“One of these days, Mr. Ford,” I said, “I am going to publish a directory of the names and addresses of the people who have mistaken me for Smooth Sam Fisher. I am not Sam Fisher. Can you grasp that? My name is Peter Burns, and for the past term I have been a master at this school. And I may say that, judging from what I know of the little brute, anyone who kidnapped your son as long as two days ago will be so anxious by now to get rid of him that he will probably want to pay you for taking him back.”
My words almost had the effect of bringing this divorced couple together again. They made common cause against me. It was probably the first time in years that they had formed even a temporary alliance.
“How dare you talk like that!” said Mrs. Ford. “Oggie is a sweet boy in every respect.”
“You’re perfectly right, Nesta,” said Mr. Ford. “He may want intelligent handling, but he’s a mighty fine boy. I shall make inquiries, and if this man has been ill-treating Ogden, I shall complain to Mr. Abney. Where the devil is this man Fisher?” he broke off abruptly.
“On the spot,” said an affable voice. The bushes behind me parted, and Smooth Sam stepped out on to the gravel.
I had recognized him by his voice. I certainly should not have done so by his appearance. He had taken the precaution of “making up” for this important meeting. A white wig of indescribable respectability peeped out beneath his black hat. His eyes twinkled from under two penthouses of white eyebrows. A white moustache covered his mouth. He was venerable to a degree.
He nodded to me, and bared his white head gallantly to Mrs. Ford.
“No worse for our little outing, Mr. Burns, I am glad to see. Mrs. Ford, I must apologize for my apparent unpunctuality, but I was not really behind time. I have been waiting in the bushes. I thought it just possible that you might have brought unwelcome members of the police force with you, and I have been scouting, as it were, before making my advance. I see, however, that all is well, and we can come at once to business. May I say, before we begin, that I overheard your recent conversation, and that I entirely disagree with Mr. Burns. Master Ford is a charming boy. Already I feel like an elder brother to him. I am loath to part with him.”
“How much?” snapped Mr. Ford. “You’ve got me. How much do you want?”
“I’ll give you double what he offers,” cried Mrs. Ford.
Sam held up his hand, his old pontifical manner intensified by the white wig.
“May I speak? Thank you. This is a little embarrassing. When I asked you both to meet me here, it was not for the purpose of holding an auction. I had a straightforward business proposition to make to you. It will necessitate a certain amount of plain and somewhat personal speaking. May I proceed? Thank you. I will be as brief as possible.”
His eloquence appeared to have had a soothing effect on the two Fords. They remained silent.
“You must understand,” said Sam, “that I am speaking as an expert. I have been in the kidnapping business many years, and I know what I am talking about. And I tell you that the moment you two got your divorce, you said goodbye to all peace and quiet. Bless you”—Sam’s manner became fatherly—“I’ve seen it a hundred times. Couple get divorced, and, if there’s a child, what happens? They start in playing battledore-and-shuttlecock with him. Wife sneaks him from husband. Husband sneaks him back from wife. After a while along comes a gentleman in my line of business, a professional at the game, and he puts one across on both the amateurs. He takes advantage of the confusion, slips in, and gets away with the kid. That’s what has happened here, and I’m going to show you the way to stop it another time. Now I’ll make you a proposition. What you want to do”—I have never heard anything so soothing, so suggestive of the old family friend healing an unfortunate breach, as Sam’s voice at this juncture—“what you want to do is to get together again right quick. Never mind the past. Let bygones be bygones. Kiss and be friends.”
A snort from Mr. Ford checked him for a moment, but he resumed.
“I guess there were faults on both sides. Get together and talk it over. And when you’ve agreed to call the fight off and start fair again, that’s where I come in. Mr. Burns here will tell you, if you ask him, that I’m anxious to quit this business and marry and settle down. Well, see here. What you want to do is to give me a salary—we can talk figures later on—to stay by you and watch over the kid. Don’t snort—I’m talking plain sense. You’d a sight better have me with you than against you. Set a thief to catch a thief. What I don’t know about the fine points of the game isn’t worth knowing. I’ll guarantee, if you put me in charge, to see that nobody comes within a hundred miles of the kid unless he has an order-to-view. You’ll find I earn every penny of that salary … Mr. Burns and I will now take a turn up the drive while you think it over.”
He linked his arm in mine and drew me away. As we turned the corner of the drive I caught a glimpse over my shoulder of the Little Nugget’s parents. They were standing where we had left them, as if Sam’s eloquence had rooted them to the spot.
“Well, well, well, young man,” said Sam, eyeing me affectionately, “it’s pleasant to meet you again, under happier conditions than last time. You certainly have all the luck, sonny,
