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Till the Clock Stops, a fiction by John Joy Bell |
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Chapter 17 |
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_ CHAPTER XVII The night was fine but still very dark. An hour or so hence the moon at its full would make many things visible, and chiefly for that reason but also because he desired to return to London the same night, Bullard with his unsavoury companion, had arrived thus early at the gates of Grey House. Yet now it looked as though his programme would have to be abandoned, or, at any rate, drastically altered. For the house, as was plain to see, was occupied. There was no great display of lights, but a ruddy glow shone through the glazed inner door, and a thin white shaft fell from a slit between the drawn curtains of the familiar upper room. "Caw taking a look round, no doubt," remarked Bullard, recovering from his first annoyance. "Wonder where the beggar has his lodgings and how long he is likely to hang about. "Is the game up, mister?" asked the man at his elbow. "Cause if so, I'll just remind ye that I got to get paid, results or no results. Ye brought me here to open a door for ye, and 'tisn't my fault if the door's open already." "Shut up till I've thought a bit." After a pause, Bullard began: "Pay attention, Flitch--" "Not that name, damn ye!" "Idiot, then. I was going to say that I could have done with an hour or two in that house, but that a couple of minutes would be better than nothing--" "Couple o' minutes? That's easy--if ye don't mind a little risk." "I'm used to risks," said Bullard, shifting the Green Box to his other arm. "But it is vital that I go in and out without being seen." "Can't guarantee anything in this blasted rotten world," said Flitch, "but I think I can do the trick for you." "How?" "By bringin' whoever's in the house out at the back door while you slips in at the front." "Do you mean that you will knock at the back--" "Cheese it, mister! It's your turn to listen now. I've got in my pocket here a couple o' useful little articles which I never travels without when engaged on a job o' this sort--as I was pretty sure it was goin' to be. Them little articles is noisy, but ye can't have everything, even in Heaven, and as things has turned out now, they're just it." Mr. Flitch, at last in his element, paused to chuckle hoarsely. "Oh, hurry up. You're talking of explosives." "Go up one! Well, now, mister, suppose I sneaks up round to the back premises and fixes the pretty things all serene and comfortable to one of the outhouses, then lights the fuses and retires. In a little while--bang! bang! What price that for fetchin' yer friend out at the back door just to see if something hasn't maybe dropped off the clothes-line?" "I believe you've hit it," said Bullard after consideration. "How long do the fuses burn?" "Two minutes to a sec. The moment I've seen 'em go off proper I'll come back and wait for ye here, unless there's a chase, when I'll bolt for the car. Meanwhile you'll ha' crept up to near the house, ready to do yer bit as soon's ye hear yer friend movin'. It's chancey of course, but that's the sort o' trade it is. Better take this"--Flitch brought something from his breast-pocket--"in case the key's turned in that front door." "Thanks; I've got one. Now say it all again so that we have no misunderstandings." A few minutes later Bullard was crouching at the side of the steps beyond reach of the rosy light, his nerves taut, his whole being waiting for the signal. Smartly it came, and the stillness of the winter night was shattered.... Again! The sound of some one running downstairs reached his ears; next it came from the oak-floored hall, diminishing; then a door--possibly one with a spring--went shut with a smash. Silence for a brief space, then noise from the back of the house. It was now or never. Up the steps he bounded, yet halted to clean his boots on the mat. At that moment he thought he heard a cry, but nothing could stay him now. The shining tool in his clutch was unnecessary: the handle turned, the door opened. He sped across the hall and upstairs. Lights were burning in Christopher's old room; the pendulum of the clock scintillated as it swung. The fire burned cheerfully. There was a smell of Turkish tobacco. A book lay open on the writing table. Bullard noticed all these things and for an instant wavered and wondered. Without further pause, however, he placed the Green Box in its old refuge, carefully closed the drawer, and rose to go. Just for a moment the clock held him. Then he shook his fist at it and bolted. Closing the front door noiselessly after him, he went softly down the steps and across the gravel till he stepped upon the grass border, when he made swiftly, recklessly, for the gates. A yard from them he all but fell over Flitch. That gentleman was lying face downwards, in a perfect agony of terror, scrabbling the gravel, mumbling to the Almighty to save him. Bullard shook him, whispering savagely: "Get up, you fool! It's all right; we've done the trick--" "O God, don't let his ghost get me! He was the first I ever killed, O God, and I wanted the money bad--" "Curse you, Flitch! What the devil's the matter? If you won't come now, I must leave you to get caught--and that's the end of you!" Bullard gripped him by the collar and dragged him to his knees. And now Caw's voice was heard calling: "Mr. Alan, Mr. Alan, wait till I get another lamp." At that on Bullard's face the sweat broke thickly. With a gasp he let Flitch drop like a heavy sack, and started to run. Not far beyond the gates Flitch overtook him. Between thick sobs Flitch was moaning: "I heard his voice. 'Twas clear and strong. He's alive! ... I didn't kill him after all. Oh, God, I'm that thankful. I heard his voice. He's alive...." Bullard swung his hand backwards and smote the babbling mouth. "Idiot! Do you think there's no punishment for attempted murder?" "I'll confess--I'll confess to himself--and he'll forgive--" "Will you! Is attempted murder your only crime? Shut your crazy mouth now, or it will be the worse for you." And so, panting with exertion and passion, the fearful twain came to the car hidden in the wood. But Bullard was already recovering. * * * * * "No damage that I can see, except to the door of the garage," said Caw at last. "The car's all right." "We'd better take a turn round the house," answered Alan, "though it's a search-light that's wanted tonight." "Be careful, sir!" "Oh, nonsense! Whoever it was has cleared out long ago." He moved off in advance, and was turning the corner, flashing his torch into the shrubbery, when a pale figure flew out of the darkness. "You're safe!" cried a voice in tones of supreme relief. "Oh, but I was terrified for you!" "Miss Handyside!" A flash had shown him a white-face, wide eyes, parted lips--also a hand gripping a pretty revolver. His finger left the electric button. Impulsively he softly exclaimed: "Does it matter to you, my safety?" Darkness and a hush for the space of a long breath, and something happened to those two young people. Then Caw joined them. "What was it?" the girl enquired, almost coldly. "We heard shots, and I ran through the passage--father is following--and I came out by the front door, and--" "Weren't you afraid, miss?" Caw asked on a note of admiration. "Yes, but--" she halted. "The only thing that has happened, Miss Handyside, so far as we have discovered, is that some ass has been setting off fireworks against the garage door," said Alan. "Anyway, we can't do anything to-night. Let's go in and find Dr. Handyside. He'll be horribly anxious about you." "There will be a moon shortly," Caw remarked, "and I'll take a look round then, Mr. Alan." "Right! Let us have something hot--coffee and so on--upstairs." "Very good, sir. Your pardon, miss, but that nice pistol--" "Oh, would you take it away from me, Caw?" she sighed. "Keep it till I ask for it." "Thank you, miss." Caw received the little weapon. It was, of course, utterly absurd, but at the moment Alan felt annoyed with his servant. They found the doctor starting to negotiate the stair. "Ah," he cried, "glad to see you! What the dickens are your friends after this time, Alan? Stealing your coals for a change?" He laughed, but one could have seen that he was immensely relieved by the sight of his daughter. Together they spent a couple of hours in the study and discussed a dozen theories. Perhaps Alan had least to say for himself. He was inclined to be absent-minded. On the other hand, he discovered, after a while, that he was disposed to look rather too frequently in the direction of his girl guest. Left to himself, he became aware that his plan for the immediate future was not altogether satisfactory. It was too late now to ask Teddy to delay his already postponed visit, but had that been feasible he would have made up his mind to start for London in the morning. Doris was in London, and his desire was towards her--or was it partly his duty? _ |
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