Kitabı oku: «King of Ranleigh: A School Story», sayfa 11

CHAPTER XII
ROUNDING UP THE BURGLARS

The predicament in which Bert and his friends found themselves after overhearing the discussion between the four men in the chapel of the tower was by no means lessened by an event which happened within five minutes of the return of Clive and Bert. They were grouped round the window through which they had gained entrance, debating the question. Bert, in the manner he favoured when addressing the members of that august assembly known as the Ranleigh School Debating Society, stood with his hands beneath his coat, firmly clenched at his back. He leaned slightly forward, wagged his head impressively when he wished to make a point, and silenced interruption with a keen and sometimes threatening glance.

"There you are," he was saying, as if summing up the whole position.

"We arrive here after a bit of a climb."

"Yes, we all know that," interjected Hugh impatiently. "If we hadn't arrived here, why – well, we shouldn't be here, should we?"

"Don't talk rot," came the rejoinder. "We arrive here after a climb; we discover four blackguards – "

"One moment," said Clive, gently enough, for he was positively fearful now of incurring the censure of the great Bert. "You must admit that they don't exactly appear to be blackguards. One, for instance – "

Bert tossed his head impatiently. He freed one hand from behind his back, and still leaving the other in its old position, holding his coat-tails in air, lifted the first, protruded a forefinger and held it out in a manner half appealing and certainly a little threatening.

"Do let's get on," he growled. "Who's such an ass not to know that modern burglars are often swells?"

"Agreed," cried Hugh, while Clive nodded.

"All the swell mobsmen of to-day cut a dash. Probably they've been to the best of schools, and if only you knew it, you rub shoulders with them when you go to dances and dinners and the theatre."

Bert was really terrific. Hugh blushed to think of his boldness. As if he and his brother were in the habit of going to dances, of being invited to dinners, and of accompanying friends to the theatre. Catch them being bored with one or the other! Why, Bert had only said on the previous day that dances were a nuisance. That he preferred cricket. That dinners didn't interest him, for people talked such rot. Besides, a chap couldn't get half enough to eat. As to theatres, well, there he had waxed quite indignant. Theatres indeed! Drivel! That had been his actual expression. And here he was holding forth! Hugh opened his mouth to protest.

"I say! Draw it mild. How can chaps rub shoulders with burglars at dances, dinners, and theatres if they never go, or hardly ever?"

Bert fixed him with a piercing glance. "Ass!" he hissed. "Who's meaning us? You means Dick and Tom and Harry. I wouldn't be bored with such things. But other folks are, and they rub shoulders with fine fellows, handsome chaps able to debate any question, and in the King's best English too, who are common robbers all the same. But you wouldn't be supposed to know all that, Hugh. You're too young."

There was pity in his tones. Hugh crumpled up instantly. His indignation a few hours ago would have been surprising. He might even have launched himself at Bert, for sometimes their breezes led to violence. But now? He wished the ground would open and swallow him. Bert's scorn and pity made him positively miserable.

"Sorry!" he managed to murmur.

"Oh, you can't help that, no more can Clive. You're both of you kids, and it's kindest to tell you. But do let us get ahead. We've discovered four blackguards down below, and we know the police are after them. We have heard of frequent burglaries in these parts of late, and we have overheard these fellows boasting of how they have put the police off the track. Now they're contemplating another. We've got to act, and – "

It was just at this precise moment that the event occurred which added to their difficulties, and, in fact, threw them into a condition of great excitement. A low, reverberating crash came bursting through the doorway of the room and reached their ears sharply. They looked at one another in dismay.

"A revolver shot," said Bert hoarsely.

"Perhaps they've had a row," suggested Clive after a minute's silence. "Perhaps they were dividing the stuff taken on former occasions and couldn't agree. There's another."

Five shots rang out in swift succession, and there was a half-smothered shout. Hugh looked doubtfully out of the window. He wondered if Bert would recommend a precipitate retirement, and sincerely hoped he would. Clive, too, followed the direction of his glance, and felt somewhat faint-hearted. But Bert rose to the occasion, just as he had done before.

"You stay here. I'll go and see what's happening," he said.

"I'll come too," cried Clive eagerly, while Hugh showed a decided inclination to follow. But their friend checked the impulse with a wave of his hand.

"Stay here," he said. "If there's shooting, better have only one hurt. If I don't get back within five minutes you'll know that something's happened. Then bolt for it. Hunt up the police, tell 'em the whole tale, and bring 'em along with you. Of course, they'd better come armed. Rather! Listen to that. There's more shooting. They must be hiding behind the pillars and potting at one another. Now, do as you're told. Just hop if I'm not back in five minutes."

He went off without another glance at them, and we must record the impression his courage created. Clive and Hugh were positively astounded.

"Never knew him like this before. What's happened to him?" asked the former.

Hugh shook his head dolefully. The whole thing was astounding and somewhat painful. Even in the midst of such excitement the thought was uppermost in his mind that Bert had shone brightly in this adventure, while he, Hugh, who as a rule thrust himself to the front as if he recognised his own superiority, was acting like a baby, and would willingly have bolted a moment ago if it hadn't been for his brother's example.

"I'm jiggered!" was all that he could exclaim, somewhat mournfully.

Afterwards they stood by the window listening eagerly, every little sound causing them to stir and start. And when the shots were repeated, which was every few moments, they positively jumped.

How slowly those fatal minutes passed too. Clive dragged a battered Waterbury from his waistcoat pocket, shook it violently to make sure that it was running, for, in spite of its general excellence, this same watch had of late struck work on occasion. What else could you expect? The ingenious Clive and Hugh had imagined that they had a startling improvement to add to the watch. It had surprised them that no watchmaker had ever hit upon such a simple invention. The thing was, in fact, brilliant and childishly simple, so much so that they burned to put it into practice. That meant that the cheap but reliable Waterbury possessed by Clive had promptly been laid on the operating table. Its vitals had been exposed. Its springs had been stirred with a canny instrument of Clive's own making, and then, the greatest triumph of all, the simple and brilliant improvement had been added.

"Simply ripping!" was Hugh's enthusiastic comment, as he watched his friend's dexterous fingers. "It'll go like a bird after this. You'll make a pot of money by selling the invention."

Alas! The stupid watch resented this unasked-for interference. There was something wrong with the invention added. Perhaps it didn't fit. Perhaps the vitals of the Waterbury had been slightly injured. Whatever the cause, the watch refused to go regularly after that experiment, even though Clive reluctantly withdrew his brilliant addition from the interior. It had a habit of stopping. Then it would plunge ahead without rhyme or reason. But it was going now.

"He left us two minutes twenty seconds ago," he said hoarsely.

"And gave us the limit of five. My eye! Ain't they shooting! It must be a regular battle."

The shots came frequently still to their ears, sharp and very distinct, while occasionally there was a shout. Hugh looked out of the window, wondering whether anyone passing on the road would hear the noise and come in their direction.

"We'd wave then," he told Clive.

"What?" asked that latter, giving his Waterbury a bang on the stone edge of the window. "Beastly thing's trying to stop. It gave a sort of whir. You know. You've heard it."

"I was wondering if anyone on the road would hear and come along. We'd wave," repeated Hugh.

"Of course. Any juggins would do that. But they won't hear. The sound breaks up in the building. You wouldn't hear it if you were down below in that old garden. How's time? I do wish Bert'd come back. Supposing he don't? What then?"

"We run for it."

"And leave him?"

"Those were his or – er, his wishes," said Hugh hurriedly.

"Oh! Then I suppose we must, though I don't like leaving him. But it's better than all being murdered. George! It's four minutes five seconds since he left us."

They counted the remaining seconds anxiously. They were breathless when the full five minutes had gone. Clive tucked the Waterbury sadly back into his pocket and looked enquiringly at his friend.

"Give him five minutes' grace," he said.

Hugh nodded. He noticed that the firing had become almost furious. Then there was a loud and startled shout, when it ceased all of a sudden.

There was blank despair on their faces now. What better evidence could they have of Bert's downfall?

"Those brutes have bagged him," groaned Hugh. "If – if only we had revolvers."

"I'm awfully sorry," said Clive lamely, for Hugh looked as if he would burst into tears.

"Awfully near blubbing," Clive told himself. And then, as if he felt that the responsibility of the situation had fallen on his own shoulders, he clutched Hugh by the arm and thrust him towards the window.

"Let's go," he said. "No use giving him longer grace. Let's get off to the police. We can then show them the way back and help in the capture."

Sadly and desperately did the two clamber down the ivy to the ground beneath. They sneaked away from the tower as if they were afraid that shots might follow them. Then they plunged into the copse in which their bicycles lay, and having found the latter, mounted their own and sprinted off to the village as fast as the wheels and their feet would allow. Two breathless lads at length threw themselves from their machines at the gate of the cottage which did duty as a police depot.

"What's amiss?" asked the police sergeant, coming to the door in his shirt sleeves to answer their loud and peremptory summons. "What! Mister Clive and Mister Hugh! You ain't been diggin' more pits fer Mr. Rawlings, have you?"

There was a stupid grin on his face. His insolence made the boys' blood boil. Were they never to hear the last of that business?

"I'm fairly sick of hearing of it," Hugh had grumbled on the previous day, for as is the case in the country, the tale had flown swiftly. Sly glances of amusement were cast after the retreating figure of Mr. Rawlings. That pompous individual now was far less patronising than on former occasions. He even nodded, instead of treating those who greeted him politely, as is the pleasant fashion in the country, to a lordly lifting of his stick. Mrs. Darrell's gardener chuckled perhaps half a dozen times a day when he thought of the occurrence.

"Of all the imps, them's they," he had often asserted down at the public which he frequented. "And mind you, I ain't so sure as some of their elders and their betters too, as you'd think, ain't mightily pleased at what happened. Bless you! The parson, he sent his boys away to school at once. Mister Hugh, he tells me that he and Mr. Bert come in fer a lickin'. But that don't prevent parson from bein' amused, do it? That don't prevent him thinking that it sarved Mr. Rawlings right. It's just this. You think of a man as you find him, and parson don't think much of him up at the Hall, if I'm a good un at guessing."

Whether the old fellow was a good un or not, the fact remained that the story was known far and wide, and the boyish escapade of our heroes condoned, if not actually approved of. Still, it was galling, to say the least, to call upon a police sergeant and to have the fellow casting the same old tale at them.

Clive lifted his head pompously. It was a way his father had had when in possession of the property, though he was an easy enough man to get on with. The sergeant recognised the movement. He remembered a reprimand he himself had received from Clive's father. Suddenly he lost his grin and became stern and attentive.

"Beggin' pardon," he said, "but what's happened? A fire? Or is it someone that's got killed? Or is it poachers?"

"Poachers?" asked Hugh in astonishment.

"Poachers, to be sure. Haven't I been worrited almost off my head of late with tales of 'em, and information that they was working? There's that farmer Stiggins. He comes ridin' in two weeks ago and says as there's going to be a raid by poachers up at Squire Green's covers way over by Pendleton Bottom. I gets on my bicycle, calls for Irwin, the constable, along by the cross roads, and we goes and hides with the keepers. But no poachers come along. Young gents, there was a burglary that night over in the opposite direction. There was three of 'em at it, we reckoned, and they got clear away with five diamond rings, silver forks and knives by the bushel, a box o' cigars, a bottle o' brandy and a self-filling pen. You ain't come to tell me of more poachers?"

Clive had recovered his breath by then. He was so impatient to tell his tale that he could positively have struck the sergeant.

"Poachers! Bother poachers!" he cried, though his eyes went to Hugh's with a significance there was no denying. Here, indeed, was corroboration of the story he had heard, and more proof, if any were needed, of the importance of their discovery. "We've come about burglars, your burglars," he cried. "Three of them, and a fourth who keeps watch when they're away and sends tales of poachers to the police. I heard them telling the story. They've been fooling you nicely, but we've got 'em now, sergeant."

It was the officer's turn to gasp. He pushed his untidy hair far back from his forehead, and stared hard at the boys.

"Just tell the tale straight through," he said eagerly. "You've bagged three burglars, you two has done that – never!"

"Ass! Who said we'd bagged them?" shouted Hugh angrily. "We've found out where they're hiding. We listened to their talk, and we know that they intend to make another attempt at burglary this very evening. They started shooting – "

"Ah!" The sergeant started and flushed. "Then they're armed?" he asked, with some show of anxiety.

"Rather! Huge revolvers. They started a row. Bert – you know my brother – well, he was awfully plucky. He went off to see what the row was about, and they shot him."

His lip trembled. Hugh had been too fully engaged up till now to realise the seriousness of his probable loss. But the mention of it to the sergeant unnerved and unmanned him for the moment. A second later he was watching the sergeant closely. The latter dived into the narrow opening of his cottage, reached for his coat and helmet and donned them swiftly, as much as to say that the very action made him into a real sergeant and showed that he was ready to do his duty. Then he produced a note-book, drew out a pencil and bit the lead. Having opened the book, he then looked at a watch as ponderous as Clive's Waterbury and noted the time down in his book with a business-like air which was most impressive. A few scribbled lines were hurriedly added.

"'At two fifty-two I was called by Mister Darrell and Mister Hugh Seymour,'" he read. "'They was on bicycles.'"

"Wrong," interrupted the latter. "We'd dismounted."

"But you come on bicycles," the sergeant reproved him severely. "'From information then received I learned that the said young gentlemen had discovered four burglars, the same as did a robbery two weeks ago, and the same most likely as has done others in these parts. From information received – '"

"You've said that once," said Clive impatiently.

"And I'll have to say it again. It's the law," declared the officer sternly. "It's the law, sir. 'Well, from information received, I learned that the said burglars were armed, and that Mister Bert Seymour had been shot.' Now, where's the place?"

"The old tower that's haunted."

"Ha! I suspected it. I've seed lights there of nights of late. People says it's haunted; but I'd made up my mind to see what them lights meant. It's lucky you went there first. I'd have been there to-night, perhaps, young gents. So it's at the tower? And there's four of the ruffians? That means that help's required. You young gentlemen come along with me at once. There's no time to be lost. I'll pick up the constable, and then get along to the Rector and Mr. Newdigate. They're magistrates."

Once more the officer dived into his cottage, to appear again armed with a bludgeon and wheeling his bicycle. In a trice they were all three mounted and racing away towards the cross roads, where the constable had his quarters. By the time the Rectory was reached their excitement had, if anything, increased, the more so since a dozen or more of the neighbours had joined them. Stevens, the village butcher, followed in his cart, a hay-fork gripped in one hand so as to be ready. There were a couple of young farm labourers, the local sweep, a big lusty fellow who might be expected to tackle at least two of the burglars. Ahead went the Rector, mounted on his tricycle, and very soon the second of the magistrates had joined him riding in his car, to which the Rector transferred his person, loaning his own machine to Tom, a youth employed about the village. By the time the cavalcade came in sight of Merton Tower there were at least twenty followers, while the brace of shot-guns resting in the back of the leading car showed that the band were bent on business, and were determined to meet violence with violence.

"If they shoots, why, of course, I shoot," the sergeant told Hugh hoarsely as they came nearer to the tower. "I don't like bloodshed – not me! But when there's desperate criminals to be dealt with, why, they has to have what they deserves. Where did you say you left the road to get at the tower?"

The two who had given the alarm, and had helped to discover the burglars, promptly pointed out the spot, and dismounted opposite the gap through which they had passed with their machines. The car was brought to a standstill instantly, and a boy who had attached himself to the gang a little time before was left in charge. Then, headed by Clive and Hugh, with the sergeant and the constable immediately behind them, and followed by the Rector and his fellow magistrate, the whole party thrust their way quietly through the cover of the wood which led to the base of the tower. Very soon they were halted at the edge of the copse, with the massive door within sight of them.

"That's where we got in," whispered Clive, pointing to the window above, and to the ivy growing thickly up to it.

"You clambered up by the ivy!" gasped the Rector, turning pale. "What recklessness! But we can't do that. Are the doors bolted?"

"Fast," said Hugh. "But there's a postern in one, which is padlocked."

"Then we'll soon make short work o' that," declared the sergeant, suddenly taking the lead. "Now, gentlemen, we've got to take precautions, or else we'll have these gaolbirds escaping. Constable, you just slip round to the far side, taking a few of these lads with you, and watch to see that no one breaks away. Take one of the guns, and shoot if one of the four we're after lifts a weapon or refuses to surrender."

There was determination written on the face of the officer. Some of the gaping rustics around turned pale beneath their tan. The Rector raised one hand as if to protest, and then, realising the situation, refrained from speaking.

"Now," went on the officer, "I take the other gun. Bill Watson, you've brought along that bar I asked for?"

A burly fellow with a smith's apron around his middle came forward. "I'm ready," he said. "If there's a padlock, it won't stand much from this thing. But supposing they shoot?"

"I'll be there beside you," said the sergeant at once. "Don't you fear. If there's going to be hanky-panky, I'll be first with it."

By now the constable had gone off to the far side of the tower, taking some of the gang with him. All was in readiness for the attack upon the stronghold of the burglars. The sergeant looked about him to make sure that every avenue of escape was closed, and then led the way forward from cover. The smith went with him, the Rector and his fellow magistrate followed, while the rustics came in rear, some rather timorously, some impelled merely by overweening curiosity, others because of their natural courage.

"Now, Bill Watson, do your duty," commanded the sergeant, when they had reached the doors. "In the name of the King, break open that lock."

Bill made short work of the matter. His bar was thrust at once into the hasp of the lock. He put his weight into the business. There was a dull snap, and at once the padlock fell from the door. Promptly the sergeant pushed it open and made ready to enter.

"Gentlemen," he said, turning to those who stood about him, "in the execution of my duty I am bound to enter. I can ask, but cannot demand your help."

Hugh almost cheered him. The fellow was so cool, and so dignified. One saw that he was ready if need be to enter alone, and brave the very worst. But that, of course, was out of the question. Hugh pressed forward and Clive with him. The Rector lifted his hat and stepped up to the door, and then one by one they entered. It was dark within, but a match which the officer struck showed that the way was clear. Guided by Clive, he went in the direction of the chapel. They crossed the floor of a huge room, passed through a wide passage, and then came to a doorway. Ah! the space beyond was flooded with light. It was clear that here the roof had fallen.

"The chapel," whispered Clive.

"And the burglars," said Hugh, beneath his breath, pointing to four figures in the distance.

"Forward!" ordered the sergeant sternly. "Rush 'em!"

They started out into the chapel at a run. With a shout of triumph they threw themselves upon the four men within, bowled them over before they had recovered from their astonishment or could use their weapons, and soon had them tethered in the corners. It was exciting work while it lasted. Clive and Hugh tackled Peter, and were almost killed by the frantic struggles of that burly ruffian. It took them quite three minutes to recover their breath. Then they went to one of the corners, where poor Bert lay huddled on the same iron bedstead which he and Clive had noticed.

"Merely stunned, not otherwise hurt," said the Rector, who was bending over him. "It seems that he must have fallen from the floor above. I will cross-question those ruffians."

The three fellows whom Bert and his friends had decided must be swell mobsmen stood at the far end of the chapel surrounded by a crowd of exultant rustics, and now with hands firmly bound. A great noise came from their direction, and going towards them Clive heard first one and then another of the dishevelled rascals expostulating.

"What's the meaning of this violence and of this extraordinary assault?" the man whom Clive knew as Joe was demanding. "Answer at once, sergeant. Why are peaceful people thus attacked and set upon by ruffians with an officer of the law to lead them?"

That officer might have been a mile away. He stood, note-book and pencil in hand, and once more took the time by his watch.

"I have to warn you that anything you say will be used in evidence against you," he said coolly, having noted the time.

"Humbug! Evidence indeed! You'll require that, my man," came the heated answer.

"I charge you with being notorious burglars, with lying here ready to commit another offence. My witnesses, who overheard you discussing your plans, are Mister Clive Darrell and Mister Hugh Seymour."

Very pompously did the sergeant give the information. The man called Joe looked as if he would explode, so great was his indignation. But though the mention of our two young friends' names may have meant nothing to him, they seemed to attract the attention of another of the three who stood in the background till that moment almost unobserved. He started forward, looked closely at Clive and Hugh, and then, to the amazement of his comrades and all present, broke into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. He almost grovelled in his ecstasy. The Rector was really alarmed for the man's reason, while Bill Watson, the smith, stepped farther away and raised his iron bar in readiness for self-protection. It was Joe and the sergeant who first noticed the curious change which had come over Clive and his young friend. They were backing away. They looked horribly frightened. Clive had gone a fiery red, while Hugh was almost purple. They looked, in fact, as if they had seen the ghost said to haunt this ancient tower, and as if the sight had scared them out of their wits.

"I – I think we'd better be going," Clive managed to blurt out at last.

"Er – yes," agreed Hugh huskily.

"One moment, young gents," said the sergeant. "Why, if that chap ain't still laughin'. See here, my man, you just cut it short, or – "

He was interrupted by another gust. The burglar immediately in front of the one so vastly amused joined him in his merriment. Then Joe saw the fun, wherever it existed, and presently there were all three shaking with mirth, while their captors looked on sternly. And then the one who had set the fashion stepped to the front, torn and dishevelled after his encounter. Clive and Hugh backed away, and would have bolted, but at a glance from him stood rooted to the spot.

"Sergeant," said the man, "I'm Mr. Canning, a master at Ranleigh School. Ask those boys if they recognise me."

No need to ask. The faces of our two young friends supplied the answer. It was actually and decidedly Mr. Canning, the "Peach," as many called him, because of his blooming cheeks, the master so fond of giving "impots." Clive groaned aloud as he looked at him. Hugh wished the remaining roof of the chapel might fall in and bury him yards deep.

"Oh!" exclaimed the sergeant, looking glum of a sudden.

"And these are my friends. Mr. Oxon here, whom we call Joe, is the owner of Merton Tower. To proceed, there is a legend of buried treasure. He has lately come upon a clue hidden away in an ancient family manuscript. What more natural than that he should invite his friends to help him search for the missing valuables? What more natural than that the strictest secrecy should be employed? That these boys have discovered us is unfortunate. The fact that we have been taken for burglars is readily understood. It is a most excusable and humorous mistake. Allow me to assure you that we are the most harmless of individuals. As to the boy who fell into the chapel, he is merely stunned. We have been wondering how he managed to get into the tower. I suppose I should have recognised him. I didn't. As to the shots, we were merely amusing ourselves with a six-shooter. There. You have a full explanation."

Oh, the misery of it all! The stern looks of the Rector, the grins of the rustics, the smothered anger of the sergeant and constable. Never were Clive and Bert and Hugh more miserable than on the days which followed. People laughed aloud whenever they met them. At church half the congregation stared them out of face. While the thought that Mr. Canning had been one of their captures made all three turn almost yellow at the thought of the coming term at Ranleigh and the consequences of their late adventure. The worst of all undoubtedly was the fact that Masters managed to get wind of the business.

"How's burglars?" he asked, ungrammatically, immediately on encountering his old friends on their return to Ranleigh.

There was strife for the ten minutes which followed.