I

In those days there was one thought, of the many that my mind, which with it a measure of consolation. It was the that this of not last for ever. The term was to a close. Soon I should be free from the which my to fight. I was that the last day of term should end for my with Sanstead House and all that was in it. Mrs Ford must some other minion. If her on the of the Little Nugget, she must learn to do without happiness, like the of the of this world.

Meanwhile, however, I myself to be still on duty. By what of I had at the I do not know, but I myself to Audrey for the of the Little Nugget, and no relations us affect my position. Perhaps mixed up with this of mind, was the less wish to Smooth Sam. His presence at the was a challenge to me.

Sam's puzzled me. I do not know what I him to do, but I did not him to do nothing. Yet day day, and still he no move. He was the very model of a butler. But our with one another in London had left me vigilant, and his did not me. It from patience, not from any of purpose or of success. Sooner or later I he would act, and suddenly, with a plan perfected in every detail.

But when he his attack it was the very of his methods that me, and only pure him.

I have said that it was the of the staff of masters at Sanstead House School—in other words, of every male adult in the house Mr Fisher himself—to in Mr Abney's study after dinner of an to drink coffee. It was a ceremony, like most of the at an such as a school, where are on a schedule, which of no variation. Sometimes Mr Abney would us after the ceremony, but he to take his part in it first.

On this particular evening, for the time since the of the term, I was with a against coffee. I had been sleeping for nights, and I that from coffee might this.

I waited, for form's sake, till Glossop and Mr Abney had their cups, then to my room, where I in the dark to with a more than fit of which had upon me. Solitude and me as the setting for my thoughts.

At this moment Smooth Sam Fisher had no place in my meditations. My mind was not with him at all. When, therefore, the door, which had been ajar, to open slowly, I did not on the alert. Perhaps it was some sound, audible, that me from my and set my blood with anticipation. Perhaps it was the way the door was opening. An not move a door furtively, in jerks.

I sat up noiseless, tense, and alert. And then, very quietly, somebody entered the room.

There was only one person in Sanstead House who would enter a room like that. I was amused. The of the thing me. It so to Mr Fisher's methods. This in and helping was de luxe. In the small hours I have it; but at nine o'clock at night, with Glossop, Mr Abney and myself and to be met at any moment on the stairs, it was absurd. I at Smooth Sam's effrontery.

I still. I that, being in, he would on the electric light. He did, and I him pleasantly.

'And what can I do for you, Mr Fisher?'

For a man who had learned to himself in difficult he took the badly. He a and round, open-mouthed.

I not help the with which he himself. Almost he was the suave, Sam Fisher who had his and to me in the train to London.

'I quit,' he said pleasantly. 'The is closed. I am a man of peace, and I take it that you would not keep on on that while I into the other room and our friend? Unless you have your mind again, would a fifty-fifty offer you?'

'Not an inch.'

'Just so. I asked.'

'And how about Mr Abney, in any case? Suppose we met him on the stairs?'

'We should not meet him on the stairs,' said Sam confidently. 'You did not take coffee tonight, I gather?'

'I didn't—no. Why?'

He his resignedly.

'Can you it! I ask you, man, I have that, after coffee every night for two months, you would pass it up tonight of all nights? You are my jinx, sonny. You have the Indian on me all right.'

His had light to me.

'Did you the coffee?'

'Did I! I it so that one would have an patient

in he had time to say "Good night". That stuff

Rip Van Winkle had nothing on my coffee. And all wasted!

Well, well!'

He the door.

'Shall I the light on, or would you it off?'

'On please. I might asleep in the dark.'

'Not you! And, if you did, you would that I was there, and wake up. There are moments, man, when you me near to and taking to work.'

He paused.

'But not altogether. I have still a or two in my locker. We shall see what we shall see. I am not yet. Wait!'

'I will, and some day, when I am walking along Piccadilly, a will me with mud. A will at me from the tonneau, and with a start of I shall recognize—'

'Stranger have happened. Be while you can, sonny. You win so far, but this of mine can't last for ever.'

He passed from the room with a sad dignity. A moment later he reappeared.

'A me,' he said. 'The fifty-fifty not you. Would it make if I were to offer my for a of the profit?'

'Not in the least.'

'It's a offer.'

'Wonderfully. I'm I'm not on any terms.'

He left the room, only to return once more. His appeared, at me the door, in a way, like the Cheshire Cat.

'You won't say later on I didn't give you your chance?' he said anxiously.

He again, this time. I his steps the stairs.

II

We had now at the last week of term, at the last days of the last week. The was in the school. Among the boys it took the of disorderliness. Boys who had only Glossop now him and tear his as well. Boys who had now windows. The Little Nugget cigarettes in of an old pipe which he had in the stables.

As for me, I like a who sees the almost his reach. Audrey me when she could, and was when we met. But I less now. A more days, and I should have done with this phase of my life for ever, and Audrey would once more a memory.

Complete marked the of Mr Fisher these days. He did not attempt to repeat his last effort. The coffee came to the study with drugs. Sam, like lightning, did not twice in the same place. He had the artist's soul, and up work. If he another move, it would, I knew, be on fresh lines.

Ignoring the that I had had all the luck, I was to be self-satisfied when I of Sam. I had my against his, and I had won. It was a performance for a man who had done nothing particular in his life.

If all the which had been into me in my and my early with Audrey had not been sufficient, I ought to have been by Sam's not to take victory for till the was over. As Sam had said, his luck would turn sooner or later.

One these in theory, but the practical of them fails to come as a shock. I mine on the last but one of the term.

Shortly after a message was to me that Mr Abney would like to see me in his study. I without any of to come. Most of the of the was in the study after breakfast, and I that the had to do with some detail of the morrow's exodus.

I Mr Abney the room, a look of on his face. At the desk, her to me, Audrey was writing. It was part of her work to take of the of the establishment. She did not look when I came in, when Mr Abney spoke my name, but on as if I did not exist.

There was a touch of in Mr Abney's manner, for which I not at account. He was stately, but with the which marked his that he was about to up to London and me to do his work. He once or twice to the of the moment.

'Ah, Mr Burns,' he said at length, 'might I ask if your plans for the holidays, the—ah—earlier part of the are settled? No? ah—excellent.'

He produced a from the of papers on the desk.

'Ah—excellent. That considerably. I have no right to ask what I am about to—ah—in ask. I have no on your time in the holidays. But, in the circumstances, you may see your way to doing me a service. I have a from Mr Elmer Ford which puts me in a position of some difficulty. It is not my wish—indeed, it is to my policy—to the of the boys who are to my—ah—care, and I should like, if possible, to do what Mr Ford asks. It that call him to the north of England for a days, this it for him to little Ogden tomorrow. It is not my to who have paid me the of their sons at the most and period of their lives, in my—ah—charge, but I must say that a little longer notice would have been a—in fact, a convenience. But Mr Ford, like so many of his countrymen, is what I is called a hustler. He it now, as the is. In short, he to little Ogden at the for the days of the holidays, and I should be obliged, Mr Burns, if you should it possible to here and—ah—look after him.'

Audrey stopped and in her chair, the she had that she had Mr Abney's remarks.

'It won't be necessary to trouble Mr Burns,' she said, without looking at me. 'I can take of Ogden very well by myself.'

'In the case of an—ah—ordinary boy, Mrs Sheridan, I should not to you in as you have very offered to and help me in this matter. But we must not only—I speak frankly—not only the peculiar—ah—disposition of this particular lad, but also the that those who visited the house that night may possibly the opportunity to make a fresh attack. I should not feel—ah—justified in so a upon you.'

There was in what he said. Audrey no reply. I her pen on the and her feelings. I, myself, like a who, having through the of his cell, is to another on the of escape. I had so myself up to till the end of term and no longer that this of the day of had a effect.

Mr Abney and his voice confidentially.

'I would myself, but the is, I am called to London on very urgent business, and shall be unable to return for a day or so. My late pupil, the—ah—the Earl of Buxton, has been—I can on your discretion, Mr Burns—has been in trouble with the at Eton, and his guardian, an old college friend of mine—the—in fact, the Duke of Bessborough, who, or wrongly, places—er—considerable on my advice, is to me on the matter. I shall return as soon as possible, but you will that, in the circumstances, my time will not be my own. I must place myself at—ah—Bessborough's disposal.'

He pressed the bell.

'In the event of your any in the neighbourhood, you have the telephone and can with the police. And you will have the of—'

The door opened and Smooth Sam Fisher entered.

'You rang, sir?'

'Ah! Come in, White, and close the door. I have something to say to you. I have just been Mr Burns that Mr Ford has me to allow his son to on at the for the days of the vacation.'

He to Audrey.

'You will be surprised, Mrs Sheridan, and possibly—ah—somewhat startled, to learn the nature of White's position at Sanstead House. You have no to my Mrs Sheridan, White, in of the that you will be together in this matter? Just so. White is a in the of Pinkerton's Agency. Mr Ford'—a appeared on his brow—'Mr Ford his present for him in order that he might protect his son in the event of—ah—in fact, any attempt to remove him.'

I saw Audrey start. A quick came into her face. She a little of astonishment.

'Just so,' said Mr Abney, by way of on this. 'You are naturally surprised. The whole is unusual, and, I may say—ah—disturbing. However, you have your to to your employer, White, and you will, of course, here with the boy.'

'Yes, sir.'

I myself looking into a that with triumph. The other was closed. In the of the moment, Smooth Sam had had the taste to at me.

'You will have Mr Burns to help you, White. He has to his the period in which I shall be to be absent.'

I had no of having any consent, but I was very to have it assumed, and I was to see that Mr Fisher, though Mr Abney did not it, was visibly taken by this piece of information. But he one of his recoveries.

'It is very of Mr Burns,' he said in his voice, 'but I think it will be necessary to put him to the of his plans. I am sure that Mr Ford would the entire of the to be in my hands.'

He had not a happy moment for the of the millionaire's name. Mr Abney was a man of method, who any of the of life; and Mr Ford's had him. The Ford family, father and son, were just then with him.

He Sam.

'What Mr Ford would or would not is, in this particular matter, the point. The for the boy, while he on the premises, is—ah—mine, and I shall take such as fit and to—him—myself, of those which, in your opinion, might themselves to Mr Ford. As I cannot be here myself, to—ah—urgent in London, I shall take of Mr Burns's offer to as my deputy.'

He paused and his nose, his after these occasional of his. Sam had not the storm. He waited, unmoved, till all was over:

'I am I shall have to be more explicit,' he said: 'I had to avoid and unpleasantness, but I see it is impossible.'

Mr Abney's slowly from his handkerchief.

'I agree with you, sir, that somebody should be here to help me look after the boy, but not Mr Burns. I am sorry to have to say it, but I do not trust Mr Burns.'

Mr Abney's look of deepened. I, too, was surprised. It was so Sam to away his on a attack like this.

'What do you mean?' Mr Abney.

'Mr Burns is after the boy himself. He came to him.'

Mr Abney, as he had every for doing, with amazement. I the laugh of innocence. It was me to Sam's mind. He not that any would be to his wild assertion. It to me that had him to his head.

'Are you mad, White?'

'No, sir. I can prove what I say. If I had not gone to London with him that last time, he'd have got away with the boy then, for certain.'

For an an came to me that he might have something in reserve, something unknown to me, which had him to this direct attack. I the notion. There be nothing.

Mr Abney had to me with a look of bewilderment. I my eyebrows.

'Ridiculous,' I said.

That this was the only to be Mr Abney's view. He on Sam with the anger of the mild man.

'What do you mean, White, by to me with such a story?'

'I don't say Mr Burns to the boy in the ordinary way,' said Sam imperturbably, 'like those men who came that night. He had a special reason. Mr and Mrs Ford, as of you know, sir, are divorced. Mr Burns was trying to the boy away and take him to his mother.'

I Audrey give a little gasp. Mr Abney's anger by a touch of doubt. I see that these words, by the from the to the plausible, had him. Once again I was by the that Sam had an card to play. This might be bluff, but it had a ring.

'You might say,' on Sam smoothly, 'that this was to Mr Burns's heart. But, from my employer's and yours, too, it was a that needed to be checked. Will you read this, sir?'

He a to Mr Abney, who his and to read—at in a detached, way, then with eagerness.

'I it necessary to search among Mr Burns's papers, sir, in the of finding—'

And then I what he had found. From the the blue-grey had had a familiar look. I it now. It was Cynthia's letter, that document which I had been to read to him in London. His that the luck would had come true.

I Sam's eye. For the second time he was to wink. It was a rich, wink, as and as a college yell.

Mr Abney had the and was for speech. I his emotion. If he had not actually been a in his bosom, he had come, from his point of view, very near it. Of all men, a necessarily looks with the on the would-be kidnapper.

As for me, my mind was in a whirl. I was without a plan, without the very of a plan, to help me with this situation. I was by a of the of my position. To Sam was impossible; to my was out of the question. The of the had me of the power of thought. I was routed.

Mr Abney was speaking.

'Is your name Peter, Mr Burns?'

I nodded. Speech was me.

'This is by—ah—by a lady. It you in set terms to—ah—hasten to Ogden Ford. Do you wish me to read it to you? Or do you to its contents?'

He waited for a reply. I had none to make.

'You do not that you came to Sanstead House for the purpose of Ogden Ford?'

I had nothing to say. I a of Audrey's face, cold and hard, and my quickly. Mr Abney gulped. His the of a cod-fish when out of the water on the end of a line. He at me with repulsion. That old Sam did the same. He looked like a bishop.

'I—ah—trusted you implicitly,' said Mr Abney.

Sam his at me reproachfully. With a of spirit

I at him. He only the more.

It was, I think, the moment of my life. A wild for on any terms over me. That look on Audrey's was into my brain like an acid.

'I will go and pack,' I said.

'This is the end of all things,' I said to myself.

I had my packing in order to on my and brood. I was depressed. There are in a man's life when Reason fails to the consolation. In I to tell myself that what had was, in essence, what, twenty-four hours ago, I was so to about. It to this, that now, at last, Audrey had definitely gone out of my life. From now on I have no relations with her of any sort. Was not this what, twenty-four hours ago, I had wished? Twenty-four hours ago had I not said to myself that I would go away and see her again? Undoubtedly. Nevertheless, I sat there and in spirit.

It was the end of all things.

A mild voice my meditations.

'Can I help?'

Sam was in the doorway, on me with good-humour.

'You are them wrong. Allow me. A moment more and you would have the crease.'

I aware of a pair of in my grasp. He took them from me, and, them neatly, them in my trunk.

'Don't all up about it, sonny,' he said. 'It's the of war. Besides, what it to you? Judging by that very in London, you have money for a man. Losing your job here won't you. And, if you're about Mrs Ford and her feelings, don't! I she's all about the Nugget by this time. So up. You're all right!'

He out a hand to me on the shoulder, then of it and it back.

'Think of my happiness, if you want something to make you good. Believe me, man, it's some. I sing! Gee, when I think that it's all plain now and no more troubles, I dance! You don't know what it means to me, through this deal. I wish you Mary! That's her name. You must come and visit us, sonny, when we're up in the home. There'll always be a knife and for you. We'll make you one of the family! Lord! I can see the place as plain as I can see you. Nice house with a good porch…. Me in a in my shirt-sleeves, a cigar and reading the news; Mary in another rocker, my and nursing the cat! We'll sure have a cat. Two cats. I like cats. And a in the garden. Say, it'll be great!'

And on the word, prudence, he his hand with a on my shoulders.

There is a limit. I to my feet.

'Get out!' I yelped. 'Get out of here!'

'Sure,' he agreeably. He rose without and me compassionately. 'Cheer up, son! Be a sport!'

There are moments when the best of men melodramatic. I offer this as for my next observation.

Clenching my and at him, I cried, 'I'll you yet, you hound!'

Some people have no for the dramatic. He tolerantly.

'Sure,' he said. 'Anything you like, Desperate Desmond. Enjoy yourself!'

And he left me.