He left the room as he spoke, taking the precaution of shutting the door behind him. The faithful Bouncer bounded over to it, sniffed long and loud at the crack, uttered a whine, and scratched at the panel. Finding it immovable, he returned to the fire and lay down with his head on his paws and his eyes fixed on Elinor.
She leaned back in her chair, really a good deal upset by the discovery of the secret stairway and feeling the need of a period of quiet during which she might compose her mind. Common sense assured her that Nicky’s theories could be nothing more than the products of an ardent imagination, but try as she would she could not hit upon a more reasonable explanation of the Frenchman’s presence in the house on the previous night. He had not seemed to her at all the sort of young man to have made use of the secret door from a high-spirited desire to give his host a fright; nor could she believe him to have been a common housebreaker. Some motive he must have had, but what this was she was much inclined to think no one but himself would ever know. That he would return in the same manner seemed to her to go beyond the bounds of probability, yet however irrational it might be, she could not think of that secret stair without feeling her pulses beat fast with trepidation.
She did her best to shake off such foolish fears and told herself she would be better employed in sorting the linen than in sitting thinking herself into nervous spasms. She got up out of her chair and would have walked over to the door had it not been unmistakably brought home to her that the intelligent hound at her-feet was laboring under some confusion of ideas. He too rose, and with bristles lifting all along his back and his lips curling away from a set of admirable teeth, placed himself before her, growling.
Elinor stood still, looking down at him doubtfully. “Good dog!” she said, in what she hoped was a reassuring voice. “Lie down, sir!”
Bouncer barked at her.
“You stupid creature, he did not mean you to keep me chained to my chair!” scolded Elinor. “Lie down this instant!”
Bouncer stood his ground and went on growling in a sort of crescendo which could not be regarded as other than menacing. Elinor sat down again. Pleased with his success, Bouncer followed suit, lolled his tongue out, and panted gently.
Chapter VIII
Since the clock in the bookroom did not go, Elinor had no means of ascertaining for how long she was left confronting Nicky’s zealous pet. It seemed a very long time. While she remained still, Bouncer lay peaceably enough, with his head on his paws and his eyes half Closed. But the smallest movement brought his head and his bristles up, while an attempt to win him over by blandishments he took in such bad part that Elinor thought it prudent to desist. Her workbox and the pile of linen to be mended were alike out of her reach, but she found that by stretching out her arm she could reach the whatnot that stood near her chair. There was a small book upon one of its shelves, and she managed to secure this without incurring censure from her guardian. It proved to be a copy of the Turf Remembrancer, and for the next hour and more it was Elinor’s only solace. She culled from it much valuable information such as had not before come in her way, and followed with bewildered interest the careers of several animals who rejoiced in names which ranged from the comparatively commonplace to the wildly fanciful. She could conjure up little enthusiasm for Lightning or Thunderbolt, but read with satisfaction an account of the parentage and prowess of Watch-them-and-catch-them and of Fear-not-Victorious, and would have been almost ready to answer a catechism on their form and the weights they would be likely to carry in any forthcoming race.
But however entrancing the names of race horses might be, the Turf Remembrancer could not but pall upon her. By the time Barrow came into the room midway through the afternoon she was heartily sick of it, and would have been hard put to it not to throw it at Nicky’s head had it been he and not Barrow who entered.
“You never ate the luncheon Mrs. Barrow sent up to the dining parlor, ma’am,” observed Barrow reproachfully. “She made sure you’d be glad of a bite, too.”
“Yes, and so I should,” said Elinor crossly, “but this stupid dog of Mr. Nicholas’s will not let me move from my chair! Do, pray, call him off!”
“Whatever did Master Nicky take and leave that nasty brute here for?” demanded Barrow, eying Bouncer with dislike.
“He—well, he thought I should have him to guard me!” explained Elinor rather lamely.
“Have him to guard you?” said Barrow incredulously. “It’s midsummer moon with Master Nick, surely! What would you be wanting with a guard, ma’am?”
“I don’t want one at all and I wish you will call him away!”
Barrow looked with considerable misgiving at the dog. Bouncer returned the stare enigmatically. “The thing is,” said Barrow, “that there dog is a tedious fierce brute, ma’am, and I’d as lief let Master Nick call him off.”
“But Master Nick is not here!”
Barrow looked nonplused. As his mistress clearly expected him to do something, he patted his leg in a tentative way and invited Bouncer to come to him. Bouncer growled at him. This caused the servitor to retire strategically into the doorway, seeing which Bouncer rose to his feet and barked with all the zest of a dog who finds his threats succeed beyond his expectations.
“Try to tempt him away with some meat!” commanded the exasperated prisoner.
“Ay, that’s what I’ll do!” agreed Barrow, and went off to procure some of the mutton laid out for Elinor’s refreshment.
He returned with this and with Mrs. Barrow too, who stalked in armed with a long-handled broom, declaring her intention of soon ridding mistress of the plaguey creature. Bouncer, not unnaturally, took instant exception to the broom, and such a pandemonium of barking, scolding, and growling ensued that Elinor could only beg her would-be rescuer to go away. Barrow then held down the plate of meat and chirped at Bouncer, who made one of his short rushes at him and so caused him to drop the plate and leap back to the door. Bouncer hastily consumed the offering, licked his lips, and waited expectantly for more.
“There’s only one thing to be done, ma’am,” said Barrow. “I’ll have to shoot him, that’s what I’ll have to do.”
“Good God, no!” cried Elinor. “I would not have you do such a thing for the world! Why, whatever would Master Nicky say?”
“Master Nicky indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Barrow indignantly. “I’ll Master Nicky him when I see him! The idea of his playing off his tricks on you, ma’am! I’ve a very good mind to tell his lordship what a naughty boy he is!”
“Indeed, I—I think he meant it for the best!” said Elinor. “And he said he would come back presently. Do you think you could contrive to bring a tray to me, with some bread and butter and coffee? And perhaps you might also push that table to where I may reach it, so that I may at least occupy myself with darning those tablecloths!”
Bouncer seemed disinclined at first to permit this disarrangement of the room, but Mrs. Barrow had the happy notion of bribing him with a large marrow bone. He accepted this and lay down with it between his paws, gnawing it, and beyond growling in a minatory fashion made no further objection to the table’s being pushed toward Elinor. He seemed so intent on his bone that she tried the experiment of rising from her chair. This was going too far, however, and she was obliged to sit down again in a hurry. Bouncer then returned to his bone. His teeth appeared to be in excellent condition. When Mrs. Barrow cautiously came back into the room with a tray he cocked a watchful eye at her and paused in his work of demolition to consider the possibilities of the tray. He evidently thought it worth while to investigate it, for he rose and approached the table, Mrs. Barrow told him to be off, so he chased her from the room and returned to try what blackmail could achieve in the way of sustenance. Elinor gave him a crust, which he rejected scornfully. He went back to his bone and remained happily occupied with it for some time and finally buried what remained of it under one of the sofa cushions.