Whatever their attitude had been before, they were all now very much alive to the real peril of their position.
Von Faber had not been wasting his time when he had spoken to them, and they had each been struck by the stark callousness which had been visible in him throughout the entire interview.
At last Campion rose to his feet and came across to where Meggie and Abbershaw were seated. Gravely he offered Abbershaw his cigarette-case in which there was a single cigarette neatly cut into two pieces.
“I did it with a razor blade,” he said. “Rather neat, don’t you think?”
Abbershaw took the half gratefully and they shared a match.
“I suppose,” said Campion suddenly, speaking in a quiet and confidential tone, “I suppose you did really burn that junk, Doc.”
Abbershaw glanced at him sharply.
“I did,” he said. “God forgive me. When I think what I’m responsible for I feel I shall go mad.”
Mr. Campion shrugged his shoulders.
“My dear old bird,” he said, “I shouldn’t put too much stress on what our friend von Faber says. He doesn’t seem to me to be a person to be relied upon.”
“Why? Do you think he’s just trying to frighten us?”
Abbershaw spoke eagerly, and the other shook his head.
“I’m afraid not, in the sense you mean,” he said. “I think he’s set his heart on this little conflagration scene. The man is a criminal loony, of course. No, I only meant that probably, had someone handed over his million-dollar book of the words, the Guy Fawkes celebrations would have gone forward all the same. I’m afraid he’s just a nasty vindictive person.”
Meggie shuddered but her voice was quite firm.
“Do you mean to say that you really think he’ll burn the house down with us up here?” she said.
Campion looked up at her, and then at Abbershaw.
“Not a nice type is he?” he murmured. “I’m afraid we’re for it, unless by a miracle the villagers see the bonfire before we’re part of it, or the son of our friend in the attic calls earlier than was expected.”
Meggie stiffened.
“Mrs. Meade,” she said. “I’d forgotten all about her. What will Mr. Dawlish do about her, do you suppose?”
Mr. Campion spoke grimly.
“I could guess,” he said, and there was silence for a while after that.
“But how terrible!” Meggie burst out suddenly. “I didn’t believe that people like this were allowed to exist. I thought we were civilized. I thought this sort of thing couldn’t happen.”
Mr. Campion sighed.
“A lot of people believe things like that,” he said. “They imagine the world is a well-ordered nursery with Scotland Yard and the British Army standing by to whack anybody who quarrels or uses a naughty word. I thought that at one time, I suppose everybody does, but it’s not like that really, you know. Look at me, for example—who would dream of the cunning criminal brain that lurks beneath my inoffensive exterior?”
The other two regarded him curiously. In any other circumstances they would have been embarrassed. Abbershaw was the first to speak.
“I say,” he said, “if you don’t mind my asking such a thing, what on earth made you take up your—er—present profession?”
Mr. Campion regarded him owlishly through his enormous spectacles.
“Profession?” he said indignantly. “It’s my vocation. It seemed to me that I had no talent for anything else, but in this line I can eke out the family pittance with tolerable comfort. Of course,” he went on suddenly, as he caught sight of Meggie’s face, “I don’t exactly ‘crim,’ you know, as I told the doc here. My taste is impeccable. Most of my commissions are more secret than shady. I occasionally do a spot of work for the Government, though, of course, that isn’t as lucrative as honest crime. This little affair, of course, was perfectly simple. I had only to join this house-party, take a packet of letters from the old gentleman, toddle back to the Savoy, and my client would be waiting for me. A hundred guineas, and all clean fun—no brain-work required.” He beamed at them. “Of course I knew what I was in for,” he went on. “I knew that more or less as soon as I got down here. I didn’t expect anything quite like this, though, I admit. I’m afraid the Gay Career and all that is in the soup.”
He spoke lightly, but there was no callousness in his face, and it suddenly occurred to Abbershaw that he was doing his best to cheer them up, for after a moment or two of silence he remarked suddenly:
“After all, I don’t see why the place should burn as he says it will, and I know people do escape from burning houses because I’ve seen it on the pictures.”
His remarks were cut short by a thundering blow upon the door, and in the complete silence that followed, a voice spoke slowly and distinctly so that it was audible throughout the entire room.
“You have another hour,” it said, “in which to restore Mr. Dawlish’s property. If it is not forthcoming by that time there will be another of these old country-mansion fires which have been so frequent of late. It is not insured and so it is not likely that anyone will inquire into the cause too closely.”
Martin Watt threw himself against the door with all his strength, and there was a soft amused laugh from outside.
“We heard your attempts to batter down the door last night,” said the voice, “and Mr. Dawlish would like you to know that although he has perfect faith in it holding, he has taken the precaution to reinforce it considerably on this side. As you have probably found out, the walls, too, are not negotiable and the window won’t afford you much satisfaction.”
“You dirty swine!” shouted Chris Kennedy weakly from his corner, and Martin Watt turned slowly
