The Man with a Shadow

“Heverything,” replied Joe, in a low growl. “Parson said I was to look out about the place; and I’m a-looking. Where are you going?”

Dally drew her breath with a hiss. It was maddening to be stopped at a time like this, when every minute was of importance; and the mail train was always punctual at King’s Hampton at half-past one.

“D’yer hear?” said Joe. “Well, if you won’t answer me, come on to parson, and tell him.”

“No, no, Joe Chegg; don’t stop me, please,” she said softly. “Gran’fa’s ill, and I’m going to take him something.”

“At quarter arter ten, eh? No, you arn’t. Old Moredock went to bed at half-past eight, for I run down and looked in at his windy ’fore he drawed the blind. Yes, I run down and see.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” cried Dally. “How dare you stop me?”

“Parson said I was to look out.”

“Master didn’t tell you to stop me, you great stupid. Let me go by.”

“Nay, I shan’t,” said Joe. “You’re off on larks, and he arn’t here now.”

“Who isn’t here?” cried Dally.

“You know. He’s gone to London, where he’d better stop.”

Daily’s wrath hissed again, and she was about to say something angrily, but she dreaded a scene, and tried the other tack.

“Now, don’t be foolish, there’s a dear, good man,” she said softly. “I just want to go a little way.”

“Wi’ an umbrella and a bag, eh?” said Joe. “Parson Salis don’t know you’re off out, I know.”

“What nonsense, Joe!”

“Don’t you Joe me, ma’am; my name’s Mr Chegg, and you wouldn’t whisper and carny and be civil if you weren’t up to some games.”

“Oh, what a foolish man you are, Joe Chegg!”

“Oh, I am, arn’t I?” said Joe. “Always going up to the Hall of a night, eh? Gets out o’ my bedroom windy, and steals off to meet squires in vestry rooms, I do, don’t I?”

“Joe Chegg!”

“And carries on as no decent female would wi’ my missus’s young man.”

“Joe Chegg! Oh, please let me go by,” whispered Dally. “I want to go somewhere particular.”

“Then want’ll be your master, for you’re not going without parson says you are to. Come on and ask him.”

Joe caught her by the wrist, but she wrested it away, and nearly got through the gate, but he was too quick for her.

“That shows as you’re up to no good,” said Joe. “You wouldn’t fight against seeing your master if you weren’t off on the sly at half arter ten.”

“Half-past ten!” cried Dally. “It isn’t.”

At that moment the chimes ran out the half-hour, and Dally drew her breath hard, and made a desperate effort to pass; but this time Joe caught her round the waist and held her, avoiding a scratched face from the fact that the girl’s hands were gloved.

“How dare you?” she panted, ready to cry hysterically from vexation.

“I dare ’cause I’m told, and I don’t believe I did right in letting Miss Leo go.”

“What?”

Dally suddenly grew limp and ceased to struggle.

“I said I didn’t think I did right in letting Miss Leo go, but I didn’t like to stop her.”

“Miss Leo?” panted Dally. “When?”

“Hour and half ago.”

“It’s a story. She’s fast asleep in bed.”

“Where you ought to be,” said Joe. “So back you go.”

“It’s a story, I say,” panted Dally. “Miss Leo hasn’t been out of her room to-night.”

“Miss Leo went out of this here gate hour and half ago, just as I come back from your gran’father’s, and she arn’t come back.”

“Oh!”

Dally uttered a low, hoarse cry, and turning sharply round ran swiftly back to the place from which she had come, closely followed by Joe, in whose face the door was closed and the bolt slipped.

In another minute Dally had reached the landing, and was listening at Leo’s door, which she tried again.

All was still, and, her breath coming and going as if she were suppressing hysterical sobs, the girl ran into her bedroom, locked the door, threw bag, umbrella, hat and jacket on the bed, opened the window, crept out with wonderful activity, rolled down the sloping roof, dropped to the ground, and ran over the lawn to the summer-house.

Leo Salis had scaled that rustic edifice many a time with great agility, but her skill was poor in comparison with that of the sexton’s grandchild. In a few moments she was on the roof, and reaching up to Leo’s window, the casement yielding to her touch.

She uttered a low sob of rage and doubt now, as, without hesitation, she clambered in to run to the bed, and pass her hands over it.

Tenantless; and the cup of tea, heavily drugged with a solution of chloral, stood where it had been placed, untouched, upon the table.

Even then the girl was not convinced. She would not believe in the ill success of her plans, and that the handsome woman she despised was as keen of wit as herself.

She darted to the wardrobe.

Leo’s jacket was gone!

To another part of the room.

The hat she wore was missing!

Then for a moment the girl stood as if dumbfounded, as the thoughts crushed down upon her that even if she started now, and could get away, she would be too late to catch the London mail. Worse still: Leo must have caught the last up-train at twelve, and long before she could reach the great city, would have joined Tom Candlish at the place he had named in the note Dally herself had borne; and, though she had planned so well, her chances of being Lady Candlish were for ever gone.