She was shepherding Ogden before her, a gorged but still sullen Ogden. He sighted Mr. Mennick and stopped.
“Hello!” he said. “What have you blown in for?”
“He was just in the middle of his lunch,” said the girl. “I thought you wouldn’t mind if I let him finish.”
“Say, what’s it all about, anyway?” demanded Ogden crossly. “Can’t a fellow have a bit of grub in peace? You give me a pain.”
Mr. Mennick explained.
“Your father wishes you to return to Eastnor, Ogden.”
“Oh, all right. I guess I’d better go, then. Goodbye, ma.”
Mrs. Ford choked.
“Kiss me, Ogden.”
Ogden submitted to the embrace in sulky silence. The others comported themselves each after his or her own fashion. Mr. Mennick fingered his chin uncomfortably. Cynthia turned to the table and picked up an illustrated paper. Mrs. Sheridan’s eyes filled with tears. She took a half-step towards Mrs. Ford, as if about to speak, then drew back.
“Come, Ogden,” said Mr. Mennick gruffly. Necessary, this Hired Assassin work, but painful—devilish painful. He breathed a sigh of relief as he passed into the corridor with his prize.
At the door Mrs. Sheridan hesitated, stopped, and turned.
“I’m sorry,” she said impulsively.
Mrs. Ford turned away without speaking, and went into the bedroom.
Cynthia laid down her paper.
“One moment, Mrs. Sheridan.”
The girl had turned to go. She stopped.
“Can you give me a minute? Come in and shut the door. Won’t you sit down? Very well. You seemed sorry for Mrs. Ford just now.”
“I am very sorry for Mrs. Ford. Very sorry. I hate to see her suffering. I wish Mr. Mennick had not brought me into this.”
“Nesta’s mad about that boy,” said Cynthia. “Heaven knows why. I never saw such a repulsive child in my life. However, there it is. I am sorry for you. I gathered from what Mr. Mennick said that you were to have a good deal of Ogden’s society for some time to come. How do you feel about it?”
Mrs. Sheridan moved towards the door.
“I must be going,” she said. “Mr. Mennick will be waiting for me.”
“One moment. Tell me, don’t you think, after what you saw just now, that Mrs. Ford is the proper person to have charge of Ogden? You see how devoted she is to him?”
“May I be quite frank with you?”
“Please.”
“Well, then, I think that Mrs. Ford’s influence is the worst possible for Ogden. I am sorry for her, but that does not alter my opinion. It is entirely owing to Mrs. Ford that Ogden is what he is. She spoiled him, indulged him in every way, never checked him—till he has become—well, what you yourself called him, repulsive.”
Cynthia laughed.
“Oh well,” she said, “I only talked that mother’s love stuff because you looked the sort of girl who would like it. We can drop all that now, and come down to business.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“You will. I don’t know if you think that I kidnapped Ogden from sheer affection for Mrs. Ford. I like Nesta, but not as much as that. No. I’m one of the Get-Rich-Quick-Wallingfords, and I’m looking out for myself all the time. There’s no one else to do it for me. I’ve a beastly home. My father’s dead. My mother’s a cat. So—”
“Please stop,” said Mrs. Sheridan. “I don’t know why you are telling me all this.”
“Yes, you do. I don’t know what salary Mr. Ford pays you, but I don’t suppose it’s anything princely. Why don’t you come over to us? Mrs. Ford would give you the earth if you smuggled Ogden back to her.”
“You seem to be trying to bribe me,” said Mrs. Sheridan.
“In this case,” said Cynthia, “appearances aren’t deceptive. I am.”
“Good afternoon.”
“Don’t be a little fool.”
The door slammed.
“Come back!” cried Cynthia. She took a step as if to follow, but gave up the idea with a laugh. She sat down and began to read her illustrated paper again. Presently the bedroom door opened. Mrs. Ford came in. She touched her eyes with a handkerchief as she entered. Cynthia looked up.
“I’m very sorry, Nesta,” she said.
Mrs. Ford went to the window and looked out.
“I’m not going to break down, if that’s what you mean,” she said. “I don’t care. And, anyhow, it shows that it can be done.”
Cynthia turned a page of her paper.
“I’ve just been trying my hand at bribery and corruption.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, I promised and vowed many things in your name to that secretary person, the female one—not Mennick—if she would help us. Nothing doing. I told her to let us have Ogden as soon as possible, C.O.D., and she withered me with a glance and went.”
Mrs. Ford shrugged her shoulders impatiently.
“Oh, let her go. I’m sick of amateurs.”
“Thank you, dear,” said Cynthia.
“Oh, I know you did your best. For an amateur you did wonderfully well. But amateurs never really succeed. There were a dozen little easy precautions which we neglected to take. What we want is a professional; a man whose business is kidnapping; the sort of man who kidnaps as a matter of course; someone like Smooth Sam Fisher.”
“My dear Nesta! Who? I don’t think I know the gentleman.”
“He tried to kidnap Ogden in 1906, when we were in New York. At least, the police put it down to him, though they could prove nothing. Then there was a horrible man, the police said he was called Buck MacGinnis. He tried in 1907. That was in Chicago.”
“Good gracious! Kidnapping Ogden seems to be as popular as football. And I thought I was a pioneer!”
Something approaching pride came into Mrs. Ford’s voice.
“I don’t suppose there’s a child in America,” she said, “who has had to be so carefully guarded. Why, the kidnappers had a special name for him—they called him ‘The Little Nugget.’ For years we never allowed him out of our sight without a detective to watch him.”
“Well, Mr. Ford seems to have changed all that now. I saw no detectives. I suppose he thinks they aren’t necessary in England. Or perhaps he
