Part 6 (2/2)

His peculiar expression had aroused my curiosity at the station, and his next remark confirmed my suspicion.

”You see, he showed unmistakable symptoms of going mad----”

(I had heard that madmen invariably think every one around them is mad, and that they themselves are sane.)

”----so I felt it my duty to shoot him; it was all over in a moment.”

”Poor Jack!” I cried involuntarily.

”Yes,” he answered, ”but I should do just the same again if the occasion arose.”

And he looked at me fixedly.

I felt horribly frightened. Did he think I was mad? And I fell to wondering, when he put his hand in his pocket, whether he had the revolver there. We had reached our garden gate by this time, where, to my infinite relief, we were joined by Gerald, flushed and triumphant after winning his match.

After an agonised aside ”Don't ask about Jack,” I murmured an introduction, and we all walked up to the house together. In the hall I managed to tell Gerald of our dreadful position, and implored him to humour the madman as much as possible until we could form some plan for his capture.

”We'll give him dinner just as if nothing has happened, and after that I'll arrange something,” said Gerald hopefully; ”don't you worry.”

[Sidenote: A Knife Trick]

Never shall I forget that dinner! We were on tenterhooks the whole time, and it made me shudder to see how Mr. Marriott caressed the knives. I could scarcely prevent myself screaming when he held one up, and, feeling the blade carefully with his finger, said:

”I rather thought of doing this little trick to-night, if you would like it; it is very convincing and doesn't take long.”

I remembered his remark, ”it was all over in a moment,” and trembled; but Gerald tactfully drew his attention to something else, and dinner proceeded peaceably; but he had a horrible fondness for that knife, and, when dessert was put on the table, kept it in his hand, ”to show us the trick afterwards.”

I stayed in the dining-room when we had finished; I couldn't bear to leave Gerald, and he and I exchanged apprehensive glances when Mr.

Marriott refused to smoke, giving as his reason that he wanted a steady hand for his work later.

He worried ceaselessly about his bag (I began to think the revolver must be there), and when, at last, it came he almost ran into the hall to open it.

Then Gerald had a brilliant inspiration. Seizing the bag, he carried it up to his room, which was at the top of the house. Mr. Marriott eagerly followed, and when he was safely in we shut the door and bolted it securely on the outside.

”That was a good move, Gerald,” I cried, heaving a sigh of relief, ”we can keep him there till mother and father come home; they can't be very long now; perhaps he won't notice he's locked in for some time.”

But unfortunately he _did_ notice, for very soon we heard him rattling the door handle, and when no one came (for we had had to explain matters to the maids, whereat they had all rushed, panic-stricken, to the servants' hall), he started banging and shouting louder than ever.

It was an awful time for us; every minute I expected him to burst the door open and come tearing downstairs. Gerald wanted to go up and try to pacify him, but I told him I was too frightened to be left, which, I knew, was the only way of preventing him.

We walked down the garden to see if mother and father were in sight, and then----

”Awfully sorry we missed the train,” said a cheerful voice, and _Jack_, followed by another figure, came through the gate!

”You aren't dead then?” was all I could manage to gasp.

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