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"So you and Jane and Cynthia and Agnes are here to protect me against the assaults of of a 'tough crowd." "We're here if we're wanted," said Jane robustly. "And somehow," said Flora, "I think we shall be wanted." Mrs. Barraclough's hands went out and she drew the two girls a little closer.
In the golden shadows beyond the rays of the table lamp, Doran, his servant, stood in silent attention to his master's wants. Doran was a person of understanding and one of the few people in the world who shared a measure of Barraclough's confidence. A late corporal of the Black Watch, he had reverted to act as Barraclough's batman throughout the major portion of the war.
It did not occur to Barraclough's enemies to offer any resistance to this general exodus, their attention was absorbed by the bedroom door, which had shut with a snap and the click of a key. They waited just long enough for the party of cackling females to get out of the room and down the path, then rushed at the door with foot and shoulder.
In extenuation for these violent emotions please remember that Flora, in company with Jane, had been instrumental in saving Anthony Barraclough's life when they found him lying on the roadside bleeding like a stuck pig during the great retreat of 1918. After all, a girl is justified in feeling strongly about a man's choice of a wife when he owes his life to her. She is more or less responsible.
Besides the presumption was that the watchers had been called off and this infernal smiling idiot on the seat opposite had failed to receive new instructions and was acting upon the old. In Barraclough's right hip pocket was an automatic pistol but between its butt and his hand was a thick buttoned upholster.
He nodded and entered the bedroom to which there was a door below the fireplace. A little later the bell rang imperatively, followed by a tattoo on the knocker. "Who's that?" came from Barraclough's voice behind the closed door. "Don't know, sir." "What's time?" "Ten past." "They can't have arrived yet. Say I'm out." Doran withdrew and returned almost immediately. "Sir, there's "
From a distance Smith had studied Nugent Cassis on many previous occasions and knew his peculiarities by heart also he knew that there was no single precedent for this rare display of jauntiness. Harrison Smith shook his head hopelessly. It was inconceivable with all their immense resources that Torrington's crowd had set no watch on Barraclough's movements over night.
Bolt with dignity. "I can find my own way." And with astonishing speed for a man of his build he seized the handle and threw open the door of Mrs. Barraclough's bedroom.
It would be well, therefore, to think twice before embarking upon a fruitless treasure hunt after reading what has here been set down. It was the knowledge of the inevitable consequences that would result from incautious confidence that sealed Barraclough's lips and made his movements on arriving at Southampton so secretive.
And she thought it over while Ezra P. Hipps addressed himself to a liberal helping of saddle of mutton smeared with great dollops of red currant jelly that looked to her like blood. An undercurrent of suppressed excitement pulsed through Mrs. Barraclough's household on the day of the seventeenth. You could feel it throbbing like the beat of a distant drum.
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