As he bowed himself out he discreetly dropped his gloves behind a cushion on the sofa.

"This way, please," said Jane. "This way."

CHAPTER 26.

AMONG ALLIES.

The door had scarcely closed upon the retreating masquerader when once again Barraclough slipped into the room. His clothes were white with dust, his eyes hollow and deep set, but around the corners of his mouth was just such a smile as any mother might hope to see.

"Bless your sweet bobbed head," he whispered, throwing an arm affectionately about her shoulders. "Though why in blazes you entertain well known crooks to tea gets me wondering."

"Oh, my dear, dear boy, wherever did you come from?" she cried, patting him all over to convince herself of his reality.

"Down the chimney, mother, like Santa Claus."

"But why and without a word?"

"Hadn't a notion I was coming," he replied dropping on to the sofa and spreading out his legs. "I was whacked to the wide and had to stop somewhere and get me breath."

The door was flung open and Flora and Jane burst in.

"I say, that was a near shave," gasped the latter. "Where did you spring from?"

"Somewhere t'other side of Plymouth. Keep your eye on the window, Flora. Don't want that old blackbird to get a view of me. Thanks!

Fine. See him down the road, Jane?"

"You bet."

"It's d.a.m.n bad luck him being here at all. When did he first show up?"

"Last night."

"There's been a mess-up somewhere and I was looking for a clean run home."

"Home, dear?"

"Um! Back to London. How's mother's old car going, Flora?"

"Tiptop."

"Good, I shall need it. I say, I apologise for not saying how-de-do but things have been moving today. Everyone feeling good? Fine.

Lord, I'm tired." And he pa.s.sed a hand tied with a bloodstained handkerchief across his brow.

Mrs. Barraclough was first to notice it and called for an explanation.

"Oh, that's all right--a scratch--bled a bit. Nothing to bother about.

Flora, if you leave that window unguarded you're sacked. Jane, if you love me, a large and a small."

"But what is it all about?" Mrs. Barraclough implored after shaking her head at the thought of whiskey.

"Money, dear--money and a bit of paper I carry in this note case that is earnestly coveted by quite a number of people it doesn't belong to.

When I asked for a large and a small, Jane, I was endeavouring to convey the idea that I was thirsty."

But Jane was reluctant to go and only consented to do so on a promise that no secrets should be revealed in her absence.

"Be a darling, mother dear, and fill me a pipe."

It was characteristic of Anthony Barraclough that the entire household revolved round him from the instant of appearance.

"Then there is something wrong with your hand," said the old lady filling the pipe and putting it in the corner of his mouth, while Flora risked a month's notice by rushing forward with a lighted match. "I shall tie it up while you have your smoke."

Anthony's protests were unavailing when the ministering angel mood descended upon his mother. At such a time she was inexorable. She called upon Flora to fill the slop basin with warm water and provide scissors (always so elusive when needed) and naturally Flora, who was entirely absorbed in the adventurous side of the proceedings, could only find the rose cutters which were entirely useless.

"It's a bullet wound," Mrs. Barraclough declared. "You can't deceive me--it's a bullet wound."

"Well, p'raps it is, mother, but since it was never intended for my hand we needn't bother about it."

"You must have it bandaged and go to bed straight away."

"Bed!" He threw back his head and laughed. "It's likely."

"And you'll want a sling."

"Not for this David, mother. A sling would be a fat lot of use against the Goliaths I'm dealing with. Mother, I'm within a hundred and fifty miles of being one of the richest men in the world and, as far as I can see, they'll be the toughest miles I've ever covered in my life."

And suddenly from the window came Flora's cry of "Look out!"

Anthony did not waste time looking out but instead flung himself behind the upright piano which stood out from the wall. Nor was he a moment too soon for the ma.s.sive form of Mr. Bolt was framed in the French windows. Mrs. Barraclough took three steps toward him as also did Flora, thus preventing a definite intrusion into the room.

"I beg your pardon--I do indeed beg your pardon," said Bolt in tones as rich as the fat of pork, "but I fancy--I rather imagine--I--yes, to be sure, left a pair of gloves on your sofa."

"If you had rung the bell, sir, your property would have been restored to you in the usual manner. I cannot----"

She stopped as her uninvited guest was sniffing the air suspiciously.

"Mrs. Barraclough," he observed, shaking his head sadly, "I fear I have caught you smoking."

Behind the piano Anthony was feverishly extinguishing his pipe with the ball of his thumb.

"I smoke all day," replied Mrs. Barraclough.

The door opened and Jane came in with an abnormally large whiskey and soda which she nearly dropped at the sight of the visitor.

"Oh! Mrs. Barraclough!" said Bolt, pointing an accusing finger.