'But Mr Twist put something special in the coffee.'
'Eh? How do you mean?'
'When I took him in the tray just now, he said "Is that the case-upstairs's breakfast?" and I said Yes, it was, and Old Monkey Brand put something that looked like a aspirin tablet or something in the coffee-pot. I thought it might be some medicine he had to have to make him quiet and keep him from breaking out and murdering all of us.'
Mr Flannery smiled indulgently.
'That case upstairs don't need nothing of that sort, not when I'm around,' he said. 'Doctor Twist's like all these civilians. He gets unduly nervous. He don't understand that there's no need or necessity or occasion whatsoever for these what I may call sedatives when I'm on the premises to lend a 'and in case of any verlence. Besides, it don't do anybody no good always to be taking these drugs and what not. The case 'ad 'is sleeping-draught yesterday, and you never know it might not undermine his 'ealth to go taking another this morning. So if Mr Twist asks you has the Case had his coffee, you just say "Yes, sir," in a smart and respectful manner, and I'll do the same. And then nobody needn't be any the wiser.'
Mr Flannery's opportunity of doing the same occurred not more than a quarter of an hour later. Returning from the task of climbing the ladder and handing in the revised breakfast at John's window, he encountered his employer in the hall.
'Oh, Flannery,' said Mr Twist.
'Sir?'
'The – er – the violent case. Has he had breakfast?'
'He was eatin' it quite hearty when I left him not five minutes ago, sir.'
Chimp paused.
'Did he drink his coffee?' he asked carelessly.
'Yes, sir,' replied Sergeant-Major Flannery in a smart and respectful manner.
'Oh! I see. Thank you.'
'Thank you, sir,' said Sergeant-Major Flannery.
II
In describing John as eating his breakfast quite hearty, Sergeant-Major Flannery, though not as a rule an artist in words, had for once undoubtedly achieved the mot juste. Hearty was the exact adjective to describe that ill-used young man's method of approach to the eggs and bacon and coffee which his gaoler had handed in between the bars of the window. Neither his now rooted dislike of Mr Flannery nor any sense of the indignity of accepting food like some rare specimen in a Zoo could compete in John with an appetite which had been growing silently within him through the night watches. His headache had gone, leaving in its place a hunger which wolves might have envied. Placing himself outside an egg almost before Sergeant-Major had time to say 'Oo-er!',he finished the other egg, the bacon, the toast, the butter, the milk and the coffee, and, having lifted the plate to see if any crumbs had got concealed beneath it and finding none, was compelled reluctantly to regard the meal as concluded.
He now felt considerably better. Food and drink had stayed in him that animal ravenousness which makes food and drink the only possible object of a man's thoughts and he was able to turn his mind to other matters. Having found and swallowed a lump of sugar which had got itself overlooked under a fold of the napkin, he returned to the bed and lay down. A man who wishes to think can generally do so better in a horizontal position. So John lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling, pondering.
He certainly had sufficient material for thought to keep him occupied almost indefinitely. The more he meditated upon his present situation the less was he able to understand it. That the villain Twist, wishing to get away with the spoils of Rudge Hall, should have imprisoned him in this room in order to gain time for flight would have been intelligible. John would never have been able to bring himself to approve of such an action, but he had to admit its merits as a piece of strategy.
But Twist had not flown. According to Sergeant-Major Flannery, he was still on the premises, and so, apparently, was his accomplice, the black-hearted Molloy. But why? What did they think they were doing? How long did they suppose they would be able to keep a respectable citizen cooped up like this, even though his only medium of communication with the outer world were a more than usually fat-headed Sergeant-Major? The thing baffled John completely.
He next turned his mind to thoughts of Pat, and experienced a feverish concern. Here was something to get worried about. What, he asked himself, must Pat be thinking? He had promised to call for her in the Widgeon Seven at one o'clock yesterday. She would assume that he had forgotten. She would suppose . . .
He would have gone on torturing himself with these reflections for a considerable time, but at this moment he suddenly heard a sharp, clicking sound. It resembled the noise a key makes when turning in a lock, and was probably the only sound on earth which at that particular point in his meditations would have had the power to arrest his attention.
He lifted his head and looked round. Yes, the door was opening. And it was opening, what was more, in just the nasty, slow, furtive, sneaking way in which a door would open if somebody like the leper Twist had got hold of the handle.
In this matter of the hell-hound Twist's mental processes John was now thoroughly fogged. The man appeared to be something very closely resembling an imbecile. When flight was the one thing that could do him a bit of good, he did not fly: and now, having with drugs and imprisonment and the small-talk of Sergeant-Majors reduced a muscular young man to a condition of homicidal enthusiasm, he was apparently paying that young man a social call.
However, the mental condition of this monkey-faced, waxed-moustached bounder and criminal was beside the point. What was important was to turn his weak-mindedness to profit. The moment was obviously one for cunning and craftiness, and John accordingly dropped his head on the pillow, cunningly closed his eyes, and craftily began to breathe like one deep in sleep.
The ruse proved effective. After a moment of complete silence, a board creaked. Then another board creaked. And then he heard the door close gently. Finally, from the neighbourhood of the door, there came to him a sound of whispering. And across the years there floated into John's mind a dim memory. This whispering . . . it reminded him of something.
Then he got it. Ages ago . . . when he was a child . . . Christmas Eve . . . His father and mother lurking in the doorway to make sure that he was asleep before creeping to the bed and putting the presents in his stocking.
The recollection encouraged John. There is nothing like having done a thing before and knowing the technique. He never had been asleep on those bygone Christmas Eves, but the gift-bearers had never suspected it, and he resolved that, if any of the old skill and artistry still lingered with him, the Messrs Twist and Molloy should not suspect it now. He deepened the note of his breathing, introducing into it a motif almost asthmatic.
'It's all right,' said the voice of Mr Twist.
'Okay?' said the voice of Mr Molloy.
'Okay,' said the voice of Mr Twist.
Whereupon, walking confidently and without any further effort at stealth, the two approached the bed.
'I guess he drank the whole pot-full,' said Mr Twist.
Once more John found himself puzzling over the way this man's mind worked. By pot he presumably meant the coffee-pot standing on the tray and why the contents of this should appear to him in the light of a soporific was more than John could understand.
'Say, listen,' said Mr Twist. 'You go and hang around outside the door, Soapy.'
'Why?' inquired Mr Molloy, and it seemed to John that he spoke coldly.
'So's to see nobody comes along, of course.'
'Yeah?' said Mr Molloy, and his voice was now unmistakably dry. 'And you'll come out in a minute and tell me you're all broke up about it but he hadn't got the ticket on him after all.'
'You don't think...'
'Yes, I do think.'
'If you can't trust me that far . . .'
'Chimpie,' said Mr Molloy, 'I wouldn't trust you as far as a snail could make in three jumps. I wouldn't believe you not even if I knew you were speaking the truth.'
'Oh, well, if that's how you feel . . .' said Mr Twist, injured. Mr Molloy, s
till speaking in that unfriendly voice, replied that that was precisely how he did feel. And there was silence for a space.
'Oh, very well,' said Mr Twist at length.
John's perplexity increased. He could make nothing of that 'ticket'. The only ticket he had in his possession was the one Bolt, the chauffeur, had given him to give to his uncle for some bag or other which he had left in the cloak-room at Shrub Hill station. Why should these men . . .
He became aware of fingers groping towards the inner pocket of his coat. And as they touched him he decided that the moment had come to act. Bracing the muscles of his back he sprang from the bed, and with an acrobatic leap hurled himself towards the door and stood leaning against it.
III
In the pause which followed this brisk move it soon became evident to John, rubbing his shoulders against the oak panels and glowering upon the two treasure-seekers, that if the scene was to be brightened by anything in the nature of a dialogue the ball of conversation would have to be set rolling by himself. Not for some little time, it was clear, would his companions be in a condition for speech. Chimp Twist was looking like a monkey that has bitten into a bad nut, and Soapy Molloy like an American Senator who has received an anonymous telegram saying 'All is discovered. Fly at once.' This sudden activity on the part of one whom they had regarded as under the influence of some of the best knock-out drops that ever came out of Chicago had had upon them an effect similar to that which would be experienced by a group of surgeons in an operating-theatre if the gentleman on the slab were to rise abruptly and begin to dance the Charleston.
So it was John who was the first to speak.
'Now, then!' said John. 'How about it?'
The question was a purely rhetorical one, and received no reply. Mr Molloy uttered an odd, strangled sound like a far-away cat with a fishbone in its throat, and Chimp's waxed moustache seemed to droop at the ends. It occurred to both of them that they had never realized before what a remarkably muscular, well-developed young man John was. It was also borne in upon them that there are exceptions to the rule which states that big men are always good-humoured. John, they could not help noticing, looked like a murderer who had been doing physical jerks for years.
'I've a good mind to break both your necks,' said John.
At these unpleasant words, Mr Molloy came to life sufficiently to be able to draw back a step, thus leaving his partner nearer than himself to the danger-zone. It was a move strictly in accordance with business ethics. For if, Mr Molloy was arguing, Chimp claimed seventy per cent. of the profits of their little venture, it was only fair that he should assume an equivalent proportion of its liabilities. At the moment, the thing looked like turning out all liabilities, and these Mr Molloy was only too glad to split on a seventy–thirty basis. So he moved behind Chimp, and round the bulwark of his body, which he could have wished had been more substantial, peered anxiously at John.
John, having sketched out his ideal policy, was now forced to descend to the practical. Agreeable as it would have been to take these two men and bump their heads together, he realized that such a course would be a deviation from the main issue. The important thing was to ascertain what they had done with the loot, and to this inquiry he now directed his remarks.
'Where's that stuff?' he asked.
'Stuff?' said Chimp.
'You know what I mean. Those things you stole from the Hall.'
Chimp, who had just discovered that he was standing between Mr Molloy and John, swiftly skipped back a pace. This caused Mr Molloy to skip back, too. John regarded this liveliness with a smouldering disfavour.
'Stand still!' he said.
Chimp stood still. Mr Molloy, who had succeeded in getting behind him again, stood stiller.
'Well?' said John. 'Where are the things?'
Even after the most complete rout on a stricken battlefield a beaten general probably hesitates for an instant before surrendering his sword. And so now, obvious though it was that there was no other course before them but confession, Chimp and Soapy remained silent for a space. Then Chimp, who was the first to catch John's eye, spoke hastily.
'They're in Worcester.'
'Whereabouts in Worcester?'
'At the depot.'
'What depot?'
'There's only one, isn't there?'
'Do you mean the station?'
'Sure. The station.'
'They're in the Left Luggage place at the station in Worcester,' said Mr Molloy. He spoke almost cheerfully, for it had suddenly come to him that matters were not so bad as he had supposed them to be, and that there was still an avenue unclosed which might lead to a peaceful settlement. 'And you've got the ticket in your pocket.'
John stared.
'That ticket is for a bag my uncle sent the chauffeur to leave at Shrub Hill.'
'Sure. And the stuff 's inside it.'
'What do you mean?'
'I'll tell you what I mean,' said Mr Molloy.
"Atta-boy!' said Chimp faintly. He, too, had now become aware of the silver lining. He sank upon the bed, and so profound was his relief that the ends of his moustache seemed to spring to life again and cease their drooping.
'Yes, sir,' said Mr Molloy, 'I'll tell you what I mean. It's about time you got hep to the fact that that old uncle of yours is one of the smoothest birds this side of God's surging Atlantic Ocean. He was sitting in with us all along, that's what he was doing. He said those heirlooms had never done him any good and it was about time they brought him some money. It was all fixed that Chimpie here should swipe them and then I was to give the old man a cheque and he was to clean up on the insurance, besides. That was when he thought I was a millionaire that ran a museum over in America and was in the market for antiques. But he got on to me, and then he started in to double-cross us. He took the stuff out of where we'd put it and slipped it over to the depot at Worcester, meaning to collect it when he got good and ready. But the chauffeur gave the ticket to you, and you came over here, and Chimpie doped you and locked you up.'
'And you can't do a thing,' said Chimp.
'No, sir,' agreed Mr Molloy, 'not a thing, not unless you want to bring that uncle of yours into it and have him cracking rocks in the same prison where they put us.'
'I'd like to see that old bird cracking rocks, at that,' said Chimp pensively.
'So would I like to see him cracking rocks,' assented Mr Molloy cordially. 'I can't think of anything I'd like better than to see him cracking rocks. But not at the expense of me cracking rocks, too.'
'Or me,' said Chimp.
'Or you,' said Mr Molloy, after a slight pause. 'So there's the position, Mr Carroll. You can go ahead and have us pinched, if you like, but just bear in mind that if you do there's going to be one of those scandals in high life you read about. Yes, sir, real front-page stuff.'
'You bet there is,' said Chimp.
'Yes, sir, you bet there is,' said Mr Molloy.
'You're dern tooting there is,' said Chimp.
'Yes, sir, you're dern tooting there is,' said Mr Molloy.
And on this note of perfect harmony the partners rested their case and paused, looking at John expectantly.
John's reaction to the disclosure was not agreeable. It is never pleasant for a spirited young man to find himself baffled, nor is it cheering for a member of an ancient family to discover that the head of that family has been working in association with criminals and behaving in a manner calculated to lead to rock-cracking.
Not for an instant did it occur to him to doubt the story. Although the Messrs Twist and Molloy were men whose statements the prudent would be inclined to accept as a rule with reserve, on this occasion it was evident that they were speaking nothing but the truth.
'Say, listen,' cried Chimp, alarmed. He had been watching John's face and did not like the look of it. 'No rough stuff !'
John had been contemplating none. Chimp and his companion had ceased to matter, and the fury which was making his face rather an unpleasant specta
cle for two peace-loving men shut up in a small room with him was directed exclusively against his Uncle Lester. Rudge Hall and its treasures were sacred to John; and the thought that Mr Carmody, whose trust they were, had framed this scheme for the house's despoilment was almost more than he could bear.
'It isn't us you ought to be sore at,' urged Mr Molloy. 'It's that old uncle of yours.'
'Sure it is,' said Chimp.
'Sure it is,' echoed Mr Molloy. Not for a long time had he and his old friend found themselves so completely in agreement. 'He's the guy you want to soak it to.'
'I'll say he is,' said Chimp.
'I'll say he is,' said Mr Molloy. 'Say listen, let me tell you something. Something that'll make you feel good. I happen to know that old man Carmody is throwing the wool over those insurance people's eyes by offering a reward for the recovery of that stuff. A thousand pounds. He told me so himself. If you want to get him good and sore, all you've got to do is claim it. He won't dare hold out on you.'
'Certainly he won't,' said Chimp.
'Certainly he won't,' said Mr Molloy. 'And will that make him good and sore!'
'Will it!' said Chimp.
'Will it!' said Mr Molloy.
'Wake me up in the night and ask me,' said Chimp.
'Me, too,' said Mr Molloy.
Their generous enthusiasm seemed to have had its effect. The ferocity faded from John's demeanour. Something resembling a smile flitted across his face, as if some pleasing thought were entertaining him. Mr Molloy relaxed his tension and breathed again. Chimp, in his relief, found himself raising a hand to his moustache.
'I see,' said John slowly.
He passed his fingers thoughtfully over his unshaven chin.
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