Mrs. Cheviot and the Honorable Nicholas Carlyon dined very cosily together, off a neck of veal stewed with rice, onions, and peppercorns, followed by pippin tarts, and some ramekins which moved Nicky to send a message to the kitchen assuring Mrs. Barrow of favorable treatment if ever she should desire a post as cook up at the Hall. Barrow then set a decanter of port on the table and Elinor very correctly withdrew to the bookroom, whither her guest soon followed her with a suggestion that they should while away the evening with a rubber or two of piquet. As the pockets of both gamesters were, in Nicky’s phrase, wholly to let, they played for fabulous but imaginary stakes, with the result that when the tea tray was brought in Elinor found herself several thousand pounds to the good. Nicky very handsomely said that he only wished he could pay her the half of such a sum and they sat down to drink their tea in perfect amity.
Nicholas favored his hostess with some reminiscences of his past career which made her laugh heartily. In her turn she entranced him with an account of her father’s exploits in every realm of sport, and in this way an hour or two was very pleasantly beguiled. In fact, on such easy terms with Nicky did Elinor feel herself to be by the time they went up to bed that she seriously jeopardized the honorable position she held in his esteem by suggesting that he should allow her to have the bed made up in the room he meant to occupy so that he might pass the night in comfort. His shocked face recalled her to her senses, however, and she made haste to beg pardon, assuring him that she had spoken without thinking. He explained to her with the utmost patience that the sight of a gentleman sleeping in that room would effectually scare any intruder into a precipitate retreat. She confessed that she had been shatterbrained from a child, and they parted on the best of terms, she to lie awake for some time smiling over the simple enthusiasm of an engaging boy, he to stretch himself out on the unmade bed in the little square room determined on no account to fall asleep.
This, after the first hour, proved to be more difficult than he had bargained for, and he more than once thought wistfully of the bed made up for him in the best spare bedchamber. He had removed his riding boots and hidden them behind a chair, and his feet grew steadily colder as the night advanced. He was obliged at last to cast one of his pillows over them, which alleviated his discomfort so much that he presently began to drop asleep. Had Elinor but known it, he only half believed in his own arguments and had no very real conviction that an adventure did in very truth await him. He was at that stage in his development when, without having given up all hope that the wonderful would happen, only a part of his eager brain expected it. For this reason, it was with a feeling of delighted incredulity that he was aroused, when just slipping over the border between waking and sleeping, by a sound coming from the direction of the concealed cupboard. It jerked him fully awake and he raised himself on his elbow, hardly believing his own ears. But there could be no doubt about it. Someone was lifting the trap door in the cupboard.
With a gasp of excitement Nicky snatched up the pillow covering his feet, restored it to its place at the head of the four-poster, and slid from the bed to the floor on the farther side of it, his pistol firmly held in one hand. The moon was not shining in at the unshuttered window, but there was a fault gray light in the room enabling him to discern the outlines of the few pieces of furniture.
He heard the scroop of the panel sliding back and caught the reflection of a beam of yellow light cast on the wall. Whoever had entered by the secret stair had brought a lantern with him. Nicky’s heart beat fast, but although his mouth certainly felt a little dry suddenly, he was honestly delighted. He took care to remain crouched down behind the bedstead and breathlessly awaited events. The beam of light shifted. He heard shod feet softly crossing the room in the direction of the doorway and could scarcely refrain from raising his head to peep. The door handle turned with a tiny scraping sound and a creeping draft informed Nicky that the door stood open. He tried to peer under the bed and was rewarded by a glimpse of an oblong of that yellow light lying on the threshold of the room. Another instant and it disappeared. The unknown visitor had stepped out into the corridor. Nicky resolutely counted up to twenty before he allowed himself to rise from the floor. He was alone in the dim room, and the door, as he had guessed, stood open. He stole to it, taking care to cock his pistol, and saw the yellow light at the head of the uncarpeted stair. Again it halted. The unknown stood still, probably listening for any sound of stirring in the house, Nicky thought. As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness he could vaguely perceive the outline of a figure. He flattened himself against the wall and waited. Apparently satisfied that the house slept, the figure moved again, going stealthily down the stairs. Nicky followed at a discreet interval, his stockinged feet making no sound on the wood floor. He was so excited by this time that the heavy thudding of his heart made him feel almost sick. He stole down the stairs, sliding his hand along the baluster rail and letting it take most of his weight, to obviate any treacherous creaking of the stair boards. The hall below was closely shuttered and in dense darkness, save for the oblong of light cast by the intruder’s lantern. Nicky reached the foot of the stairs in time to see the beam light up the door of the bookroom. It stopped suddenly and veered round, as though its holder had heard some sound and was turning to discover the cause of it. Nicky instinctively stepped back, collided with the suit of rusted armor behind him, and brought it clattering to the ground, himself with it. With an exasperated oath he scrambled up, thankful that his finger had not been upon the trigger of his gun, and called out, “Stand fast! I have you covered!”
The beam of light found him out. Before he was fairly on his feet again there was a flash of whiter light, a loud report, and he was knocked over again, and knew as he fell that he had been hit. He managed to get up onto one elbow and to fire in the direction of the lantern, but although his ball shattered the lantern it missed its holder, who became lost in the thick darkness. Nicky heard the shriek of bolts drawn back and shouted frantically, “Barrow! Barrow!” The next instant a shaft of moonlight and a current of cold air streamed in through the open front door, and he knew that his quarry had made good his escape.
Upstairs in the yellow bedchamber Mrs. Cheviot had just dropped off to sleep. The first shot roused her and even as she started up, scarcely crediting her ears, the second followed it and brought her out of bed in a flash, groping for her slippers. She had kept an oil lamp burning low beside her bed and she turned it up with trembling fingers. Hastily struggling into her dressing gown she ran out of the room, calling, “Nicky, where are you? Oh, what in the world are you about?”
“I’m in the hall,” his voice answered her, a trifle faintly but reassuringly cheerful. “The devil’s in it that I missed the fellow!”
She hurried down the stairs, holding the lamp up, and saw him rather unsteadily picking himself up. “Nicky! Good God, do not tell me he did indeed come back?”
“Come back? Of course he did!” Nicky said, cautiously feeling his shoulder. “What’s more, I should have had him if you would not keep a damned suit of armor in the stupidest place anyone ever thought of!
Oh, I beg pardon! But indeed it is enough to try the patience of a saint!”
“Nicky, you are hurt!” she cried, quite horrified. “Oh, if I had dreamed that anything was likely to happen I would never—My poor boy, lean on me! Did he fire at you? I heard two shots and I was never more shocked in my life! Good God, you are bleeding! Let me help you into a chair this instant!”