Blind Policy

“Good-morning, Mrs Barron, ma’am,” said Arthur.

She looked sternly from one to the other, without making way for them to enter.

“Why are you two men up in town?” she said harshly.

“Well, the fact is, ma’am, I had a little bit o’ business to do about my savings in the sweet threes, and as the gentlemen were all in Paris, and the ladies were not expecting any company, I made so bold as to ask Mrs James Clareborough to spare me till to-morrow night and let Orthur come with me, for I don’t like going through money matters without a witness.”

“Oh,” said the housekeeper, speaking with her lips very close together, but without drawing back. “Then why have you both come here? This is not a broker’s.”

“No, ma’am, of course not,” said Arthur, with a little laugh.

“I was not speaking to you, sir,” said the housekeeper, turning upon him suddenly. “Have the goodness to keep your place.”

“Certainly, ma’am. Beg pardon, ma’am.”

“Now, Mr Roach; what do you want here?”

“Want here, ma’am?” stammered the butler; “want here? Why, I can’t go to my broker without my warrants.”

The housekeeper’s pale face looked more pinched than ever as she gazed searchingly at the other, who looked completely taken aback; and then she darted a sharp glance at Arthur, who evidently expected it and did not look, but busied himself in bringing a little bit of vanity well into sight, the said piece of vanity taking the shape of a couple of bronze fox-head cuff studs, which he drew beyond the sleeves of his coat.

“You can go down into your pantry and get what you require,” said the housekeeper, coldly, and she made way for the butler to enter. Arthur was about to follow. “No,” she said sharply, “you can wait.”

“Wait – here, ma’am?”

“Yes,” said the housekeeper, decisively, and she made as if to shut the door. “Or, no; you can sit down inside.”

Arthur brightened up, and stepped in jauntily, the housekeeper closing the door.

“You need not take your portmanteau down with you, Roach.”

“No, ma’am, of course not,” said the butler, respectfully.

“Here, I’ll mind that, Mr Roach, sir,” said the footman, stepping forward to take the valise, after standing his own on end.

The butler was a few steps in the hall, the housekeeper between them, and a little on Arthur’s right, as he took a step forward, taking his overcoat from his arm and shaking it out the while, as if about to double it afresh. Then, quick as thought, he stepped aside, threw it over the woman’s head, and twisted it together. “Now, old man; her legs, sharp!”

Roach stood for a moment as if bewildered. Then at an oath from his companion, he stepped forward, threw his arms round the struggling woman’s legs, lifted her up, and in spite of her smothered cries bore her right to the end of the passage.

“Down with her; pantry,” said the footman, sharply, and they carried her quickly down the basement to the butler’s pantry, where they laid her on the table.

“Fetch the trunks, old man,” said Arthur, loudly. “I can manage. Quiet, you old cat, or I’ll choke you!”

He tightened the coat with a couple, of twists as he spoke, but the faint cry continued.

“Bah! let her squeak; she might howl for a month, and no one could hear.”

This, for the butler looked unnerved. He went up directly, though, and as soon as he was gone Arthur put his face to the coat, close to the old lady’s ear.

“You just listen,” he said. “You’ve had your innings, and led me a pretty devil of a life with your nasty ways. It’s my turn now. Quiet, curse you! Stop that row, or as sure as you’re a living woman now, you’ll want a coffin to-morrow.”

“What – what is it you want. Money?” came faintly.

“Never you mind what we want, old girl. There, you needn’t kick and struggle; we don’t want to carry you off and marry you by force, so lie still. Ah, that’s right; look sharp. My Gladstone, not yours. Get out the rope.”

The butler, whose face was now mottled with white patches, opened one of the portmanteaus and took out a cord.

“Now come here and lay hold. If she begins to squeal again, tighten your grip a bit.”

But the woman lay perfectly still now, and she did not even wince when the footman twisted the rope tightly round her ankles and knotted it fast.

“Now then, over on her face, guv’nor. I must have these wrists tied behind, or she may begin to scratch.”

The helpless woman was turned over, her wrists firmly secured, and she was then laid on her side and the coat taken off, to reveal her wide, staring eyes, and teeth set, with the lips drawn right away.

“You’ve killed her, my boy,” whispered the butler in a hoarse voice.

“Bah! Old cats like that have got nine lives,” said the man, contemptuously. “Here, give me a clean glass cloth, and I’ll shove a gag in her mouth.”

“No, no. She’s bad enough as it is,” whispered the butler. “Let her be.”

The footman looked at the old housekeeper dubiously, and then unwillingly gave up his project.

“Shall we put her in the plate-closet? I have the key.”

Arthur laughed.

“Why, that would smother her in half an hour. No; help me to lay her down on the hearth-rug. We can come and look at her now and then. But she won’t move. We’ve pretty well frightened her to death.”

Judging from appearances, this was the case, and after laying the unfortunate woman on the hearth-rug, they took portmanteaus and coats and hurried out into the main passage, then into that which went off at right angles, to stop in front of the lobby door.

Chapter Twenty Four.

And Grows Dangerous

The key the men possessed admitted them at once and the other portmanteau was opened, ready for use – a use which soon became plain.

“Think it’ll be all right this time?” said Roach, who was in an intense state of excitement.

“Dunno till I try,” was the reply. “Light up and look sharp.”

Roach turned to the second portmanteau, which stood inside the door, and took out a dark lantern. Then striking a match, he lit it, and in obedience to a word from his young companion, he held up the cover of the iron door key-hole with one hand, and directed the full glare of the bull’s-eye on the opening with the other.

Arthur had not been idle. Hastily doubling his overcoat, he made of it a pad to kneel upon, and then taking a bright new key from out of a piece of tissue paper, he began to try if it would fit.

“All right,” he whispered, “it goes splendidly.”

“Well done,” panted Roach. “But be quick.”