CHAPTER VIII
Towards half-past five in the morning Mr. Johnson was awakened from aheavy slumber by the clamorous and increasing twitter of birds in theshrubberies and gardens outside. He woke with the sensation of beingexceedingly uncomfortable and of being in an entirely unaccustomed spot.He sat up, looking around him. He was on the floor of the library, hisrevolver, with one barrel discharged, by his side, a dried but painfulcut upon his cheek bone, and with the haunting remains of a mostunpleasant odour still hanging about the room. He staggered to his feetwith poignant apprehensions of disaster. A panel in the doorcommunicating with the smaller apartment which it had been his purposeto guard had been neatly cut out, and the spring lock apparently pickedfrom the other side. The door itself stood open. Inside, thesteel-clamped coffer in which Endacott had kept his manuscripts layupside down and empty upon the carpet. Mr. Johnson nodded slowly tohimself. It was a moment of great humiliation. After fifteen years ofadventurous life, of scraps with Chinese cutthroats, Malay thieves,scamps of every sort, armed with every kind of weapon, he had,notwithstanding ample warning, been tricked by an amateur. He made acloser examination and realised how it must have happened. He had waitedin the darkness for the opening of the garden door, and the intruder,whoever it might have been, had surprised him by coming in the otherway--there were, after all, a dozen windows on the ground floor by whichhe might have entered--and stealing upon him from behind. He couldrecall, even then with his dazed senses, as he leaned out to get alittle fresh air, the absolute noiselessness of that encounter. It wasless a sound than the consciousness of somebody's presence which hadmade him suddenly alert, and then, before he could even turn, arms likeiron bands were around his throat and the handkerchief was pressed tohis nostrils. Night after night he had waited for what had happened, andwhen his opportunity had come--well, this was the end of it!
He moved to the telephone, rang up the police station and, after a fewminutes' delay, conducted a conversation with the inspector in charge.Afterwards he locked up the library, proceeded upstairs, took a bath,changed into his ordinary tweed morning clothes, and drank several cupsof tea.
"Disturbed at all during the night, Morton?" he asked the butler.
"Can't say that I was, sir," the man replied, looking curiously at theslight wound on his master's face.
"You sleep well then," was the latter's dry comment. "There was aburglary here between three and four o'clock. Keep your mouth shut untilafter the police have been."
"God bless my soul, sir!" the man exclaimed. "You look as though you'dbeen hurt, sir."
"Nothing to speak of. I heard a noise and went down. Fellow got at mebefore I could turn the light on. Remember, not a word, Morton. Thepolice sergeant will be here in a few minutes."
The sergeant came; a tall and ponderous man, slow of speech, persistentand given to repetitions. He spent a thoroughly enjoyable hour, notebookin hand, on a blank page of which he made a rough sketch of the roomitself and the window through which it was discovered that the intruderhad entered.
"And you miss nothing of value in any other part of the house, sir?" heenquired for the sixth or seventh time, prior to taking his leave.
"Nothing that I can trace," Mr. Johnson replied. "You must remember thatI am only a sub-tenant. Nothing of my own is missing, nor any of thefamiliar objects in the library."
The sergeant returned the book to his pocket.
"A mysterious affair," he pronounced. "Nothing gone, apparently, but apile of old papers. We must telephone to the lawyers who let the placeand interview the tenant. The inspector will be over this afternoon,sir, and I dare say he will be along to see you."
The man took his leave and Mr. Johnson crossed the road and knocked atthe door of the Little House. Miss Besant opened it herself and greetedhim with a smile.
"I was just coming across," she said. "Madame wants to see you."
Mr. Johnson was ushered into the cool drawing-room, where Madame waslying upon her couch. She held out one hand and with the other wavedimperiously to Miss Besant to depart.
"Something has happened--something happened last night!" she exclaimed."What was it?"
He took the chair to which she pointed, close to her side.
"A burglary," he confided. "I was coming in to ask you to communicate atonce with Miss Endacott. The whole of the papers in the chest which waslocked up in the inner library are gone."
"The burglar," she demanded breathlessly. "Has he been caught? Is thereany clue?"
"Not at present," Mr. Johnson acknowledged. "There hasn't been muchtime."
"He got away then?"
"Yes, he got away."
She looked at the scar on her visitor's face.
"Did you see him?" she asked.
"I didn't see him but I felt him," Mr. Johnson rejoined, a littleruefully. "We had scarcely more than a few seconds' scrap in the dark.He came up from behind with a chloroformed handkerchief."
She lay back and closed her eyes. In a moment or two she seemed torecover herself.
"Papers--nothing but papers stolen," she murmured. "That doesn't soundlike an ordinary burglary."
"It wasn't," he agreed.
"What do you think about it?" she asked eagerly.
"What is there to think?" he rejoined. "Some one wanted those papers. Wemust communicate with Miss Endacott at once and ascertain what they wereand to whom they would be of value."
"You needn't trouble to do that," Madame confided; "my niece will behere this afternoon. She is coming down to stay with me for a few days."
Mr. Johnson was thoughtful for a moment or two.
"Well," he observed, "it is perhaps opportune."
"What do you mean by that?" she demanded, nervously clasping andunclasping her fingers.
He laid his hand upon hers soothingly.
"You are distressing yourself needlessly, Madame," he said. "I only meanthat her visit will make it unnecessary for us to communicate with her.She will be able to tell us whether the papers were of great value."
There was another silence.
"I think I can solve that problem," Madame declared. "They are of novalue at all. The coffer contained a collection of Chinese manuscripts,some of which my brother had already translated, and a few others whichhe had not examined."
"Is that so?" Mr. Johnson observed. "Seems queer, doesn't it, if thatwas all, that there should be bars on the windows and a double lock onthe door?"
"My niece will explain that," Madame replied. "There was one which hetranslated just before he died, which might have had some value. Clairedid not feel like examining it at the time. She wished it kept safely,however."
"I see," Mr. Johnson murmured.
"What do the police say about it?" she demanded.
"So far," was the somewhat sardonic rejoinder, "the police have beenrepresented by Sergeant May. His opinion is, I think, that it is amysterious affair."
"What do you think of it yourself?" she asked him suddenly.
"I think," he replied, "that the burglar, whoever he was, was afterthose Chinese manuscripts and nothing else. Therefore I don't think itwas an ordinary sort of burglar at all. I should say not. It was someone who knew what he wanted, and he seems to have got it."
"I wish I knew the truth about you," Madame sighed.
He smiled.
"Well," he said, "I'm a pretty obvious sort of person, aren't I?"
"No," she answered. "On the contrary, you puzzle me, you frighten me."
"Just why, at the present moment?" he asked tolerantly.
"Because," she confided, her eyes fixed upon his, "I don't understandwhat you were doing in the lane out by your gate this morning about aquarter of an hour before the burglary."
"Did you see me?" he enquired, after a moment's pause.
"Yes. I have seen you there other mornings at the same time. What do youdo? For whom do you watch?"
"I am a light sleeper," he explained. "Last night I fancied that I heardsome one sti
rring. I had a walk round the place. As it happens, you see,I was right."
She shook her head.
"You were out in the lane," she persisted.
"Perhaps you think I committed the burglary myself," he suggested.
The eyes which were fixed upon his so steadily grew even more intense.
"I should not be surprised," she said. "I should not be surprised atanything I heard about you. I do not believe that any of the stories youtell about yourself are true. You frighten me, living there. I hate it."
"You have nothing to fear from me," he assured her. "I am a veryharmless person."
"But you haven't told the truth about yourself," she persisted.
There was the sound of hoofs in the lane. Madame looked out of thewindow and a wonderful light swept over her face. Sir Bertram wasdismounting from the hack which he had ridden across the park. He handedthe reins to the roadmender who came hobbling up, threw away hiscigarette, and, with the familiarity of habitude, turned the handle ofthe door and immediately afterwards entered the drawing-room. He noddedto Mr. Johnson as he came over to Madame with outstretched hands.
"Dear Angele," he said, "you see I anticipated the time of my usualcall. I thought perhaps that this news might have upset you."
"You have heard then?" she exclaimed.
"A lurid account of the affair was served up with my morning tea," SirBertram replied. "My commiserations, Mr. Johnson. I am relieved to findyou in such good shape, however. The least sensational story is that youwere battered almost to death by several brawny-looking ruffians and hadalready been moved to Norwich Infirmary."
"The report," Mr. Johnson declared, "is exaggerated."
"Anything of value gone?" the newcomer enquired.
"Miss Endacott is the only one who can tell us that," was the quietanswer. "The box containing her uncle's manuscripts was broken open andthe manuscripts themselves have disappeared."
Sir Bertram drew up a chair and lit one of the cigarettes from the boxwhich Madame pushed towards him. His long, lean figure looked at itsbest in the well-cut riding clothes he was wearing. The summer hadbrought an extra tinge of brown sunburn into his cheeks. His eyes werebright and clear. He seemed in the best of spirits and health.
"That lends quite a note of romance to the affair," he remarked. "Iwonder what our local Sherlock Holmes will make of it."
"He has pronounced the affair mysterious," Mr. Johnson confided. "I findit so myself," he continued, a moment later. "One would not haveimagined that there were many people with a craze for Chinesemanuscripts."
"More useful to us than any one," Sir Bertram remarked. "Gregory has acouple of wonderful wooden Images up at the Hall--you've seen them, Mr.Johnson--which are supposed to be full of jewels if we could onlydiscover the key. That poor fellow Endacott knew all about it. He was atwork on some papers, which he had brought home with him from China, justbefore his death, but up to then he had not come across anything thathelped us."
Mr. Johnson rose to his feet.
"If I might be permitted to pay my respects to Miss Endacott as soon asshe arrives," he begged, "I should be glad."
"Certainly," Madame assented.
"Is Miss Endacott expected here?" Sir Bertram asked.
"This afternoon," she replied. "I only heard last night."
For a single second there was a curious change in Sir Bertram's face.The insouciance, almost the gaiety, seemed suddenly to have fallen away,as though it had been a mask. His eyes were hard and tired. Then herecovered himself.
"Opportune," he remarked lightly. "Come and see us again soon up at theHall, Mr. Johnson."
The latter bowed to Madame and turned away. There was something almostmenacing in his gravity.
"You are very kind, Sir Bertram," he said, as he took his leave.
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