The whole strength of the company gathered round the light.
‘Thank you, White,’ said Mr Abney. ‘Excellent. I fear the scoundrel has escaped.’
‘I suspect so, sir.’
‘This is a very remarkable occurrence, White.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The man was actually in Master Ford’s bedroom.’
‘Indeed, sir?’
A shrill voice spoke. I recognized it as that of Augustus Beckford, always to be counted upon to be in the centre of things gathering information.
‘Sir, please, sir, what was up? Who was it, sir? Sir, was it a burglar, sir? Have you ever met a burglar, sir? My father took me to see Raffles in the holidays, sir. Do you think this chap was like Raffles, sir? Sir–‘
‘It was undoubtedly–‘ Mr Abney was beginning, when the identity of the questioner dawned upon him, and for the first time he realized that the drive was full of boys actively engaged in catching their deaths of cold. His all-friends-here-let-us- discuss-this-interesting-episode-fully manner changed. He became the outraged schoolmaster. Never before had I heard him speak so sharply to boys, many of whom, though breaking rules, were still titled.
‘What are you boys doing out of bed? Go back to bed instantly. I shall punish you most severely. I–‘
‘Shall I telephone for the police?’ asked Glossop. Disregarded.
‘I will not have this conduct. You will catch cold. This is disgraceful. Ten bad marks! I shall punish you most severely if you do not instantly–‘
A calm voice interrupted him.
‘Say!’
The Little Nugget strolled easily into the circle of light. He was wearing a dressing-gown, and in his hand was a smouldering cigarette, from which he proceeded, before continuing his remarks, to blow a cloud of smoke.
‘Say, I guess you’re wrong. That wasn’t any ordinary porch-climber.’
The spectacle of his -bete noire- wreathed in smoke, coming on top of the emotions of the night, was almost too much for Mr Abney. He gesticulated for a moment in impassioned silence, his arms throwing grotesque shadows on the gravel.
‘How -dare- you smoke, boy! How -dare- you smoke that cigarette!’
‘It’s the only one I’ve got,’ responded the Little Nugget amiably.
‘I have spoken to you–I have warned you–Ten bad marks!–I will not have–Fifteen bad marks!’
The Little Nugget ignored the painful scene. He was smiling quietly.
‘If you ask -me-,’ he said, ‘that guy was after something better than plated spoons. Yes, sir! If you want my opinion, it was Buck MacGinnis, or Chicago Ed., or one of those guys, and what he was trailing was me. They’re always at it. Buck had a try for me in the fall of ’07, and Ed.–‘
‘Do you hear me? Will you return instantly–‘
‘If you don’t believe me I can show you the piece there was about it in the papers. I’ve got a press-clipping album in my box. Whenever there’s a piece about me in the papers, I cut it out and paste it into my album. If you’ll come right along, I’ll show you the story about Buck now. It happened in Chicago, and he’d have got away with me if it hadn’t been–‘
‘Twenty bad marks!’
‘Mr Abney!’
It was the person standing behind me who spoke. Till now he or she had remained a silent spectator, waiting, I suppose, for a lull in the conversation.
They jumped, all together, like a well-trained chorus.
‘Who is that?’ cried Mr Abney. I could tell by the sound of his voice that his nerves were on wires. ‘Who was that who spoke?’
‘Shall I telephone for the police?’ asked Glossop. Ignored.
‘I am Mrs Sheridan, Mr Abney. You were expecting me to-night.’
‘Mrs Sheridan? Mrs Sher–I expected you in a cab. I expected you in–ah–in fact, a cab.’
‘I walked.’
I had a curious sensation of having heard the voice before. When she had told me not to move, she had spoken in a whisper–or, to me, in my dazed state, it had sounded like a whisper–but now she was raising her voice, and there was a note in it that seemed familiar. It stirred some chord in my memory, and I waited to hear it again.
When it came it brought the same sensation, but nothing more definite. It left me groping for the clue.