They followed him into the old woman’s room. She stood glaring at them suspiciously with her little bright eyes.
“Where are you going?” she demanded. “I don’t know as ’ow I ought to let ye go.”
“Aren’t you coming with us?” said Meggie quickly. “Surely you want to get away from those dreadful men at once? You’ll be much safer with us.”
“What? And miss seeing my son beat ’em up?” said Mrs. Meade contemptuously. “Not me, miss. Besides,” she added sharply, “I don’t know as I’m not safer with the German gentleman than I am with a natural.” She pointed to Campion suggestively. “Lizzie Tiddy’s not the only half-wit in this house. Chimney-climbing—!” Her remark reminded them, as they turned to where an old stone fireplace, wide and primitive, stood on one side of the small room. It seemed at first utterly impracticable as a means of exit, but Campion led them over to it with a certain pride.
“Look,” he said. “It’s so simple when you think of it. The same chimney serves for both this room and the room behind it, which is no other, ladies and gentlemen, than the one which Mr. Campion performed his now famous disappearing trick in. Admission fourpence. Roll up in your hundreds. In fact,” he went on more seriously, “virtually speaking, both rooms have the same fireplace separated only by this little wall arrangement—quite low, you see—to divide the two grates, and topped by a thin sheet of iron to separate the flames.”
He paused, and surveyed them owlishly through his horn-rimmed spectacles. “I discovered, all by myself and with no grown-up aid, that this natty device was removable. I lifted it out, and stepped deftly into the presence of this lady on my right, whose opening remark rather cooled my ardour.”
“I said ‘The wicked shall be cast into hell,’ ” put in Mrs. Meade, “and so they shall. Into a burning fiery furnace, same as if that grate there was piled up with logs and you atop of them.”
This remark was addressed to Abbershaw, but she turned with tremendous agility upon Campion. “And the fools,” she said, “the Lord ’isself couldn’t abide fools.”
Campion looked a little hurt.
“Something tells me,” he said in a slightly aggrieved tone, “that I am not, as it were, a popular hero. Perhaps it might be as well if we went. You’ll bolt your door again, won’t you?” he added, turning to the old woman.
“You may lay I will,” said she meaningly.
“Are you sure you won’t come with us?”
It was Meggie who spoke, and the old woman eyed her less fiercely than she had done the others.
“Thank you, I’ll bide where I am,” she said. “I know what I’m up to, which is more than you do, I reckon, trapezing round with a pair of gorbies.”
Campion touched the girl’s arm.
“Come,” he said softly. “I thought I heard someone. I’ll go first, then you follow me.”
He stepped up on the stone hob as he spoke, and then swung his leg over the brick back of the grate which they now saw was little over three feet high, and disappeared out of sight. Meggie followed him, and Abbershaw sprang after her. Within three minutes they had emerged into the box-room and Campion raised the lid of the chest in the far corner.
Meggie suffered herself to be led down the dusty passage, Campion in front of her, and Abbershaw behind.
As they went, they heard the cracked voice of Mrs. Meade chanting vigorously to herself:
“While the wicked are confounded
Doomed to flames of woe unbounded,
Call me with Thy saints surrounded.
Ah‑ha‑Ha‑ha‑men.”
XVIII
Mr. Kennedy’s Council
When Albert Campion and his two refugees crawled out at the far end of the passage, they found the cupboard door open and the entire crowd assembled in the bedroom without, waiting for them. Anne Edgeware threw herself across the room towards Meggie with a little squeaky cry that was part sympathy, part relief. Prenderby’s little Jeanne had not been a reassuring companion.
The strain of the last twenty-four hours had told upon them all. The atmosphere in the wide, old-fashioned room was electric, and Campion’s somewhat foolish voice and fatuous expression struck an incongruous note.
“Goods as per instructions,” he said brightly, as he scrambled out of the cupboard. “Sign along the dotted line please.”
As soon as they were all in the room, however, he shut the cupboard door carefully, betraying that he was especially anxious that no sound should percolate through into the little box-room they had just left.
Chris Kennedy was the first to speak. He was a little flushed, and there was an air of suppressed excitement about him that showed that his wounded arm no longer damped his spirits.
“Now we’re all here,” he said, “we can get right down to this thing and work out a scheme to get us out of here and those customers what they deserve. I’m for a fight.”
“Here, I say, hold on a minute, my son,” drawled Martin Watt, “let’s all start fair. What have you two lost souls been up to, first of all?” he went on, turning to Meggie and Abbershaw. “How did our little Albert get hold of you? No bickering, I hope?”
“No, all done by kindness,” said Mr. Campion cheerfully; “there was only one dragon in my path, a female of the species, and full of good words. Most of them new to me,” he added thoughtfully. The portion of Abbershaw’s story which the little doctor felt inclined to tell did not take very long. The others also had had their adventures; Martin Watt seemed to have instituted himself spokesman, and as soon as the other had finished he began.
“We’ve had sport, too, in our own way. Old Dachshund Dawlish has had us up one at a time, you know, heard our catechism and our family history, searched our pockets and let us go again. He has also
