Jen sprang up, laughing and triumphant. “Where’s my knife? What’s the window like?”
“You’ve done some damage now,” Jack growled, breathless because her taller companion had rolled upon her. “You’ve busted the bolt of that shutter.”
“Must have been going to give way. The woman will know it was nearly gone.” Jen was struggling with the catch of the window, standing on the low sill and sliding in her knife in the approved style.
“There!” she whispered. “It’s gone back quite easily. Now help me to shove the window up.”
In a few moments they were inside, looking eagerly about them. They stood in a passage, and its door was shut.
“I do hope all the doors aren’t locked. That would be mean,” Jen murmured.
Jack tried the door and opened it without hindrance.
“All clear. Be mousey, Jen. There might be somebody about.”
Jen nodded, and they crept out into a wide hall, with many closed doors. The house was quiet and seemed deserted.
“No family portraits here,” Jen whispered. “We must find the drawing-room.”
“There may be a picture-gallery upstairs. Some big houses have them.”
“Try down here first. Are the doors locked?”
Jack tried one cautiously. It opened, and she put in her head and peered round.
“Jolly room—big—all dust-sheets. No portraits; pictures of the sea, and hills, and woods.”
Jen glanced at the landscapes. “Quite good, but no use to us. It’s the drawing-room. I thought the portraits would be here.”
“They haven’t any portraits. Or they’re all at the town house,” Jack jeered.
“We’ll try the other rooms.” Jen was not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed; Jack’s suggestion of the morning was burdening her heavily.
They looked into each room, library, morning-room, dining-room; but found no family portraits.
“I’m beginning to think there aren’t any.” There was a satisfied note in Jen’s voice. “But we’ll look upstairs. It’s quite safe; there’s not a soul about.”
The stair led to a long corridor. Jack, running up first, gave a whoop. “The picture-gallery! One to me! Here are your family portraits!”
The corridor was hung with oil-paintings, down its whole length, some large, some small, but all portraits.
“My aunt! There are enough of them!” Jen stood dismayed at the head of the stair.
“Your aunt! Other people’s aunts; tribes of aunts! You’d better hurry on with the job; find K.M.’s picture in this crowd and see if she’s wearing her locket!” Jack mocked.
“You help,” Jen urged. “We shall be here all night. You know what we’re looking for; you’ve seen my locket. And you can read. Their names are underneath. Find Kitty, or Kate Marchwood for me!”
They settled down to a hurried inspection of the portraits, Jack amused and sceptical, Jen distinctly harassed and anxious, neither paying any attention to anything else whatever.
CHAPTER XIV
TRAPPED
“It’s a very fine collection,” Jack murmured.
“No Kates on my side. Heaps of Janes and Marys. Oh, I spoke too soon!” Jen cried. “Here’s a Katharine—but she hasn’t any locket. Katharine Marchwood—I like that! It’s a good name. Have you any Katharines?”
“I say, come here, Jen!”
At something in Jack’s quiet tones Jen ran to her side. Jack was kneeling to look at a little old portrait low down near the floor.
“Silly to put it at the bottom!” Jack said. She turned the light of a pocket torch on the picture. “I thought so!”
“The locket!” Jen gasped, turning white.
“A locket. You can’t be sure it’s yours. It’s very small.”
“I am sure. It is mine. I know every mark on mine. But—but look at her clothes! My locket isn’t as old as that!”
“What d’you mean?” Jack demanded. “How can you tell?”
“That’s a Stuart cap and frock; or perhaps Elizabethan. I’ve seen pictures of Mary, Queen of Scots, in a thing like that. My locket comes from highwayman times; a hundred or two hundred years ago. But it is my locket, Jack!”
“Kitty Marchwood may have been wearing an old family heirloom, handed down for centuries.”
“I never thought of that. The locket may be much older than the highwayman. Joan said it was old, when she saw it, but I thought she meant George I., or something like that—not Elizabeth or James.” Jen knelt and peered at the picture. “I can’t make out the K.M., but there are letters. Look, Jack! You can see the monogram.”
“Might be just scratches. But it’s in the right place for the letters,” Jack admitted.
“It’s the letters all right. That’s my locket.” Jen sat on her heels, her face serious. “She hasn’t any name, as the others have. I wonder who she was?”
“She was Katharine Marchwood,” Jack said at once. “The girl who met the highwayman may have been called anything; she was only wearing the heirloom.”
Jen nodded. “I’m used to thinking of her as Kitty Marchwood, but Kitty was the ancestor, of course.”
“More likely she was Katharine.”
Jen agreed. “I wish we knew more about her. It’s a very old picture. I wonder why——”
“What’s that?” Jack raised her head.
“What’s what? Oh, gosh!” Jen sprang to her feet. “A car—that was the horn—somebody’s coming! Jack, come on!”
She dashed to the stair, then stepped back hurriedly, flinging out her arm to bar Jack’s passage.
Jack looked at her, too startled to speak.
Jen pointed down to the hall, and silently drew back into the shadows of the upper corridor.
Jack looked, and withdrew also and in equal silence. A woman hurried to the big front door and threw it open.
“The caretaker,” Jack whispered. “She’s been there all the time. She might have heard us long ago. She’s missed her meeting.”
“She was expecting somebody. She didn’t unbolt the door. It was unlocked and waiting,” Jen murmured.
She crept to the head of the stair and lay flat on her chest, peering down. Jack joined her, lying flat also.
“Come away in, master,” Mrs. Price was saying, holding the door wide open. “All’s ready for you, and I’ll make you a good strong pot of tea, after your journey.”
The burglars looked at one another. “Sir Keith Marchwood himself,” Jack muttered.
“My hat!” Jen gasped. “But I only posted my letter an hour ago!”
Jack smothered a derisive chuckle. “He hasn’t come to see you, ass. He doesn’t know about the letter.”
“Has he come after Timothy Spindle?”
“There he is,” Jack said cautiously. “Looks bad, doesn’t he? He couldn’t catch us, if it came to bolting.”
“The man could, though,” Jen said gloomily.
Sir Keith came heavily up the steps, on the arm of a man-servant. He was tall, but badly bent with rheumatism, so that he did not look his height, and dark, and he walked with difficulty.
“They’re a dark family,” Jen whispered. “He’s like some of the portraits. They mostly have dark hair.”
“He can hardly walk, poor chap. He needs that cup of tea,” Jack said.
“In the library, Jenks,” the invalid spoke wearily.
Mrs. Price threw open a door, and he was helped into the room.
“Shall we scoot now?” Jack asked.
“No—too many people about. We’ll have to wait. Here comes the caretaker again.”
As Jen spoke, Mrs. Price came bustling out to go to the kitchen. The girls drew back into the shadows.
“We’re trapped,” Jen said dramatically. “But there’s plenty of time. He won’t stay long.”
“You think he’ll go back to town to-night?” Jack asked, startled.
“Well, don’t you? There’s no bedroom ready for him. Any one can see this corridor hasn’t
been dusted to-day. If he was going to sleep here, she’d have had it all polished and shining, and the dining-room would have been ready, and the shutters would have been open.”
“That’s true,” Jack admitted. “I didn’t think. Wonder what he’s come for?”
“Whatever it is, it’s only a flying visit. I expect he can’t be out of his own bed at night. He’d be afraid this house would be damp. He’s come to fetch something, or to see somebody, or to make some arrangements—something that couldn’t be done by writing. He’ll stay an hour or two and then go back to town.”
“Sounds likely enough. Then we must stick here till he goes, that’s all.”
“If they don’t come upstairs for anything,” Jen said darkly. “He might send the man. And we’ll be late for tea. We’ll have to make an excuse to Auntie Shirley.”
Escape by the hall seemed impossible. The woman came bringing a tray of tea; the man went out to the car and returned with an attaché case.
“Too much traffic down there,” Jack remarked.
Then she caught Jen’s arm and pointed. “The man’s going to the kitchen for his tea. They’ve closed the swing door. Our window’s just across the hall. Sir Keith can’t run; it’s all he can do to walk. Shall we risk it?”
Jen hesitated. “What d’you think?”
“No saying how long we’ll be stuck here. May be two hours. It will get frightfully stale, and Mrs. Shirley will be worrying. I’m sure we could do it.”
“Right!” Jen rose carefully. “Creep down the stair and then bolt for the window.”
Like mice they made their way to the lower hall. Then a swift, almost noiseless rush took them to the passage with the open window.
Not quite noiseless, however. A bell pealed in the library, and a stern voice called, “Who is there? Jenks!”
“Oh, quick!” Jen gasped.
They tumbled through the window and shot off to the shelter of the trees.
A shout warned them that they had been seen, and Jack panted, “The man’s coming! Take that short cut we saw!”
They dashed down a narrow path, which cut off a big loop, reached the swing gate, fled across the field past the lake, and were in the shelter of the lane before the man appeared at the edge of the orchard.
“Bully for us!” Jack murmured, as they lay in hiding and watched him looking around. “They can’t have seen much of us. We didn’t drop anything they could recognise us by. We’re lucky to be out of that so easily.”
“Come into the garden,” said Jen, and pushed open the gate which led to the grounds of the Hall.
“Sit down and breathe,” she commanded. “I want to think.”
During the flight Jack had been the leader, but now Jen’s panic was over and reason was asserting itself. She sat, looking unhappy, on a big tree-trunk, her chin on her clenched fists and her plaits drooping on the ruddy beech needles.
Jack glanced at her curiously. “What’s up? We came out of that jolly well, and you’ve found what you wanted. You’ve seen your locket—oh, gosh! Is that what’s on your mind?”
“Yes!” Jen flung back her plaits and sat up. “It isn’t my locket any longer. We know now where it belongs. We couldn’t find the owner before; now we’ve found him, and he’s there in the house. It’s what you said, in bed this morning. I can’t keep the thing.” She looked up at Jack with tragic eyes.
Knowing her, Jack realised that argument was useless. She made an attempt, however.
“Nobody knows you’ve found out. If you just lie low——”
“Can’t. I’d never be able to wear it without feeling bad.”
“Couldn’t you ask Joan if you can keep it?”
“What’s the good? I know what she’ll say.”
“But, look here, Jen! If you give it back you’ll have to say how you found out. That means giving away that we’ve been in the house.”
“Can’t help that,” Jen retorted. “I can’t keep the locket now; it would be as bad as stealing it. The sooner the better; I’ll tell Joan later. You wait here!” And she was gone, racing towards the Hall, before Jack had guessed what she was going to do.
“I say, Jen!” Jack shouted in alarm.
Jen waved her hand, but rushed on. She was back in five minutes, the gold purse and the locket in her hand.
“I didn’t meet anybody. Auntie Shirley’s having tea with Joan. I’d rather get it over. Don’t come, Jack; there isn’t a scrap of need. I don’t suppose they saw there were two of us.”
“Ass!” Jack said indignantly. “Look here, Jen! If you take those things to him now, you’ll have to say you were in the house!”
“I know. But I’ll have to say it anyway, for I must explain how I’ve suddenly found out. I’d have to send the things by post and write a letter. It’s much easier to give them to him.”
“Aren’t you scared of him?” Jack cried. “I am!”
“Terrified,” Jen said grimly. “But I’m sure I can explain better by talking than in a letter. Don’t come, Jacky-boy! It’s rotten for you, and it’s all my doing.”
“I’m going, if you go, but I don’t like it one scrap.”
“You are a sport! I hated the thought of going alone. Will you really come?” Jen cried.
“I’m certain that man saw us both. If you refused to reveal the name of your companion, they might shut you up in a dungeon and put you on the rack.”
Jen laughed. “If you think that’s the way I’m likely to be received, you’d better stay here and be able to tell Joan where I’ve gone. You could organise a rescue party.”
“No, I’m coming to hold your hand. Sure you’ve really got to go?”
“ ’Fraid I must. He won’t eat us when he sees the locket. Let’s get it over!” Jen said valiantly.
CHAPTER XV
THE MARCHWOOD LOCKET
Jen led the way back to the Manor, her face set. “We won’t go in by the window. We want to see Sir Keith Marchwood, so we’ll ask for him properly.”
“I hope that man won’t know us again, but I’m very much afraid he will. If he does, he won’t be exactly friendly,” Jack urged.
“We ought to have disguised ourselves with different hats and black glasses and—and beards,” Jen murmured as they reached the tennis lawn. “Shall we be humble and go to the back door? It’s much nearer than the front.”
“We’ll meet the caretaker,” Jack warned her.
Jen was going towards the door when it was thrown open, and the man-servant and Mrs. Price rushed out.
“I’d like to know the meaning of this, if you please,” the woman caught Jen by the arm. “You tell me what you was doing in the house just now, you wicked girl!”
“And why you have returned,” the man added, his voice hard and formal. “Sir Keith presents his compliments and he wishes to speak to the young ladies.”
“He did see us, then,” Jen commented. “We want to speak to him too. That’s why we’ve come back. We’d like to explain, and to apologise to him.”
“Ho, yes! Apologise! I hope you’ll speak up as bold as that when you see the master.”
“I hopes as how Sir Keith will send for the police,” Mrs. Price said shrilly. “Breaking into the house like burglars!”
“I don’t think he will,” Jen said sturdily, though her eyes were frightened. “Come on, Jack! I’ll do the talking. I’m sure Sir Keith will understand!”
“Hope so, but I doubt it,” Jack muttered, under her breath.
“You needn’t hold on to me like that,” Jen said with dignity, looking up at Jenks. “I’m not going to run away. We’re most anxious to see Sir Keith. We’ve come here on purpose to speak to him.”
She heard Jack’s stifled grunt and gave her a withering look. “I despise you, Jacqueline,” she murmured bitterly.
“A case for the police, that’s what this is,” Mrs. Price assured her.
“I don’t think so,” Jen said haughtily. “I’m sure I can make Sir Keith understand.”
; “You can, if anybody can,” Jack agreed dejectedly, all her courage gone. “First-class at talking, you are!”
“In you go!” The man had led them to the back door. “And don’t you make a bolt through that window again. You’d better have the shutter seen to, missus. It’s been broken by these here burglars.”
Jen, holding her head high, scorned to reply. Jack grew crimson and bit her lip to keep down her rising anger.
“Here they are, Sir Keith. Here’s the burglars,” Jenks ushered them to the library door.
The baronet was seated at a large desk, which stood open and showed many pigeon-holes, filled with papers.
“Leave the children with me. Now, young ladies, perhaps you will kindly tell me what has happened.”
Jack shrank and stood just inside the door, but Jen went forward, the locket and purse clasped in her hands and held behind her back.
“We’ve come to apologise. We’re very sorry. We were upstairs, looking at your family portraits, when you arrived,” she faced him and spoke frankly. “We didn’t want you to be bothered, and we felt a bit bad about having come without being invited, so we tried to get away without disturbing anybody. But we aren’t burglars and we haven’t done any harm, except the bolt on one shutter, and honestly, it must have been loose, for it came open at once when we pulled it.”
Sir Keith looked at her steadily, his tired dark eyes keen and piercing. “Say that again. I’m afraid I haven’t quite grasped it.”
A half-hysterical sound came from Jack in the background. Jen’s colour rose. “Don’t mind her. She’s only rather excited. Do you really want me to say it all again?”
“If you please,” he said courteously.
Jen took a long breath and repeated her apology as exactly as she could. “I think that’s what I said,” she ended.
“Thank you. I shall have the shutter mended. Am I to understand that you had a craving to see my portraits?”
“It must seem odd, I know,” Jen agreed. “But I wanted so fearfully badly to see if there was a picture of Kitty Marchwood, and if she was wearing her locket. It was sheer bad luck that we chose to-day and that you came while we were here.”
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