Part 27 (2/2)
He rang his bell, and Walker, who had felt quite out of it for the half- hour, appeared with great prompt.i.tude.
”Walker, are any of the men about still?”
”Appleby is holding this man's horse at the hall door, sir.”
”Send Appleby here, and take the horse and cart round to the farm.”
Poor Walker! This was a sad cut. The farm was half a mile away, across the park; and this order meant that for another hour at least he must be an outsider in the drama.
”Appleby,” said Mr Rimbolt, when that jaunty youth appeared, ”take Benbow, and ride as quickly as you can, to the police-office at Overstone. Tell the inspector with my compliments, to meet me with three constables at Rodnet Bridge at six o'clock, that is, in three hours. Come back as quickly as you can, and have the dog-cart at the door at five.”
”Now,” said he to Jeffreys, when these various matters of business had been put in train, ”we may as well occupy our time by getting something to eat, supper and breakfast in one--I dare say you are hungry.”
As Jeffreys had scarcely eaten anything for three days--in fact, since his visit to Grangerham--he could honestly admit being ready for a meal.
”I'm afraid we must forage for ourselves, unless some one is about,”
said Mr Rimbolt, leading the way to the pantry.
It was a curious spectacle that of the millionaire and the tramp together investigating the contents of the pantry shelves and lockers, lifting up dish-covers here, and critically testing the consistency of pie-crusts there. They made a fairly good selection of the good things which came nearest to hand, and retiring with them to the adjacent kitchen, accomplished a meal more luxurious to Jeffreys' mind than any he had tasted since he left Bolsover.
This done, to his great satisfaction they adjourned once more to the library, where, while Mr Rimbolt took a brief nap, he regaled himself with the luxury of a prowl among the bookshelves, by the light of the dawning day. So absorbed was he in this occupation that he did not hear the sound of the dog-cart at the front door, or heed Mr Rimbolt's first summons to start.
”You're fond of books, surely,” said that gentleman, as the two got up into the trap and drove off, with Appleby perched behind.
”I love them,” said Jeffreys, in the same tone of sincerity which had attracted the York bookseller.
”You're a reader, then?”
”I would be if I had the chance,” said Jeffreys.
”You are thinking of my library,” said Mr Rimbolt; ”but it doesn't follow, you know, that having a house full of books makes a reader. A man may often get more good out of one tattered volume than out of an entire Russia-bound library.”
”I can quite believe that,” said Jeffreys.
”Probably you know what a favourite book is?” said Mr Rimbolt rather curiously.
Jeffreys replied by producing his well-worn copy of Homer, and it would be hard to say which of these two foolish persons evinced the most enthusiasm in discovering that they both alike had a friend in the old Greek bard. At any rate the discovery levelled at once the social differences which divided them; and in the discussion which ensued, I blush to say they forgot, for the time being, all about Percy, and the shed on the mountain-side, and the three gentlemen there to whom the genial Julius was doing the honours.
The appearance of the inspector and three constables at Rodnet Bridge brought the two unpractical excursionists on Mount Olympus abruptly back to level ground. The business was soon explained. The police, of course, knew all about the ”parties”--when do they not? They had been following them up for days, had had their suspicions of that mountain shed for weeks, and so on. They couldn't exactly say they had known all about the attempt to kidnap last night; but they knew all about it now, for Appleby had let it out, and the ”active and intelligent” in consequence had nothing to learn. Half an hour brought them to the mountain-side. Mr Rimbolt and Jeffreys dismounted, leaving Appleby in charge of the trap, while they, followed in single file by the police, ascended the narrow track towards the shed. Half-way up, Jeffreys whistled; and a joyous bark from Julius a.s.sured the party that their game was safe.
”You'd better let me go first,” said Jeffreys to the inspector, who showed some anxiety to be foremost in the capture, ”unless you want my dog to fly at you.”
The official fell back promptly, his native modesty getting the better of his zeal; and the party halted twenty yards from the shed while Jeffreys advanced to reconnoitre. He saw at a glance that things were not exactly as he had left them. Two out of the three prisoners remained securely bound, but the unlucky Corporal had slipped his feet from the cords, and paid dearly for his folly. Julius had him down on the ground, daring him to move a limb or even turn his head on pain of unheard-of laceration. The wretched fellow had cursed a thousand times his own artfulness. For three hours he had lain thus, not daring to stir a muscle; and if ever a night's experiences are enough to turn the hair grey, Corporal should not have a single black lock left that morning.
”Come off, Julius, and let them alone,” said Jeffreys.
Julius obeyed somewhat reluctantly, though the pleasant task of welcoming his master's return reconciled him somewhat to the abandonment of his sovereignty. Jeffreys beckoned to the party to advance.
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