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It was Cranbourne who came forward and picking her up in his arms like an injured child carried her into the other room and laid her on Barraclough's bed. "We haven't lost yet, my dear," he said, and stroked her forehead. He left her crying gently on the pillow, her little pink cheeks all shiny with tears. Mr.
Holding the hood in position with his left hand the adventurous passenger produced a neat automatic with his right. Then he gave the hood a shove and presented the pistol at Barraclough's head. And since it is not in the realms of common occurrence for the tops to fly off cabs and reveal armed desperadoes no one will blame Barraclough for the views he expressed upon the subjects.
At which her visitor expressed himself as greatly shocked and turned his eyes heavenward. "I remark with sorrow," he observed, "that you are not a true believer. Your faith is not of the simple kind." He could hardly have chosen an unhappier argument. Mrs. Barraclough's devotion was a byword in the parish. To be treated thus by a totally unknown clergyman was not to be tolerated.
You don't know what mayn't be happening, or what mayn't have happened in yon place! But look here I can't stop. Me and Sam Barraclough's going off to Wymington now, in his motor he'll be waiting at this minute. You do what I say stop here and watch a bit. And if you see aught, go to Polke and insist on the police searching that place. That's my advice!"
Apparently it was unusually heavy for Barraclough had noticed with what a resonant whack it hit the carriage cushions when thrown in through the window and also that it was only lifted to its present position with an effort. If that suitcase could be persuaded to fall on its owner's head it was reasonable to suppose the result would be anesthetic. And in Barraclough's hand was a crooked stick.
"Jing! but that was a near squeak," he exclaimed. "Another half minute and you'd have beaten me." Barraclough's muscles tightened and his mouth went hard and straight. So the bluff had failed after all. He was spotted. That idiot from the benches had given them away.
Torrington intervened with the suggestion that Frencham Altar's cheque should be signed while they were waiting. Cassis obstructed the idea. He thought tomorrow would be quite soon enough. He scouted Mr. Torrington's statement that on the morrow they would have to see about Frencham Altar's release. He said that this was a matter dependant on Barraclough's return.
"You should know me well enough, Cassis, to realise that when I lose time I lose it purposely. I am waiting for Cranbourne." "Cranbourne's ideas are altogether too fantastic." "We agreed to do nothing until eleven o'clock and it wants ten minutes to the hour." "Not a very substantial margin to find Barraclough's double."
White rose I am worthy of you. Dog rose Hope." "Hope," repeated Mr. Torrington. Lord Almont struck the table and sprang to his feet. "By God!" he cried. "Barraclough's going to win through." In the midst of a babel of tongues the telephone rang imperatively. Mr. Torrington picked up the receiver. "Yes, yes," he said. "Who? You are speaking for Mr. Van Diest."
Barraclough's foot just above his waist line destroyed the last of his equilibrium and over the edge he went into the shallow water below. Unquestionably the beer was responsible for Dirk's failure to win the engagement. His quarry was before him in an open position. He should have used his Mascot and used it hard.
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