Once more I called up the house on the telephone. There was a long delay before a reply came. It was Mr. Fisher’s voice that spoke. Audrey, apparently, had not returned to the house immediately after leaving me.
“Hullo!” said Sam.
“Good evening, Mr. Fisher.”
“Gee! Is that you, young fellow-me-lad? Are you speaking from London?”
“No. I am at the Feathers.”
He chuckled richly.
“Can’t tear yourself away? Hat still in the ring? Say, what’s the use? Why not turn it up, sonny? You’re only wasting your time.”
“Do you sleep lightly, Mr. Fisher?”
“I don’t get you.”
“You had better do so tonight. Buck MacGinnis is back again.”
There was silence at the other end of the wire. Then I heard him swear softly. The significance of the information had not been lost on Mr. Fisher.
“Is that straight?”
“It is.”
“You’re not stringing me?”
“Certainly not.”
“You’re sure it was Buck?”
“Is Buck’s the sort of face one forgets?”
He swore again.
“You seem disturbed,” I said.
“Where did you see him?” asked Sam.
“Coming out of the Feathers, looking very fierce and determined. The Berserk blood of the MacGinnises is up. He’s going to do or die. I’m afraid this means an all-night sitting for you, Mr. Fisher.”
“I thought you had put him out of business!”
There was a somewhat querulous note in his voice.
“Only temporarily. I did my best, but he wasn’t even limping when I saw him.”
He did not speak for a moment. I gathered that he was pondering over the new development.
“Thanks for tipping me off, sonny. It’s a thing worth knowing. Why did you do it?”
“Because I love you, Samuel. Good night.”
I rose late and breakfasted at my leisure. The peace of the English country inn enveloped me as I tilted back my chair and smoked the first pipe of the morning. It was a day to hearten a man for great deeds, one of those days of premature summer which comes sometimes to help us bear the chill winds of early spring. The sun streamed in through the open window. In the yard below fowls made their soothing music. The thought of violence seemed very alien to such a morning.
I strolled out into the Square. I was in no hurry to end this interlude of peace and embark on what, for all practical purposes, would be a siege.
After lunch, I decided, would be time enough to begin active campaigning.
The clock on the church tower was striking two as I set forth, carrying my suitcase, on my way to the school. The lightheartedness of the morning still lingered with me. I was amused at the thought of the surprise I was about to give Mr. Fisher. That wink still rankled.
As I made my way through the grounds I saw Audrey in the distance, walking with the Nugget. I avoided them and went on into the house.
About the house there was the same air of enchanted quiet which pervaded the grounds. Perhaps the stillness indoors was even more insistent. I had grown so accustomed to the never-ending noise and bustle of the boys’ quarters that, as I crossed the silent hall, I had an almost guilty sense of intrusion. I felt like a burglar.
Sam, the object of my visit, would, I imagined, if he were in the house at all, be in the housekeeper’s room, a cosy little apartment off the passage leading to the kitchen. I decided to draw that first, and was rewarded, on pushing open the half-closed door, by the sight of a pair of black-trousered legs stretched out before me from the depths of a wickerwork armchair. His portly middle section, rising beyond like a small hill, heaved rhythmically. His face was covered with a silk handkerchief, from beneath which came, in even succession, faint and comfortable snores. It was a peaceful picture—the good man taking his rest; and for me it had an added attractiveness in that it suggested that Sam was doing by day what my information had prevented him from doing in the night. It had been some small consolation to me, as I lay trying to compose my anxious mind for sleep on the previous night, that Mr. Fisher also was keeping his vigil.
Pleasing as Sam was as a study in still life, pressure of business compelled me to stir him into activity. I prodded him gently in the centre of the rising territory beyond the black trousers. He grunted discontentedly and sat up. The handkerchief fell from his face, and he blinked at me, first with the dazed glassiness of the newly awakened, then with a “Soul’s Awakening” expression, which spread over his face until it melted into a friendly smile.
“Hello, young man!”
“Good afternoon. You seem tired.”
He yawned cavernously.
“Lord! What a night!”
“Did Buck drop in?”
“No, but I thought he had every time I heard a board creak. I didn’t dare close my eyes for a minute. Have you ever stayed awake all night, waiting for the goblins that get you if you don’t watch out? Well, take it from me it’s no picnic.”
His face split in another mammoth yawn. He threw his heart into it, as if life held no other tasks for him. Only in alligators have I ever seen its equal.
I waited till the seismic upheaval had spent itself. Then I came to business.
“I’m sorry you had a disturbed night, Mr. Fisher. You must make up for it this afternoon. You will find the beds very comfortable.”
“How’s that?”
“At the Feathers. I should go there, if I were you. The charges are quite reasonable, and the food is good. You will like the Feathers.”
“I don’t get you, sonny.”
“I was trying to break it gently to you that you are about to move from this house. Now. At once. Take your last glimpse of the old home, Sam, and out into the hard world.”
He looked at me inquiringly.
“You seem to be talking, young man; words appear to be fluttering from you;
