Part 75 (2/2)

It resisted him. He had not heard the key turned upon him, yet undeniably the door was locked. Fury entered into him. Doubtless this also was the work of his enemy. He seized the handle, twisted, dragged, wrenched, till it broke in his hand and he was powerless.

No one within the room paid any attention to him. No one came to open; and this fact served to inflame him further. For a few lurid moments Tawny Hudson saw red. He gathered his huge bull-frame together and flung the whole weight of it against the resisting wood. He was powerless to force the lock, as the door opened towards him, but this fact did not discourage him. It scarcely entered into his reckoning. He was nothing at the moment but a savage beast beyond all reasoning and beyond control.

The panels resisted his violent onslaught, but he was undaunted. With scarcely a pause he drew off and prepared for another. But at the very instant that he was about to hurl himself the second time, a voice spoke on the other side of the door.

”Tawny!”

Tawny stood as if transfixed, his eyes starting, b.e.s.t.i.a.l foam upon his lips.

”Tawny!” said the voice again--the voice of his enemy, curt and imperious. ”Go and find Mr. Bertie, and tell him he is wanted.”

Through the closed door the magic reached the frenzied man. He remained motionless for a few seconds, but the order was not repeated. At the end of the interval the magic had done its work. He turned and slunk away.

A minute later Bertie, very pale and stern, presented himself at the closed door.

”What is it, Nap?”

Contemptuously clear came the answer. ”Nothing here. Stay where you are, that's all, and keep that all-fired fool Hudson from spoiling his master's chances.”

Bertie turned to look at the man who had come up behind him, and in turning saw the door-handle at his feet.

He pointed to it. ”Your doing?”

Hudson shrank under the accusing blue eyes so like his master's. He began to whimper like a beaten dog.

Bertie picked up the k.n.o.b. ”Poor devil!” he muttered; and then aloud: ”You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Do you call this a man's game?”

Tawny cringed in abject misery. He was completely subdued. With the smallest encouragement he would have grovelled at Bertie's feet.

Bertie came away from the door and sat down. His own anxiety was almost insupportable, but he cloaked it with determined resolution. ”Sit down there!” he said, pointing to a distant chair. ”And don't move until I give you leave.”

Meekly the man obeyed him, sitting crouched, his head between his hands.

Bertie regarded him with a severity more a.s.sumed than actual. He had not the heart to send him away. He knew it would have been sheer cruelty.

A long time pa.s.sed. Neither of the two watchers stirred. Tawny Hudson did not even seem to breathe. He sat like a human image of despair.

Noon came and pa.s.sed. Somewhere in the distance church bells began to peal. Bertie started a little. He had forgotten it was Sunday. Dot would be just driving home from church. She would not come to Baronmead, he knew. It had been her original intention, but he had dissuaded her. He knew that she was very anxious, but he would not have her run the risk of a shock. If the operation failed, if Luke were to die, he would tell her himself. He knew that he could soften the blow as none other could.

It was nearly one when at last the closed door opened. Bertie was on his feet in an instant. Dr. Randal came quietly out, glanced round, stopped.

”It is over. We have taken him into the inner room, and he is recovering consciousness. No, don't go to him. His man mustn't go either. We want all these doors open, wide open, the windows too. But no one is to go near. He must have absolute quiet.”

He propped open the door as he spoke. His face was very grave.

”Remember,” he said, ”that the banging of this door or any sudden sound may mean the end.”

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