He pressed the bell.
‘In the event of your observing any suspicious characters in the neighbourhood, you have the telephone and can instantly communicate with the police. And you will have the assistance 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 informing Mr Burns that Mr Ford has written asking me to allow his son to stay on at the school for the first few days of the vacation.’
He turned to Audrey.
‘You will doubtless be surprised, Mrs Sheridan, and possibly–ah– somewhat startled, to learn the peculiar nature of White’s position at Sanstead House. You have no objection to my informing Mrs Sheridan, White, in consideration of the fact that you will be working together in this matter? Just so. White is a detective in the employment of Pinkerton’s Agency. Mr Ford’–a slight frown appeared on his lofty brow–‘Mr Ford obtained his present situation 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 flush came into her face. She uttered a little exclamation of astonishment.
‘Just so,’ said Mr Abney, by way of comment on this. ‘You are naturally surprised. The whole arrangement is excessively unusual, and, I may say–ah–disturbing. However, you have your duty to fulfil to your employer, White, and you will, of course, remain here with the boy.’
‘Yes, sir.’
I found myself looking into a bright brown eye that gleamed with genial triumph. The other was closed. In the exuberance of the moment, Smooth Sam had had the bad taste to wink at me.
‘You will have Mr Burns to help you, White. He has kindly consented to postpone his departure during the short period in which I shall be compelled to be absent.’
I had no recollection of having given any kind consent, but I was very willing to have it assumed, and I was glad to see that Mr Fisher, though Mr Abney did not observe it, was visibly taken aback by this piece of information. But he made one of his swift recoveries.
‘It is very kind of Mr Burns,’ he said in his fruitiest voice, ‘but I hardly think it will be necessary to put him to the inconvenience of altering his plans. I am sure that Mr Ford would prefer the entire charge of the affair to be in my hands.’
He had not chosen a happy moment for the introduction of the millionaire’s name. Mr Abney was a man of method, who hated any dislocation of the fixed routine of life; and Mr Ford’s letter had upset him. The Ford family, father and son, were just then extremely unpopular with him.
He crushed Sam.
‘What Mr Ford would or would not prefer is, in this particular matter, beside the point. The responsibility for the boy, while he remains on the school premises, is–ah–mine, and I shall take such precautions as seem fit and adequate to–him–myself, irrespective of those which, in your opinion, might suggest themselves to Mr Ford. As I cannot be here myself, owing to–ah–urgent business in London, I shall certainly take advantage of Mr Burns’s kind offer to remain as my deputy.’
He paused and blew his nose, his invariable custom after these occasional outbursts of his. Sam had not wilted beneath the storm. He waited, unmoved, till all was over:
‘I am afraid I shall have to be more explicit,’ he said: ‘I had hoped to avoid scandal and unpleasantness, but I see it is impossible.’
Mr Abney’s astonished face emerged slowly from behind his handkerchief.
‘I quite 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 astonishment deepened. I, too, was surprised. It was so unlike Sam to fling away his chances on a blundering attack like this.
‘What do you mean?’ demanded Mr Abney.
‘Mr Burns is after the boy himself. He came to kidnap him.’