go away and never see her again? Undoubtedly. Nevertheless,
I sat there and groaned in spirit.
It was the end of all things.
A mild voice interrupted my meditations.
'Can I help?'
Sam was standing in the doorway, beaming on me with invincible
good-humour.
'You are handling them wrong. Allow me. A moment more and you
would have ruined the crease.'
I became aware of a pair of trousers hanging limply in my grasp.
He took them from me, and, folding them neatly, placed them in my
trunk.
'Don't get all worked up about it, sonny,' he said. 'It's the
fortune of war. Besides, what does it matter to you? Judging by
that very snug apartment in London, you have quite enough money
for a young man. Losing your job here won't break you. And, if
you're worrying about Mrs Ford and her feelings, don't! I guess
she's probably forgotten all about the Nugget by this time. So
cheer up. _You're_ all right!'
He stretched out a hand to pat me on the shoulder, then thought
better of it and drew it back.
'Think of _my_ happiness, if you want something to make you
feel good. Believe me, young man, it's _some_. I could sing!
Gee, when I think that it's all plain sailing now and no more
troubles, I could dance! You don't know what it means to me,
putting through this deal. I wish you knew Mary! That's her name.
You must come and visit us, sonny, when we're fixed up in the
home. There'll always be a knife and fork for _you_. We'll
make you one of the family! Lord! I can see the place as plain as
I can see you. Nice frame house with a good porch.... Me in a
rocker in my shirt-sleeves, smoking a cigar and reading the
baseball news; Mary in another rocker, mending my socks and
nursing the cat! We'll sure have a cat. Two cats. I like cats. And
a goat in the front garden. Say, it'll be _great!_'
And on the word, emotion overcoming prudence, he brought his fat
hand down with a resounding smack on my bowed shoulders.
There is a limit. I bounded to my feet.
'Get out!' I yelped. 'Get out of here!'
'Sure,' he replied agreeably. He rose without haste and regarded
me compassionately. 'Cheer up, son! Be a sport!'
There are moments when the best of men become melodramatic. I
offer this as excuse for my next observation.
Clenching my fists and glaring at him, I cried, 'I'll foil you
yet, you hound!'
Some people have no soul for the dramatic. He smiled tolerantly.
'Sure,' he said. 'Anything you like, Desperate Desmond. Enjoy
yourself!'
And he left me.
Content of Part 2 - Peter Burns' Narrative: Chapter 12 [P G Wodehouse's novel: The Little Nugget]
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