I

    I owed it to my colleague Glossop that I was in the centre of thesurprising things that occurred that night. By sheer weight ofboredom, Glossop drove me from the house, so that it came aboutthat, at half past nine, the time at which the affair began, I waspatrolling the gravel in front of the porch.

　　It was the practice of the staff of Sanstead House School toassemble after dinner in Mr Abney's study for coffee. The room wascalled the study, but it was really more of a master's commonroom. Mr Abney had a smaller sanctum of his own, reservedexclusively for himself.

　　On this particular night he went there early, leaving me alonewith Glossop. It is one of the drawbacks of the desert-islandatmosphere of a private school that everybody is always meetingeverybody else. To avoid a man for long is impossible. I had beenavoiding Glossop as long as I could, for I knew that he wanted tocorner me with a view to a heart-to-heart talk on Life Insurance.

　　These amateur Life Insurance agents are a curious band. The worldis full of them. I have met them at country-houses, at seasidehotels, on ships, everywhere; and it has always amazed me thatthey should find the game worth the candle. What they add to theirincomes I do not know, but it cannot be very much, and the troublethey have to take is colossal. Nobody loves them, and they mustsee it; yet they persevere. Glossop, for instance, had been tryingto buttonhole me every time there was a five minutes' break in theday's work.

　　He had his chance now, and he did not mean to waste it. Mr Abneyhad scarcely left the room when he began to exude pamphlets andbooklets at every pocket.

　　I eyed him sourly, as he droned on about 'reactionable endowment','surrender-value', and 'interest accumulating on the tontinepolicy', and tried, as I did so, to analyse the loathing I feltfor him. I came to the conclusion that it was partly due to hispose of doing the whole thing from purely altruistic motives,entirely for my good, and partly because he forced me to face thefact that I was not always going to be young. In an abstractfashion I had already realized that I should in time cease to bethirty, but the way in which Glossop spoke of my sixty-fifthbirthday made me feel as if it was due tomorrow. He was a man witha manner suggestive of a funeral mute suffering from suppressedjaundice, and I had never before been so weighed down with a senseof the inevitability of decay and the remorseless passage of time.

　　I could feel my hair whitening.

　　A need for solitude became imperative; and, murmuring somethingabout thinking it over, I escaped from the room.

　　Except for my bedroom, whither he was quite capable of followingme, I had no refuge but the grounds. I unbolted the front door andwent out.

　　It was still freezing, and, though the stars shone, the trees grewso closely about the house that it was too dark for me to see morethan a few feet in front of me.

　　I began to stroll up and down. The night was wonderfully still. Icould hear somebody walking up the drive--one of the maids, Isupposed, returning from her evening out. I could even hear a birdrustling in the ivy on the walls of the stables.

　　I fell into a train of thought. I think my mind must still havebeen under Glossop's gloom-breeding spell, for I was filled with asense of the infinite pathos of Life. What was the good of it all?

　　Why was a man given chances of happiness without the sense torealize and use them? If Nature had made me so self-satisfied thatI had lost Audrey because of my self-satisfaction why had she notmade me so self-satisfied that I could lose her without a pang?

　　Audrey! It annoyed me that, whenever I was free for a moment fromactive work, my thoughts should keep turning to her. It frightenedme, too. Engaged to Cynthia, I had no right to have such thoughts.

　　Perhaps it was the mystery which hung about her that kept her inmy mind. I did not know where she was. I did not know how shefared. I did not know what sort of a man it was whom she hadpreferred to me. That, it struck me, was the crux of the matter.

　　She had vanished absolutely with another man whom I had never seenand whose very name I did not know. I had been beaten by an unseenfoe.

　　I was deep in a very slough of despond when suddenly things beganto happen. I might have known that Sanstead House would neverpermit solitary brooding on Life for long. It was a place ofincident, not of abstract speculation.

　　I had reached the end of my 'beat', and had stopped to relight mypipe, when drama broke loose with the swift unexpectedness whichwas characteristic of the place. The stillness of the night wassplit by a sound which I could have heard in a gale and recognizedamong a hundred conflicting noises. It was a scream, a shrill,piercing squeal that did not rise to a crescendo, but started atits maximum and held the note; a squeal which could only proceedfrom one throat: the deafening war-cry of the Little Nugget.

　　I had grown accustomed, since my arrival at Sanstead House, to acertain quickening of the pace of life, but tonight eventssucceeded one another with a rapidity which surprised me. A wholecinematograph-drama was enacted during the space of time it takesfor a wooden match to burn.

　　At the moment when the Little Nugget gave tongue, I had juststruck one, and I stood, startled into rigidity, holding it in theair as if I had decided to constitute myself a sort of limelightman to the performance.

　　It cannot have been more than a few seconds later before someperson unknown nearly destroyed me.

　　I was standing, holding my match and listening to the sounds ofconfusion indoors, when this person, rounding the angle of thehouse in a desperate hurry, emerged from the bushes and rammed mesquarely.

　　He was a short man, or he must have crouched as he ran, for hisshoulder--a hard, bony shoulder--was precisely the same distancefrom the ground as my solar plexus. In the brief impact whichensued between the two, the shoulder had the advantage of being inmotion, while the solar plexus was stationary, and there was noroom for any shadow of doubt as to which had the worst of it.

　　That the mysterious unknown was not unshaken by the encounter wasmade clear by a sharp yelp of surprise and pain. He staggered.

　　What happened to him after that was not a matter of interest tome. I gather that he escaped into the night. But I was toooccupied with my own affairs to follow his movements.

　　Of all cures for melancholy introspection a violent blow in thesolar plexus is the most immediate. If Mr Corbett had any abstractworries that day at Carson City, I fancy they ceased to occupy hismind from the moment when Mr Fitzsimmons administered that historicleft jab. In my case the cure was instantaneous. I can rememberreeling across the gravel and falling in a heap and trying tobreathe and knowing that I should never again be able to, andthen for some minutes all interest in the affairs of this worldleft me.

　　How long it was before my breath returned, hesitatingly, like sometimid Prodigal Son trying to muster up courage to enter the oldhome, I do not know; but it cannot have been many minutes, for thehouse was only just beginning to disgorge its occupants as I satup. Disconnected cries and questions filled the air. Dim formsmoved about in the darkness.

　　I had started to struggle to my feet, feeling very sick andboneless, when it was borne in upon me that the sensations of thisremarkable night were not yet over. As I reached a sittingposition, and paused before adventuring further, to allow a waveof nausea to pass, a hand was placed on my shoulder and a voicebehind me said, 'Don't move!'

II

    I was not in a condition to argue. Beyond a fleeting feeling thata liberty was being taken with me and that I was being treatedunjustly, I do not remember resenting the command. I had no notionwho the speaker might be, and no curiosity. Breathing just thenhad all the glamour of a difficult feat cleverly performed. Iconcentrated my whole attention upon it. I was pleased, andsurprised, to find myself getting on so well. I remember havingmuch the same sensation when I first learned to ride a bicycle--akind of dazed feeling that I seemed to be doing it, but Heavenalone knew how.

　　A minute or so later, when I had leisure to observe outsidematters, I perceived that among the other actors in the dramaconfusion still reigned. There was much scuttering about and muchmeaningless shouting. Mr Abney's reedy tenor voice was issuingdirections, each of which reached a dizzier height of futilitythan the last. Glossop was repeating over and over again thewords, 'Shall I telephone for the police?' to which nobodyappeared to pay the least attention. One or two boys were dartingabout like rabbits and squealing unintelligibly. A female voice--Ithink Mrs Attwell's--was saying, 'Can you see him?'

　　Up to this point, my match, long since extinguished, had been theonly illumination the affair had received; but now somebody, whoproved to be White, the butler, came from the direction of thestable-yard with a carriage-lamp. Every one seemed calmer andhappier for it. The boys stopped squealing, Mrs Attwell andGlossop subsided, and Mr Abney said 'Ah!' in a self-satisfiedvoice, as if he had directed this move and was congratulatinghimself on the success with which it had been carried out.

　　The whole strength of the company gathered round the light.

　　'Thank you, White,' said Mr Abney. 'Excellent. I fear thescoundrel has escaped.'

　　'I suspect so, sir.'

　　'This is a very remarkable occurrence, White.'

　　'Yes, sir.'

　　'The man was actually in Master Ford's bedroom.'

　　'Indeed, sir?'

　　A shrill voice spoke. I recognized it as that of AugustusBeckford, always to be counted upon to be in the centre of thingsgathering information.

　　'Sir, please, sir, what was up? Who was it, sir? Sir, was it aburglar, sir? Have you ever met a burglar, sir? My father took meto see Raffles in the holidays, sir. Do you think this chap waslike Raffles, sir? Sir--'

　　'It was undoubtedly--' Mr Abney was beginning, when the identityof the questioner dawned upon him, and for the first time herealized that the drive was full of boys actively engaged incatching their deaths of cold. His all-friends-here-let-us-discuss-this-interesting-episode-fully manner changed. He becamethe outraged schoolmaster. Never before had I heard him speak sosharply to boys, many of whom, though breaking rules, were stilltitled.

　　'What are you boys doing out of bed? Go back to bed instantly. Ishall punish you most severely. I--'

　　'Shall I telephone for the police?' asked Glossop. Disregarded.

　　'I will not have this conduct. You will catch cold. This isdisgraceful. Ten bad marks! I shall punish you most severely ifyou do not instantly--'

　　A calm voice interrupted him.

　　'Say!'

　　The Little Nugget strolled easily into the circle of light. He waswearing a dressing-gown, and in his hand was a smoulderingcigarette, from which he proceeded, before continuing his remarks,to blow a cloud of smoke.

　　'Say, I guess you're wrong. That wasn't any ordinary porch-climber.'

　　The spectacle of his _bete noire_ wreathed in smoke, comingon top of the emotions of the night, was almost too much for MrAbney. He gesticulated for a moment in impassioned silence, hisarms throwing grotesque shadows on the gravel.

　　'How _dare_ you smoke, boy! How _dare_ you smoke that cigarette!'

　　'It's the only one I've got,' responded the Little Nugget amiably.

　　'I have spoken to you--I have warned you--Ten bad marks!--I willnot have--Fifteen bad marks!'

　　The Little Nugget ignored the painful scene. He was smilingquietly.

　　'If you ask _me_,' he said, 'that guy was after something betterthan plated spoons. Yes, sir! If you want my opinion, it was BuckMacGinnis, or Chicago Ed., or one of those guys, and what he wastrailing was me. They're always at it. Buck had a try for me in thefall of '07, and Ed.--'

　　'Do you hear me? Will you return instantly--'

　　'If you don't believe me I can show you the piece there was aboutit in the papers. I've got a press-clipping album in my box.

　　Whenever there's a piece about me in the papers, I cut it out andpaste it into my album. If you'll come right along, I'll show youthe story about Buck now. It happened in Chicago, and he'd havegot away with me if it hadn't been--'

　　'Twenty bad marks!'

　　'Mr Abney!'

　　It was the person standing behind me who spoke. Till now he or shehad remained a silent spectator, waiting, I suppose, for a lull inthe conversation.

　　They jumped, all together, like a well-trained chorus.

　　'Who is that?' cried Mr Abney. I could tell by the sound of hisvoice that his nerves were on wires. 'Who was that who spoke?'

　　'Shall I telephone for the police?' asked Glossop. Ignored.

　　'I am Mrs Sheridan, Mr Abney. You were expecting me to-night.'

　　'Mrs Sheridan? Mrs Sher--I expected you in a cab. I expected youin--ah--in fact, a cab.'

　　'I walked.'

　　I had a curious sensation of having heard the voice before. Whenshe had told me not to move, she had spoken in a whisper--or, tome, in my dazed state, it had sounded like a whisper--but now shewas raising her voice, and there was a note in it that seemedfamiliar. It stirred some chord in my memory, and I waited to hearit again.

　　When it came it brought the same sensation, but nothing moredefinite. It left me groping for the clue.

　　'Here is one of the men, Mr Abney.'

　　There was a profound sensation. Boys who had ceased to squeal,squealed with fresh vigour. Glossop made his suggestion about thetelephone with a new ring of hope in his voice. Mrs Attwellshrieked. They made for us in a body, boys and all, White leadingwith the lantern. I was almost sorry for being compelled toprovide an anticlimax.

　　Augustus Beckford was the first to recognize me, and I expect hewas about to ask me if I liked sitting on the gravel on a frostynight, or what gravel was made of, when Mr Abney spoke.

　　'Mr Burns! What--dear me!--_what_ are you doing there?'

　　'Perhaps Mr Burns can give us some information as to where the manwent, sir,' suggested White.

　　'On everything except that,' I said, 'I'm a mine of information. Ihaven't the least idea where he went. All I know about him is thathe has a shoulder like the ram of a battleship, and that hecharged me with it.'

　　As I was speaking, I thought I heard a little gasp behind me. Iturned. I wanted to see this woman who stirred my memory with hervoice. But the rays of the lantern did not fall on her, and shewas a shapeless blur in the darkness. Somehow I felt that she waslooking intently at me.

　　I resumed my narrative.

　　'I was lighting my pipe when I heard a scream--' A chuckle camefrom the group behind the lantern.

　　'I screamed,' said the Little Nugget. 'You bet I screamed! Whatwould _you_ do if you woke up in the dark and found a strong-armedroughneck prising you out of bed as if you were a clam? He tried toget his hand over my mouth, but he only connected with my forehead,and I'd got going before he could switch. I guess I threw a scareinto that gink!'

　　He chuckled again, reminiscently, and drew at his cigarette.

　　'How dare you smoke! Throw away that cigarette!' cried Mr Abney,roused afresh by the red glow.

　　'Forget it!' advised the Little Nugget tersely.

　　'And then,' I said, 'somebody whizzed out from nowhere and hit me.

　　And after that I didn't seem to care much about him or anythingelse.' I spoke in the direction of my captor. She was stillstanding outside the circle of light. 'I expect you can tell uswhat happened, Mrs Sheridan?'

　　I did not think that her information was likely to be of anypractical use, but I wanted to make her speak again.

　　Her first words were enough. I wondered how I could ever have beenin doubt. I knew the voice now. It was one which I had not heardfor five years, but one which I could never forget if I lived forever.

　　'Somebody ran past me.' I hardly heard her. My heart was pounding,and a curious dizziness had come over me. I was grappling with theincredible. 'I think he went into the bushes.'

　　I heard Glossop speak, and gathered from Mr Abney's reply; that hehad made his suggestion about the telephone once more.

　　'I think that will be--ah--unnecessary, Mr Glossop. The man hasundoubtedly--ah--made good his escape. I think we had all betterreturn to the house.' He turned to the dim figure beside me. 'Ah,Mrs Sheridan, you must be tired after your journey and the--ah unusualexcitement. Mrs Attwell will show you where you--in fact, your room.'

　　In the general movement White must have raised the lamp or steppedforward, for the rays shifted. The figure beside me was no longerdim, but stood out sharp and clear in the yellow light.

　　I was aware of two large eyes looking into mine as, in the greyLondon morning two weeks before, they had looked from a fadedphotograph.