CHAPTER XVI

Diana stirred uneasily in her sleep and woke. There was no sound but the distant snore of Mr. Superbus, but she had an uncanny instinct that all was not well. Slipping out of bed, she pulled on her dressing-gown and looked out of the window. She saw a figure on the sidewalk. A man, slight of build, round-shouldered. She saw him clearly in the light of the street standard which was immediately opposite the house. She guessed his face rather than saw it, and wondered where she had seen him before. Stark, the window-cleaner! Now she knew him. As she looked, he stood back quickly, bringing himself against the railings. Craning her neck, she saw a shadowy policeman slowly passing the end of the street. He reached the opposite corner and stopped, came a few steps down Cheynel Gardens and stopped again. There was the flare of a match. It was the hour when policemen produce surreptitious pipes in defiance of all regulations. The figure against the railings remained motionless.

“What do you want?” demanded Diana.

Mr. Stark looked up.

“Nothing, lady. I can’t sleep,” he stammered.

“See the policeman: he’ll nurse you,” said Diana.

He disappeared up the passage leading to the courtyard, but presently he came back and walked boldly back to the main street. Diana saw the smoking policeman cross the road. There was a brief conversation and Mr. Stark disappeared. Diana thought she had seen the policeman’s hands moving scientifically over the loafer’s body.

She was thoroughly awake now. The hour was 3.15. She took up her handbag, unlocked and opened her door and listened. The watchful Julius was awake instantly.

“It is only I, Mr. Superbus,” she said, relieved to find him so alert. “I am afraid you’re having a very uncomfortable time.”

“No, miss: I seldom sleep. Napoleon was that way by all accounts. Want anything, ma’am?”

“I’m going to make myself a cup of tea,” she said, and went down the gloomy stairs to the kitchen.

She was very hungry--she made tea, found a tinful of biscuits and called her protector in a whisper to share the feast.

“We might as well have some light,” she said, and lit the hall lamp. “Come in, Mr. Superbus.”

The door of The Study did not yield to her pressure, and she frowned.

“I’m sure I did not lock this door,” she said, and found the pass-key in her bag. The door was bolted on the inside!

“Wait here whilst I dress,” she said.

The eyes of Julius Superbus bulged. Excitement toned his complexion from petunia to old gold. He was not nervous; he was not frightened. Danger made him go pale. Mark Antony was that way.

She was down again in an incredibly short space of time, took the revolver belt from the hall cupboard and fixed it about her waist. Mr. Superbus saw the gun in her hand and felt more comfortable.

“Open the door, please.”

There was a faint rustle of movement on the other side of the door. A not so faint click as if lights were being extinguished.

“Guard the back of the house,” she said in a low voice. “He will probably escape over the wall. Take no risks--strike him down at once. He may be armed!”

Mr. Superbus did not move. He was rooted to the spot, as they say.

“What about getting a policeman?” he asked hollowly.

She shook her head.

“I don’t want the police here. Do as I tell you, please.”

Mr. Superbus tried to lift a foot and winced; his rheumatism had “come on” again.

“I won’t leave you here by yourself,” he said unsteadily; “it would be cowardly, leaving a lady by herself.”

From the hall there was one entrance to The Study. You might reach it, however, through the small ante-room which Gordon used as a book store. He refused to dignify the place with the description of “library.”

“Stay here,” she whispered, and sped along the dark passage.

The door was unlocked, the smell of books came to her in the darkness, and she stepped stealthily into the room, pistol in hand.

The second door into The Study opened. The big room was in darkness except for the faint light of the painted window.

“Hands up!” she called. “I see you!”

The light control was at the other end of the room--she felt cautiously forward. She had taken a few steps when the door into the hall jerked open and a figure darted through, slamming the door....

Superbus would have him, she thought exultantly as she ran in pursuit. But there was no sound of struggle, and when she flew into the hall it was empty.

“Mr. Superbus!” she called.

“Here, ma’am.” He came out of The Study behind her. “I follered you,” he said; “it wasn’t right to let a lady take risks. Did you see him?”

“Oh, why didn’t you do as I told you?” she wailed.

“My duty was to foller you.” Julius was dogged. “It was safer.”

Which was true.

She put on all the lights of The Study. Nothing apparently had been disturbed except----

She had left the pointer of the combination on the letter “X.” It was now on “A.”

“Bring in the tea,” she said, and continued her inspection.

Mr. Superbus returned with the tray she had filled.

“What we want are cloos,” he said gently, so gently that she did not hear him aright.

“The wine cellars are closed. I don’t want the bother of unlocking them--and I never drink.”

“Cloos,” said Julius loudly.

“Oh! I thought you said ... well, find some.”

Bent double, he prowled round the room. Diana ate biscuits ravenously.

“Somebody has been here,” he pointed to the big chair near the fireplace. “Look at that cushion--there’s the mark of a head.”

“Mine,” she was laconic, a trifle unkind. “Look for cigar-ash, my dear Watson!”

He eyed her with a certain amount of suspicion which was largely justified.

“Come and eat,” she said, and dropped the biscuit tin within reach. “Now how on earth did he get out?”

“Who?”

“Doub--Uncle Isaac.” She corrected her error instantly.

Julius could afford to smile.

“He didn’t get out. I’ve never left my post, ma’am. My own theory is that it was a burglar.”

“How did he leave the house?” she asked. “The front door is still chained and bolted. He must still be in the house.”

“Don’t say that, miss--ma’am,” begged Julius nervously. “If he was in this house I wouldn’t be responsible for myself. I go mad when I see burglars--that’s why the doctor ordered me to keep away from ’em.”

“He’s in the house; probably hiding in the kitchen. Have some biscuits; when I’ve finished my tea we’ll go look for him.”

Julius had no appetite.

“This is a case for the regular police,” he said earnestly. “They’re paid for it, anyway. The Government supports their widows. Besides,” unselfishly, “they get promotion for capturing burglars. I believe in doing somebody a good turn whenever I can. Shall I get a copper?”

She motioned him to remain.

“Stay here: I will look.”

He refused to stay. His place was by her side and a little behind her. He liked the way she handled that Browning. She seemed the kind of woman who would stand no nonsense.

The kitchen drew blank.

“I never thought he was here,” she said. “No, it was Uncle Isaac.”

Mr. Superbus, back in The Study, propounded a startling theory.

“There’s such things as subterranean passages,” he said. “I’ve seen ’em. You push back a panel and there’s a flight of stairs, leading to an underground vault. You touch a spring----”

“There are no springs to be touched at 61 Cheynel Gardens,” she said, “and no panels, and no underground vaults except the cellar where the furnace is. Go down and satisfy yourself.”

Mr. Superbus countered graciously that her word was sufficient.

The hour was a quarter after four o’clock. Mr. Superbus lit the fire, going very slowly down to the kitchen to find the kindling wood, and coming very swiftly up again. His teeth were chattering: it was very chilly in the kitchen, he said.

“There was nothing to hurt you in the kitchen,” she said.

Julius was amused.

“Hurt _me_? I’d like to see the thing that tried it on! I don’t know what fear is, ma’am. All our family is that way. My brother Augustus walks through a churchyard every night from the Duchesses’ Arms----”

“Does she know him so well--how odd!” she said.

“It’s the name of an inn, ma’am. He’s married. Yes, he walks through the churchyard and he’s never seen anything. His wife--she’s got a bitter tongue--says that she’s not surprised. He can’t see her by the time he gets home. My sister Agrippa is as brave as a lion--it runs in the family. What’s that!”

He half rose. From the hall came the sound of stealthy footsteps.

“Go out and see.”

She reached for the gun.

Mr. Superbus went reluctantly, making a wide detour. You can as easily see into the hall from the far side of the room as from the doorway. She saw him creep slowly onward until he was in a position, by stretching his neck, to command a view of the hall.

“Don’t shoot, ma’am,” he quavered; “it’s Aunt!”

Heloise advanced into the room, a scowl on her face.

“What’s the trouble?” she demanded. “I heard somebody running upstairs.”

Her eyes fell on the biscuit tin. She reached for a handful, sat down before the unlit fire and munched moodily.

“There’s a cat and canary feeling about this house,” she said. “I wish I was home!”

Diana was impressed by the abysmal dejection of the woman.

“Get another cup and saucer, Mr. Superbus,” she said. “Aunt Lizzie would like some tea.”

Julius had gone down on his knees before the fireplace, in that attitude resembling a priest of some mystic sect of fire-worshippers. Straightening his back, he looked up anxiously.

“You will find a cup and saucer on the servery at the end of the passage,” said Diana. “You need not go down to the kitchen.”

Julius rose with relief.

“_I_ don’t mind the kitchen,” he said untruly.

It was Heloise who lit the fire and crouched above it, folded arms on knees, staring down at the little banners of flame. It seemed to her that a million years had passed since she had discussed anybody’s soul. Watching her, Diana had a view of a delicately moulded cheek and the tip of a well-shaped nose, and experienced an inexplicable wave of compassion toward the woman.

“What is Double Dan to you?” she asked.

Heloise shrugged her left shoulder.

“Are you married to him?”

Mrs. van Oynne was sensitive to atmosphere. No English barometer (the most restless of all scientific instruments except perhaps a Japanese seismograph) was quite as responsive to the emotions of others as was the little detector which registered sympathy in the nimble brain of Heloise.

“Some day I will tell you,” she said, in a tone of deepest melancholy, “but not now--not now!”

She drew a long, shivering sigh.

“I don’t suppose you’re following this kind of life for the fun of it,” Diana went on, her heart softening toward her unwilling guest.

“You’ve said it!” Heloise nodded slowly.

“If I could do anything--” began Diana.

Mr. Superbus arrived with the extra cup and saucer, and confidences were temporarily sidetracked.

“Sleep well, Aunt Lizzie?” asked Julius, drinking audibly.

She shook her head.

“No, I can’t sleep in strange beds. Besides, I’ve got trouble--big trouble. People can’t sleep when they’re in trouble.”

“Ah!” said Julius wisely. “My theory is that you _have_ slept.”

She looked round at him over her shoulder.

“Where do you get that theory? Don’t you think I know whether I slept or not, you poor ... Mr. Superbus?”

“No,” said Julius calmly; “there’s one thing nobody knows--you can never know that you’re asleep. You’re a bit of a sonombulist?” he asked with elaborate carelessness.

“How’s that?”

“Sonombulist--walk in your sleep. I got an idea I saw you about one o’clock?”

She turned her face away to the contemplation of the fire.

“Got ideas too? That mind of yours is surely active. If I thought you’d seen me at one o’clock, why, I’d die right here at this very minute. I was taking off--you married?”

Julius, with some complacence, confessed that he was.

“Well, I guess I can discuss corsets without offending against Public Morality. You didn’t see me at one o’clock--I’d be sorry to think you had.”

Julius was embarrassed but not completely discouraged.

“Maybe it was three o’clock--I saw somebody coming downstairs. Ha ha, Aunt Lizzie, I saw you!”

He lifted a roguish finger.

“You’re nutty,” she said tersely, yawned and got up. “I guess I could sleep now. And I’m going to hang a stocking over the keyhole of my door.” She directed this remark at Mr. Superbus and he choked indignantly at the base insinuation.

“Did you see her?” asked Diana after Heloise had gone.

“No, ma’am, I didn’t,” admitted Julius. “You can often get people to confess that way. It’s called the Third Decree in America. I’ve tried it myself. We had a charwoman help once who used to pinch my tobacco for her husband. I tried it on her--and other cases.”

“You think it was Aunt Lizzie that was in the room?”

“Certain!” said Julius. “Notice how quiet she walks? That’s a bad sign----”

“Notice how she reeks of Origon?” mimicked Diana.

“I didn’t see her reeking,” admitted Mr. Superbus, confused.

“I wonder you didn’t--those heavy perfumes are almost visible. And there was no scent of Origon in the room--no fresh scent, anyway.”

It was still dark when she drew up the blind and looked out. She felt very wide awake without knowing exactly in what manner her activity might be best employed.

“Take this key, go up into Uncle Isaac’s room, open the door quietly and see if he is there. And then get out--quick!”

Julius did not like that word “quick!” Climbing the stairs leisurely, he listened at the door of Uncle Isaac’s room. There was no sound. Which was satisfactory. On the other hand, the very stillness might be ominous. Mad people are notoriously cunning. He remembered gruesome stories he had heard of cat-footed maniacs who had crept up behind their guards and cut their throats with pieces of old iron secretly sharpened.

Julius Superbus drew a long breath. The blood of his Cæsarian ancestors ran a little coldly; the pumping station under his left-hand waistcoat pocket increased its thump noisily. Again he listened. If Uncle Isaac was asleep, he would make no noise. Therefore, if there was no sound, he must be asleep. He went downstairs again.

“Sleeping like an innocent child,” he reported, “one ’and under his cheek an’ a sort of smile on his face.”

She took the key from his hand and looked at it.

“You went in?”

“Right in,” said Julius, sunning his back at the fire. “Put on the light, had a good look around.”

She looked at the flat steel in her hand.

“I only asked you,” she said, “because I gave you the key of The Study by mistake.”

Julius was a man of infinite resource.

“I’ve got a way of opening doors that’s known only to three people in the world.”

“Come up with me,” she said, rising. “I’ve got a way too--I use the right key.”

He walked behind her, temporarily at a disadvantage.

She opened the door of Gordon’s prison quickly and snapped on the light.

The room was empty.