Part 45 (2/2)

One heavy blow on the back of Victor Pradelle's head which sent him staggering forward against the door of the safe; then he felt in a confused, half-stunned way that something had been s.n.a.t.c.hed from his hand. A dead silence followed, during which his head swam, but he had sufficient sense left to totter across the outer office, and along the pa.s.sage to the garden yard.

How he got outside into the little lane he could not afterwards remember, his next recollection being of sitting down on the steps by the water-side bathing his face.

Five minutes before Harry Vine had been in that very spot, from which he turned to go home.

”Let him say what he likes,” muttered the young man, ”I must have been mad to listen to him. Why--”

Harry Vine stopped short, for a thought had struck him like a flash.

How it was--why he should have such a suspicion he could not tell; but a terrible thought had seemed to burn into his brain. Then he felt paralysed as he s.h.i.+vered, and uttering an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n full of rage and anger, he started off at a run toward Van Heldre's place.

”Nonsense!” he said to himself, and he checked his headlong speed.

”What folly!”

He walked on past a group of seamen, who had just quitted a public-house, and was about to turn up the lane which led to his home, when the thought came once more.

”Curse him!” he said, half aloud, ”I'd sooner kill him,” and hurrying back, he made straight for the lane behind Van Heldre's.

The gate yielded, he stepped down quickly into the yard, walked to the open door, looked to the right toward the hall, and then to the left toward the office. A dim light shone down the pa.s.sage, and his heart seemed to stand still. The office door was open, and without hesitation he turned down the pa.s.sage panting with horror, as he felt that his suspicions were confirmed. He crossed the outer room, the inner door was shut, and entering, he paused for a moment.

”Vic?” he whispered harshly.

All was still.

Trembling now with agitation, he was rapidly crossing to the safe when he stepped on something which gave beneath his feet, and he nearly fell headlong.

Recovering himself, he stooped down to pick up the heavy ebony ruler used by old Crampton, and polished by rubs of his coat-tail till it shone.

Harry felt giddy now with excitement, but he went to the safe door, felt that it was swung open, and groaning to himself, ”Too late, too late!”

he bent his head; felt for the drawer.

Empty!

”You scoundrel!” he groaned; ”but he shall give up every note, and--”

Once more he felt as if paralysed, for as he turned from the safe he knew that he was not alone in the office.

Caught in the act! Burglary--the open safe--the notes gone, who would believe in his innocence?

He could think of nothing else, as he heard Van Heldre's voice in the darkness--one fierce angry utterance--”Who's there?”

”He does not know me,” flashed through Harry Vine's brain.

”You villain!” cried Van Heldre, springing at him.

It was the instinctive act of one smitten by terror, despair, shame, and the desire to escape--a mad act, but prompted by the terrible position.

As Van Heldre sprang at him and grasped at his breast, Harry Vine struck with all his might, the heavy rule fell with a sickening crash upon the unguarded head, he felt a sudden tug, and with a groan his father's friend sank senseless on the floor.

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