Part 38 (1/2)

Mrs Mellish, in her nightgown, came running into the room.

”Oh, Auntie! Are you ill? Are you on fire?” she cried.

The stout lady, strengthless and breathless, was lying in a chair, the jewel-case clasped laxly with one arm.

”A robber has been here,” she gasped. ”A robber, with black on his face, and a chloroformed handkerchief.”

”Oh, Auntie! Auntie! Never!”

”Where is your husband? Is he in your room?”

No. For Augustus, ever a restless sleeper, had thought he heard something stirring in the room beneath, and, later, a footstep on the stair. He had risen, therefore, had taken the pistol, which always lay loaded by his side, and gone down to investigate.

Auntie opened her mouth to speak, but closed it without a sound; her eyes, with their most vacant stare, were turned upon her niece; she gathered her underlip loosely beneath her teeth.

It was not until the servants, also aroused by the bell, but having waited to dress, came to Auntie's room, that Mrs Mellish was at liberty to run down to seek her husband.

There was no doubt about the house having been entered, she said, on her return; Auntie had by no means _dreamt_ the burglar.

(”No!” interpolated Auntie, with a solemnly emphatic shake of the head.)

A window broken in the kitchen, and a wide-open sash had showed the exploring Gussie the means of ingress. In the dining-room it was evident that a couple of gla.s.ses of brandy had been drunk, but none of the silver on the sideboard had been touched. Too clearly, Auntie and her possessions had been the objects of the attempt.

Auntie nodded gloomy affirmation, trembling and gasping in her chair.

Where was Gussie, she asked; and showed relief and satisfaction when told he had gone to give notice of the affair to the police. But not even the promise that the servants and Grace would sit beside her and watch her while she slept would induce the poor lady to go to bed again.

”Not in this house. Never again in this house,” she protested.

And even when morning brought a cessation of panic and a certain sense of security to all, she could not be persuaded to change her mind.

”I should die if I ever trusted myself to fall asleep under this roof again,” she said. ”Let me get away from it as soon as possible. I am fifty years of age, but I've never had a bad shock before in my life. I won't risk a second.”

The swarthy, fat, foolish face was pale and flabby and aged from the night's adventure and the sleepless hours following.

”Auntie, I am sure you are not well enough to travel,” Grace said. But, with a grim determination, Auntie persisted.

”The first train. I should like to get away by the very first.”

”It isn't our fault, remember,” Grace said, firing up. ”It isn't as if we _arranged_ a burglary for you, Auntie.”

There was a train at 10.15 a.m., and of this Auntie would avail herself.

No policeman came to the house. Augustus did not return.

”He and the detectives have got on a track, and are following it up,”

his wife said. ”Trust Gussie!”

When the ladies were about to sit down to breakfast, and still the master of the house had not returned, Grace was a little surprised. The neighbour who had played bridge with them came in. He had heard of the burglary, and was come to offer a.s.sistance, he said. He picked up a couple of newspapers lying by Mr Mellish's empty plate.

”You let those alone! Gussie hasn't seen them yet,” Gussie's wife said.