Part 14 (1/2)

”Yes,” said Waller: ”plenty of ivy here. Now you'd like to see the library?”

This was looked into, and then a slight search was made of what Waller called the schoolroom, and a little, old-fas.h.i.+oned boudoir.

”That's all here,” said the boy, ”except the servant's places.”

”What about the cellar, sir?” said the sergeant.

”Oh, we'll go into that through the outer hall,” and, Waller, leading the way, the searchers pa.s.sed through the various offices, and, on lights being provided and a big key being fetched from the squire's study table, the big, crypt-like, vaulted cellars were searched from end to end. Lastly, Waller led the way upstairs to the gallery, where the oaken polished floor echoed to the soldiers' heavy tread.

”Where does that staircase lead, sir?” said the sergeant, as his task drew near its end.

”Attics in the roof,” said Waller. ”Up you go.”

”Well, sir, I am getting rather tired of this job,” said the man, hesitating.

”Oh, but you have got it to do. Finish it off,” said Waller carelessly; and he made way for the soldiers to pa.s.s up, and stood below swinging himself to and fro, balancing himself toe and heel.

”Come on, my lads,” said the sergeant. ”Forward, and be smart. I am thinking that crust of bread and cheese must be ready by now.”

The men laughed good-humouredly, and the bare staircase creaked and groaned beneath their heavy tread, which directly afterwards made the upper pa.s.sage, with its sloping ceiling, which followed the shapes of the gables, echo.

That part of the search was quickly done, not so quickly that it did not give time to Waller to whistle the stave of the old Hamps.h.i.+re ditty three times over.

He had just got to the last bar for this third time when the b.u.t.t of the sergeant's musket was dropped with a heavy bang upon the floor overhead.

”Beg pardon, sir,” he shouted down to Waller. ”There's one of these 'ere doors locked!”

”Eh?” cried Waller, whose face now looked scarlet, and who stood for a moment or two holding his breath.

”One door here locked, sir. I ought to see into every room.”

”Oh, to be sure! That's my den,” cried the boy cavalierly--”my workshop. I am coming,” and springing up two steps at a time he faced the sergeant, who, with two men, was waiting by the locked door.

Waller thrust his hand into his pocket, and the sergeant looked at him sharply, for his breath, possibly from the exertion, came thick and fast, while the key seemed to stick in his pocket as if it had got across.

”There you are,” he said jauntily. ”It's full of my rubbish and odds and ends. Catch!”

He pitched the key, and the sergeant caught it with one hand as cleverly as if he had been a cricketer, turned, and began to insert it in the lock.

”Mind the snakes!” cried Waller mockingly; while, in spite of a strong effort, he felt half choked, and his voice sounded strained and hard.

”Snakes?” said the sergeant, pausing with the key half turned. ”Up here?”

”Yes,” said Waller; ”at least a dozen. I am a collector, you know.”

The sergeant gave him a searching look, hesitated a moment, and then, with a half-smile upon his lip, he turned the key. The bolt flew back with a sharp snap and he threw open the door.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

STILL SEARCHING.