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Page 70
"Yes, I do!"
"Then perhaps you had better come with me into the house and we
will speak to her."
"All right."
"Follow me."
Percy followed him. Down the trim gravel walk they passed, and up
the neat stone steps. Maud, peeping through the curtains, thought
herself the victim of a monstrous betrayal or equally monstrous
blunder. But she did not know the Rev. Cyril Ferguson. No general,
adroitly leading the enemy on by strategic retreat, ever had a
situation more thoroughly in hand. Passing with his companion
through the open door, he crossed the hall to another door,
discreetly closed.
"Wait in here," he said. Lord Belpher moved unsuspectingly forward.
A hand pressed sharply against the small of his back. Behind him a
door slammed and a key clicked. He was trapped. Groping in
Egyptian darkness, his hands met a coat, then a hat, then an
umbrella. Then he stumbled over a golf-club and fell against a
wall. It was too dark to see anything, but his sense of touch told
him all he needed to know. He had been added to the vicar's
collection of odds and ends in the closet reserved for that
purpose.
He groped his way to the door and kicked it. He did not repeat the
performance. His feet were in no shape for kicking things.
Percy's gallant soul abandoned the struggle. With a feeble oath, he
sat down on a box containing croquet implements, and gave himself
up to thought.
"You'll be quite safe now," the curate was saying in the adjoining
room, not without a touch of complacent self-approval such as
becomes the victor in a battle of wits. "I have locked him in the
cupboard. He will be quite happy there." An incorrect statement
this. "You may now continue your walk in perfect safety."
"Thank you ever so much," said Maud. "But I do hope he won't be
violent when you let him out."
"I shall not let him out," replied the curate, who, though brave,
was not rash. "I shall depute the task to a worthy fellow named
Willis, in whom I shall have every confidence. He--he is, in fact,
our local blacksmith!"
And so it came about that when, after a vigil that seemed to last
for a lifetime, Percy heard the key turn in the lock and burst
forth seeking whom he might devour, he experienced an almost
instant quieting of his excited nervous system. Confronting him was
a vast man whose muscles, like those of that other and more
celebrated village blacksmith, were plainly as strong as iron
bands.
This man eyed Percy with a chilly eye.
"Well," he said. "What's troublin' you?"
Percy gulped. The man's mere appearance was a sedative.
"Er--nothing!" he replied. "Nothing!"
"There better hadn't be!" said the man darkly. "Mr. Ferguson give
me this to give to you. Take it!"
Percy took it. It was a shilling.
"And this."
The second gift was a small paper pamphlet. It was entitled "Now's
the Time!" and seemed to be a story of some kind. At any rate,
Percy's eyes, before they began to swim in a manner that prevented
steady reading, caught the words "Job Roberts had always been a
hard-drinking man, but one day, as he was coming out of the
bar-parlour . . ." He was about to hurl it from him, when he met
the other's eye and desisted. Rarely had Lord Belpher encountered a
man with a more speaking eye.
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