The Vagrant Duke. George Gibbs

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СКАЧАТЬ his mind and addressed himself to the excellent meal provided by the housekeeper. For the present, at least, fortune smiled upon him. The terrors of his employer could not long prevail against the healthy appetite of six-and-twenty.

      But it was not long before Peter discovered that the atmosphere of the room upstairs pervaded the dining room, library and halls. There were a cook and housemaid he discovered, neither of them visible. The housekeeper, if attentive, was silent, and the man who had opened the front door, who seemed to be a kind of general factotum, as well as personal bodyguard to Mr. McGuire, crept furtively about the house in an unquiet manner which would have been disturbing to the digestion of one less timorous than Peter.

      Before the meal was finished this man came into the room and laid a police whistle, a large new revolver and a box of cartridges beside Peter's dish of strawberries.

      "These are for you, sir," he whispered sepulchrally. "Mr. McGuire asked me to give them to you—for to-night."

      "Thanks," said Peter, "and you——"

      "I'm Stryker, sir, Mr. McGuire's valet."

      "Oh!"

      Peter's accent of surprise came from his inability to reconcile Stryker with the soiled shirt and the three days' growth of beard on the man upstairs, which more than ever testified to the disorder of his mental condition.

      And as Stryker went out and his footsteps were heard no more, the housekeeper emerged cautiously from the pantry.

      "Is everything all right, Mr. Nichols?" she asked in a stage whisper.

      "Right as rain. Delicious! I'm very much obliged to you."

      "I mean—er—there ain't anythin' else ye'd like?"

      "Nothing, thanks," said Peter, taking up the revolver and breaking it. He had cut the cover of the cartridge box and had slipped a cartridge into the weapon when he heard the voice of the woman at his ear.

      "D'ye think there's any danger, sir?" she whispered, while she nervously eyed the weapon.

      "I'm sure I don't know. Not to you, I'd say," he muttered, still putting the cartridges in the pistol. As an ex-military man, he was taking great delight in the perfect mechanism of his new weapon.

      "What is it——? I mean, d'ye think——," she stammered, "did Mr. McGuire say—just what it is he's afraid of?"

      "No," said Peter, "he didn't." And then with a grin, "Do you know?"

      "No, sir. I wish t'God I did. Then there'd be somethin' to go by."

      "I'm afraid I can't help you, Mrs.——"

      "Tillie Bergen. I've been housekeeper here since the new wing was put on——"

      "Oh, yes," said Peter, pausing over the last cartridge as the thought came to him. "Then you must be Beth Cameron's aunt?"

      "Beth?" The woman's sober face wreathed in a lovely smile. "D'ye know Beth?"

      "Since this afternoon. She showed me the way."

      "Oh. Poor Beth."

      "Poor!"

      "Oh, we're all poor, Mr. Nichols. But Beth she's—different from the rest of us somehow."

      "Yes, she is different," admitted Peter frankly.

      Mrs. Bergen sighed deeply. "Ye don't know how different. And now that—all this trouble has come, I can't get home nights to her. And she can't come to see me without permission. How long d'ye think it will last, sir?"

      "I don't know," said Peter, slipping the revolver and cartridges into his pockets. And then gallantly, "If I can offer you my services, I'd be glad to take you home at night——"

      "It's against orders. And I wouldn't dare, Mr. Nichols. As it is I've got about as much as I can stand. If it wasn't for the money I wouldn't be stayin' in the house another hour."

      "Perhaps things won't be so bad after a time. If anything is going to happen, it ought to be pretty soon."

      She regarded him wistfully as he moved toward the door. "An' ye'll tell me, sir, if anything out o' the way happens."

      "I hope nothing is going to happen, Mrs. Bergen," said Peter cheerfully.

      Stryker appeared mysteriously from the darkness as Peter went out into the hall.

      "The upstairs girl made up your bed down at the cabin, sir. The chauffeur took your bag over. You'll need these matches. If you'll wait, sir, I'll call Mr. Wells."

      Peter wondered at the man in this most unconventional household, for Stryker, with all the prescience of a well-trained servant, had already decided that Peter belonged to a class accustomed to being waited on. Going to the door he blew one short blast on a police whistle, like Peter's, which he brought forth from his pocket.

      "That will bring him, sir," he said. "If you'll go out on the portico, he'll join you in a moment."

      Peter obeyed. The door was closed and fastened behind him and almost before he had taken his lungs full of the clean night air (for the house had been hot and stuffy), a shadow came slouching across the lawn in the moonlight. Peter joined the man at once and they walked around the house, while Peter questioned him as to the number of men and their disposition about the place. There were six, he found, including Wells, with six more to sleep in the stable, which was also used as a guardhouse. Peter made the rounds of the sentries. None of them seemed to be taking the matter any too seriously and one at least was sound asleep beneath some bushes. Peter foresaw difficulties. Under the leadership of Shad Wells the strategic points were not covered, and, had he wished, he could have found his way, by using the cover of shadow and shrubbery, to the portico without being observed. He pointed this out to Wells who, from a supercilious attitude, changed to one of defiance.

      "You seem to think you know a lot, Mister?" he said. "I'd like to see ye try it."

      Peter laughed.

      "Very well. Take your posts and keep strict watch, but don't move. If I don't walk across the lawn from the house in half an hour I'll give you ten dollars. In return you can take a shot if you see me."

      He thought the men needed the object lesson. Peter was an excellent "point." He disappeared into the woods behind him and making his way cautiously out, found a road, doubling to the other side of the garage along which he went on his hands and knees and crawling from shrub to shrub in the shadows reached the portico without detection. Here he lighted a fag and quietly strolled down to the spot where he had left Shad Wells, to whom he offered a cigarette by way of consolation. Wells took it grudgingly. But he took it, which was one point gained.

      "Right smart, aren't ye?" said Shad.

      "No," said Peter coolly. "Anybody could have done it—in three ways. The other two ways are through the pine grove to the left and from the big sycamore by the stream."

      "And how do you know all that?"

      "I was in the Army," said Peter. "It's a business like anything else."

      And СКАЧАТЬ