The Three Just Men · Chapter 14 (2/2)

Mirabelle shook her head.

“I don’t like to think what has happened to him,” she said. “Now, Alma, do you think we can get him into the drawing-room?”

Together they lifted the heavy figure and staggered with it into the pretty little room, laying him at last upon the settee under the window.

“He can rest there till we get the ambulance,” began Mirabelle, and a chuckle behind her made her turn with a gasp.

It was the pedlar, and in his hand he held the pistol which she had discarded.

“I only want you”⁠—he nodded to the girl. “You other two women can come out here.” He jerked his head to the passage. Under the stairs was a big cupboard and he pulled the door open invitingly. “Get in here. If you make a noise, you’ll be sorry for yourselves.”

Alma’s eyes wandered longingly to the gun she had left in the corner, but before she could make a move he had placed himself between her and the weapon.

“Inside,” said the pedlar, and Mirabelle was not much surprised when Aunt Alma meekly obeyed.

He shut the door on the two women and fastened the hatch.

“Now, young lady, put on your hat and be lively!”

He followed her up the stairs into her room and watched her while she found a hat and a cloak. She knew only too well that it was a waste of time even to temporize with him. He, for his part, was so exultant at his success that he grew almost loquacious.

“I suppose you saw the boys driving away and you didn’t remember that I was somewhere around? Was that you doing the shooting?”

She did not answer.

“It couldn’t have been Lew, or you’d have been dead,” he said. He was examining the muzzle of the pistol. “It was you all right.” He chuckled. “Ain’t you the game one! Sister, you ought to be⁠—”

He stopped dead, staring through the window. He was paralysed with amazement at the sight of a bareheaded Aunt Alma flying along the Gloucester Road. With an oath he turned to the girl.

“How did she get out? Have you got anybody here? Now speak up.”

“The cupboard under the stairs leads to the wine cellar,” said Mirabelle coolly, “and there are two ways out of the wine cellar. I think Aunt Alma found one of them.”

With an oath, he took a step towards her, gripped her by the arm and jerked her towards the door.

“Lively!” he said, and dragged her down the stairs through the hall, into the kitchen.

He shot back the bolts, but the lock of the kitchen door had been turned.

“This way.” He swore cold-bloodedly, and, her arm still in his powerful grip, he hurried along the passage and pulled open the door.

It was an unpropitious moment. A man was walking down the path, a half-smile on his face, as though he was thinking over a remembered jest. At the sight of him the pedlar dropped the girl’s arm and his hand went like lightning to his pocket.

“When will you die?” said Leon Gonsalez softly. “Make a choice, and make it quick!”

And the gun in his hand seemed to quiver with homicidal eagerness.