I

    That Buck MacGinnis was not the man to let the grass grow underhis feet in a situation like the present one, I would havegathered from White's remarks if I had not already done so frompersonal observation. The world is divided into dreamers and menof action. From what little I had seen of him I placed BuckMacGinnis in the latter class. Every day I expected him to act,and was agreeably surprised as each twenty-four hours passed andleft me still unfixed. But I knew the hour would come, and it did.

　　I looked for frontal attack from Buck, not subtlety; but, when theattack came, it was so excessively frontal that my chief emotionwas a sort of paralysed amazement. It seemed incredible that suchpeculiarly Wild Western events could happen in peaceful England,even in so isolated a spot as Sanstead House.

　　It had been one of those interminable days which occur only atschools. A school, more than any other institution, is dependenton the weather. Every small boy rises from his bed of a morningcharged with a definite quantity of devilry; and this, if he is tosleep the sound sleep of health, he has got to work off somehowbefore bedtime. That is why the summer term is the one a masterlongs for, when the intervals between classes can be spent in theopen. There is no pleasanter sight for an assistant-master at aprivate school than that of a number of boys expending their venomharmlessly in the sunshine.

　　On this particular day, snow had begun to fall early in themorning, and, while his pupils would have been only too delightedto go out and roll in it by the hour, they were prevented fromdoing so by Mr Abney's strict orders. No schoolmaster enjoysseeing his pupils running risks of catching cold, and just then MrAbney was especially definite on the subject. The Saturnalia whichhad followed Mr MacGinnis' nocturnal visit to the school had hadthe effect of giving violent colds to three lords, a baronet, andthe younger son of an honourable. And, in addition to that, MrAbney himself, his penetrating tenor changed to a guttural croak,was in his bed looking on the world with watering eyes. His views,therefore, on playing in the snow as an occupation for boys werenaturally prejudiced.

　　The result was that Glossop and I had to try and keep order amonga mob of small boys, none of whom had had any chance of workingoff his superfluous energy. How Glossop fared I can only imagine.

　　Judging by the fact that I, who usually kept fair order withoutexcessive effort, was almost overwhelmed, I should fancy he faredbadly. His classroom was on the opposite side of the hall frommine, and at frequent intervals his voice would penetrate my door,raised to a frenzied fortissimo.

　　Little by little, however, we had won through the day, and theboys had subsided into comparative quiet over their eveningpreparation, when from outside the front door there sounded thepurring of the engine of a large automobile. The bell rang.

　　I did not, I remember, pay much attention to this at the moment. Isupposed that somebody from one of the big houses in theneighbourhood had called, or, taking the lateness of the hour intoconsideration, that a motoring party had come, as they didsometimes--Sanstead House standing some miles from anywhere in themiddle of an intricate system of by-roads--to inquire the way toPortsmouth or London. If my class had allowed me, I would haveignored the sound. But for them it supplied just that break in themonotony of things which they had needed. They welcomed itvociferously.

　　A voice: 'Sir, please, sir, there's a motor outside.'

　　Myself (austerely): T know there's a motor outside. Get on withyour work.'

　　Various voices: 'Sir, have you ever ridden in a motor?'

　　'Sir, my father let me help drive our motor last Easter, sir.'

　　'Sir, who do you think it is?'

　　An isolated genius (imitating the engine): 'Pr-prr! Pr-prr! Pr-prr!'

　　I was on the point of distributing bad marks (the schoolmaster'sstand-by) broadcast, when a curious sound checked me. It followeddirectly upon the opening of the front door. I heard White'sfootsteps crossing the hall, then the click of the latch, andthen--a sound that I could not define. The closed door of theclassroom deadened it, but for all that it was audible. Itresembled the thud of a falling body, but I knew it could not bethat, for in peaceful England butlers opening front doors did notfall with thuds.

　　My class, eager listeners, found fresh material in the sound forfriendly conversation.

　　'Sir, what was that, sir?'

　　'Did you hear that, sir?'

　　'What do you think's happened, sir?'

　　'Be quiet,' I shouted. 'Will you be--'

　　There was a quick footstep outside, the door flew open, and on thethreshold stood a short, sturdy man in a motoring coat and cap.

　　The upper part of his face was covered by a strip of white linen,with holes for the eyes, and there was a Browning pistol in hishand.

　　It is my belief that, if assistant-masters were allowed to wearwhite masks and carry automatic pistols, keeping order in a schoolwould become child's play. A silence such as no threat of badmarks had ever been able to produce fell instantaneously upon theclassroom. Out of the corner of my eye, as I turned to face ourvisitor, I could see small boys goggling rapturously at thismiraculous realization of all the dreams induced by juvenileadventure fiction. As far as I could ascertain, on subsequentinquiry, not one of them felt a tremor of fear. It was all tootremendously exciting for that. For their exclusive benefit anillustration from a weekly paper for boys had come to life, andthey had no time to waste in being frightened.

　　As for me, I was dazed. Motor bandits may terrorize France, anddesperadoes hold up trains in America, but this was peacefulEngland. The fact that Buck MacGinnis was at large in theneighbourhood did not make the thing any the less incredible. Ihad looked on my affair with Buck as a thing of the open air andthe darkness. I had figured him lying in wait in lonely roads,possibly, even, lurking about the grounds; but in my mostapprehensive moments I had not imagined him calling at the frontdoor and holding me up with a revolver in my own classroom.

　　And yet it was the simple, even the obvious, thing for him to do.

　　Given an automobile, success was certain. Sanstead House stoodabsolutely alone. There was not even a cottage within half a mile.

　　A train broken down in the middle of the Bad Lands was not morecut off.

　　Consider, too, the peculiar helplessness of a school in such acase. A school lives on the confidence of parents, a nebulousfoundation which the slightest breath can destroy. Everythingconnected with it must be done with exaggerated discretion. I donot suppose Mr MacGinnis had thought the thing out in all itsbearings, but he could not have made a sounder move if he had beena Napoleon. Where the owner of an ordinary country-house raided bymasked men can raise the countryside in pursuit, a schoolmastermust do precisely the opposite. From his point of view, the fewerpeople that know of the affair the better. Parents are a jumpyrace. A man may be the ideal schoolmaster, yet will a connectionwith melodrama damn him in the eyes of parents. They do notinquire. They are too panic-stricken for that. Golden-hairedWillie may be receiving the finest education conceivable, yet ifmen with Browning pistols are familiar objects at his shrine oflearning they will remove him. Fortunately for schoolmasters it isseldom that such visitors call upon them. Indeed, I imagine MrMacGinnis's effort to have been the first of its kind.

　　I do not, as I say, suppose that Buck, whose forte was actionrather than brain-work, had thought all this out. He had trustedto luck, and luck had stood by him. There would be no raising ofthe countryside in his case. On the contrary, I could see Mr Abneybecoming one of the busiest persons on record in his endeavour tohush the thing up and prevent it getting into the papers. The manwith the pistol spoke. He sighted me--I was standing with my backto the mantelpiece, parallel with the door--made a sharp turn, andraised his weapon.

　　'Put 'em up, sport,' he said.

　　It was not the voice of Buck MacGinnis. I put my hands up.

　　'Say, which of dese is de Nugget?'

　　He half turned his head to the class.

　　'Which of youse kids is Ogden Ford?'

　　The class was beyond speech. The silence continued.

　　'Ogden Ford is not here,' I said.

　　Our visitor had not that simple faith which is so much better thanNorman blood. He did not believe me. Without moving his head hegave a long whistle. Steps sounded outside. Another, short, sturdyform, entered the room.

　　'He ain't in de odder room,' observed the newcomer. 'I beenrubberin'!'

　　This was friend Buck beyond question. I could have recognized hisvoice anywhere!

　　'Well dis guy,' said the man with the pistol, indicating me, 'sayshe ain't here. What's de answer?'

　　'Why, it's Sam!' said Buck. 'Howdy, Sam? Pleased to see us, huh?

　　We're in on de ground floor, too, dis time, all right, all right.'

　　His words had a marked effect on his colleague.

　　'Is dat Sam? Hell! Let me blow de head off'n him!' he said, withsimple fervour; and, advancing a step nearer, he waved hisdisengaged fist truculently. In my role of Sam I had plainly mademyself very unpopular. I have never heard so much emotion packedinto a few words.

　　Buck, to my relief, opposed the motion. I thought this decent ofBuck.

　　'Cheese it,' he said curtly.

　　The other cheesed it. The operation took the form of lowering thefist. The pistol he kept in position.

　　Mr MacGinnis resumed the conduct of affairs.

　　'Now den, Sam,' he said, 'come across! Where's de Nugget?'

　　'My name is not Sam,' I said. 'May I put my hands down?'

　　'Yep, if you want the top of your damn head blown off.'

　　Such was not my desire. I kept them up.

　　'Now den, you Sam,' said Mr MacGinnis again, 'we ain't got time toburn. Out with it. Where's dat Nugget?'

　　Some reply was obviously required. It was useless to keepprotesting that I was not Sam.

　　'At this time in the evening he is generally working with MrGlossop.'

　　'Who's Glossop? Dat dough-faced dub in de room over dere?'

　　'Exactly. You have described him perfectly.'

　　'Well, he ain't dere. I bin rubberin.' Aw, quit yer foolin', Sam,where is he?'

　　'I couldn't tell you just where he is at the present moment,' Isaid precisely.

　　'Ahr chee! Let me swot him one!' begged the man with the pistol; amost unlovable person. I could never have made a friend of him.

　　'Cheese it, you!' said Mr MacGinnis.

　　The other cheesed it once more, regretfully.

　　'You got him hidden away somewheres, Sam,' said Mr MacGinnis. 'Youcan't fool me. I'm com' t'roo dis joint wit a fine-tooth comb tillI find him.'

　　'By all means,' I said. 'Don't let me stop you.'

　　'You? You're coming wit me.'

　　'If you wish it. I shall be delighted.'

　　'An' cut out dat dam' sissy way of talking, you rummy,' bellowedBuck, with a sudden lapse into ferocity. 'Spiel like a regularguy! Standin' dere, pullin' dat dude stuff on me! Cut it out!'

　　'Say, why _mayn't_ I hand him one?' demanded the pistol-bearerpathetically. 'What's your kick against pushin' his face in?'

　　I thought the question in poor taste. Buck ignored it.

　　'Gimme dat canister,' he said, taking the Browning pistol fromhim. 'Now den, Sam, are youse goin' to be good, and come across,or ain't you--which?'

　　'I'd be delighted to do anything you wished, Mr MacGinnis,' Isaid, 'but--'

　　'Aw, hire a hall!' said Buck disgustedly. 'Step lively, den, an'

　　we'll go t'roo de joint. I t'ought youse 'ud have had more sense,Sam, dan to play dis fool game when you know you're beat. You--'

　　Shooting pains in my shoulders caused me to interrupt him.

　　'One moment,' I said. 'I'm going to put my hands down. I'm gettingcramp.'

　　'I'll blow a hole in you if you do!'

　　'Just as you please. But I'm not armed.'

　　'Lefty,' he said to the other man, 'feel around to see if he'scarryin' anyt'ing.'

　　Lefty advanced and began to tap me scientifically in theneighbourhood of my pockets. He grunted morosely the while. Isuppose, at this close range, the temptation to 'hand me one' wasalmost more than he could bear.

　　'He ain't got no gun,' he announced gloomily.

　　'Den youse can put 'em down,' said Mr MacGinnis.

　　'Thanks,' I said.

　　'Lefty, youse stay here and look after dese kids. Get a move on,Sam.'

　　We left the room, a little procession of two, myself leading, Buckin my immediate rear administering occasional cautionary prodswith the faithful 'canister'.

II

    The first thing that met my eyes as we entered the hall was thebody of a man lying by the front door. The light of the lamp fellon his face and I saw that it was White. His hands and feet weretied. As I looked at him, he moved, as if straining against hisbonds, and I was conscious of a feeling of relief. That sound thathad reached me in the classroom, that thud of a falling body, hadbecome, in the light of what had happened later, very sinister. Itwas good to know that he was still alive. I gathered--correctly,as I discovered subsequently--that in his case the sand-bag hadbeen utilized. He had been struck down and stunned the instant heopened the door.

　　There was a masked man leaning against the wall by Glossop'sclassroom. He was short and sturdy. The Buck MacGinnis gang seemedto have been turned out on a pattern. Externally, they might allhave been twins. This man, to give him a semblance of individuality,had a ragged red moustache. He was smoking a cigar with the air ofthe warrior taking his rest.

　　'Hello!' he said, as we appeared. He jerked a thumb towards theclassroom. 'I've locked dem in. What's doin', Buck?' he asked,indicating me with a languid nod.

　　'We're going t'roo de joint,' explained Mr MacGinnis. 'De kidain't in dere. Hump yourself, Sam!'

　　His colleague's languor disappeared with magic swiftness.

　　'Sam! Is dat Sam? Here, let me beat de block off'n him!'

　　Few points in this episode struck me as more remarkable than thesimilarity of taste which prevailed, as concerned myself, amongthe members of Mr MacGinnis's gang. Men, doubtless of varyingopinions on other subjects, on this one point they were unanimous.

　　They all wanted to assault me.

　　Buck, however, had other uses for me. For the present, I wasnecessary as a guide, and my value as such would be impaired werethe block to be beaten off me. Though feeling no friendliertowards me than did his assistants, he declined to allow sentimentto interfere with business. He concentrated his attention on theupward journey with all the earnestness of the young gentleman whocarried the banner with the strange device in the poem.

　　Briefly requesting his ally to cheese it--which he did--he urgedme on with the nozzle of the pistol. The red-moustached man sankback against the wall again with an air of dejection, sucking hiscigar now like one who has had disappointments in life, while wepassed on up the stairs and began to draw the rooms on the firstfloor.

　　These consisted of Mr Abney's study and two dormitories. The studywas empty, and the only occupants of the dormitories were thethree boys who had been stricken down with colds on the occasionof Mr MacGinnis's last visit. They squeaked with surprise at thesight of the assistant-master in such questionable company.

　　Buck eyed them disappointedly. I waited with something of thefeelings of a drummer taking a buyer round the sample room.

　　'Get on,' said Buck.

　　'Won't one of those do?'

　　'Hump yourself, Sam.'

　　'Call me Sammy,' I urged. 'We're old friends now.'

　　'Don't get fresh,' he said austerely. And we moved on.

　　The top floor was even more deserted than the first. There was noone in the dormitories. The only other room was Mr Abney's; and,as we came opposite it, a sneeze from within told of thesufferings of its occupant.

　　The sound stirred Buck to his depths. He 'pointed' at the doorlike a smell-dog.

　　'Who's in dere?' he demanded.

　　'Only Mr Abney. Better not disturb him. He has a bad cold.'

　　He placed a wrong construction on my solicitude for my employer.

　　His manner became excited.

　　'Open dat door, you,' he cried.

　　'It'll give him a nasty shock.'

　　'G'wan! Open it!'

　　No one who is digging a Browning pistol into the small of my backwill ever find me disobliging. I opened the door--knocking first,as a mild concession to the conventions--and the procession passedin.

　　My stricken employer was lying on his back, staring at theceiling, and our entrance did not at first cause him to changethis position.

　　'Yes?' he said thickly, and disappeared beneath a hugepocket-handkerchief. Muffled sounds, as of distant explosions ofdynamite, together with earthquake shudderings of the bedclothes,told of another sneezing-fit.

　　'I'm sorry to disturb you,' I began, when Buck, ever the man ofaction, with a scorn of palaver, strode past me, and, havingprodded with the pistol that part of the bedclothes beneath whicha rough calculation suggested that Mr Abney's lower ribs wereconcealed, uttered the one word, 'Sa-a-ay!'

　　Mr Abney sat up like a Jack-in-the-box. One might almost say thathe shot up. And then he saw Buck.

　　I cannot even faintly imagine what were Mr Abney's emotions atthat moment. He was a man who, from boyhood up, had led a quietand regular life. Things like Buck had appeared to him hitherto,if they appeared at all, only in dreams after injudicious suppers.

　　Even in the ordinary costume of the Bowery gentleman, without suchadventitious extras as masks and pistols, Buck was no beauty. Withthat hideous strip of dingy white linen on his face, he was awalking nightmare.

　　Mr Abney's eyebrows had risen and his jaw had fallen to theiruttermost limits. His hair, disturbed by contact with the pillow,gave the impression of standing on end. His eyes seemed to bulgelike a snail's. He stared at Buck, fascinated.

　　'Say, you, quit rubberin'. Youse ain't in a dime museum. Where'sdat Ford kid, huh?'

　　I have set down all Mr MacGinnis's remarks as if they had beenuttered in a bell-like voice with a clear and crisp enunciation;but, in doing so, I have flattered him. In reality, his mode ofspeech suggested that he had something large and unwieldypermanently stuck in his mouth; and it was not easy for a strangerto follow him. Mr Abney signally failed to do so. He continued togape helplessly till the tension was broken by a sneeze.

　　One cannot interrogate a sneezing man with any satisfaction tooneself. Buck stood by the bedside in moody silence, waiting forthe paroxysm to spend itself.

　　I, meanwhile, had remained where I stood, close to the door. And,as I waited for Mr Abney to finish sneezing, for the first timesince Buck's colleague Lefty had entered the classroom the idea ofaction occurred to me. Until this moment, I suppose, thestrangeness and unexpectedness of these happenings had numbed mybrain. To precede Buck meekly upstairs and to wait with equalmeekness while he interviewed Mr Abney had seemed the only courseopen to me. To one whose life has lain apart from such things, thehypnotic influence of a Browning pistol is irresistible.

　　But now, freed temporarily from this influence, I began to think;and, my mind making up for its previous inaction by working withunwonted swiftness, I formed a plan of action at once.

　　It was simple, but I had an idea that it would be effective. Mystrength lay in my acquaintance with the geography of SansteadHouse and Buck's ignorance of it. Let me but get an adequatestart, and he might find pursuit vain. It was this start which Isaw my way to achieving.

　　To Buck it had not yet occurred that it was a tactical error toleave me between the door and himself. I supposed he relied tooimplicitly on the mesmeric pistol. He was not even looking at me.

　　The next moment my fingers were on the switch of the electriclight, and the room was in darkness.

　　There was a chair by the door. I seized it and swung it into thespace between us. Then, springing back, I banged the door and ran.

　　I did not run without a goal in view. My objective was the study.

　　This, as I have explained, was on the first floor. Its windowlooked out on to a strip of lawn at the side of the house endingin a shrubbery. The drop would not be pleasant, but I seemed toremember a waterspout that ran up the wall close to the window,and, in any case, I was not in a position to be deterred by theprospect of a bruise or two. I had not failed to realize that myposition was one of extreme peril. When Buck, concluding the tourof the house, found that the Little Nugget was not there--as I hadreason to know that he would--there was no room for doubt that hewould withdraw the protection which he had extended to me up tothe present in my capacity of guide. On me the disappointed furyof the raiders would fall. No prudent consideration for their ownsafety would restrain them. If ever the future was revealed toman, I saw mine. My only chance was to get out into the grounds,where the darkness would make pursuit an impossibility.

　　It was an affair which must be settled one way or the other in afew seconds, and I calculated that it would take Buck just thosefew seconds to win his way past the chair and find the door-handle.

　　I was right. Just as I reached the study, the door of the bedroomflew open, and the house rang with shouts and the noise of feet onthe uncarpeted landing. From the hall below came answering shouts,but with an interrogatory note in them. The assistants werewilling, but puzzled. They did not like to leave their postswithout specific instructions, and Buck, shouting as he clatteredover the bare boards, was unintelligible.

　　I was in the study, the door locked behind me, before they couldarrive at an understanding. I sprang to the window.

　　The handle rattled. Voices shouted. A panel splintered beneath akick, and the door shook on its hinges.

　　And then, for the first time, I think, in my life, panic grippedme, the sheer, blind fear which destroys the reason. It swept overme in a wave, that numbing terror which comes to one in dreams.

　　Indeed, the thing had become dream-like. I seemed to be standingoutside myself, looking on at myself, watching myself heave andstrain with bruised fingers at a window that would not open.

III

The arm-chair critic, reviewing a situation calmly and at hisease, is apt to make too small allowances for the effect of hurryand excitement on the human mind. He is cool and detached. He seesexactly what ought to have been done, and by what simple mean............