CHAPTER V.

Horror At Herons' Holt.

I.

Sleep does not necessarily shun the bed of the wicked. She is a wanton mistress, and will cuddle where her fancy chances, careless whether vice or virtue is her bedfellow; coy when most eagerly supplicated, seductive when least desired.

George, steeped in crime, snuggled warmly to her until aroused by a rude shaking.

Night-capped and dressing-gowned, white-faced and trembling, awful in grief Mr. Marrapit stood near him.

"Get up! The Rose of Sharon is lost."

"Impossible!"

"I tell you it is so. Up!"

George pushed a shaking leg out of bed. He was had unawares. As a sleeper pitched sleeping into the sea, so from unconsciousness he was hurled plump into the whirlpool of events. And as the sleeper thus immersed would gulp and sink and kick, so now he blinked, shivered, and gasped.

He repeated: "Impossible!"

"I tell you it is so. I have eyes; I have been to her room." Mr.

Marrapit's voice rose in a wailing cry. "I have been to her room.

Gone! Gone!"

George put out the other leg--crime-steeped legs that quivered. He had looked for a s.p.a.ce between awaking and meeting his uncle in which to prepare his plans, rehea.r.s.e his words. This abrupt rousing stampeded his senses. He quavered "Wher--where can she be?"

Mr. Marrapit flung up his arms. "Oh, my G.o.d! If I knew that would I be here? Up! Up! Join the searchers in the garden."

George pushed a criminal leg into his trousers. Conscience made thumbs of his fingers, trembled his joints. He hopped frantically, thrusting with the other foot.

"Dance!" Mr. Marrapit moaned bitterly. "Dance! That is right! Why do you not sing also? This is nothing to you! Dance on! Dance on!"

George cannoned the wash-stand. "It _is_ something to me. I can hardly believe it!"

"Is sorrow expressed in a gavotte? Grief in a hornpipe?"

"I'm not dancing. My d.a.m.ned bags are stuck!"

Mr. Marrapit wrung his hands. "Discard them! Discard them! Must decency imperil the Rose?"

With a tremendous kick George thrust in past the obstruction.

"They're on now--my slippers--coat--what shall I do?"

"Join the searchers. Scour the grounds. Search every shrub. Climb every tree."

The agonised man led downstairs. "I found the window open," he moaned.

"Night by night, year in year out, I have shut it. Impossible that I forgot. If I forgot, the Rose is in the garden or in the vicinity. If I did not forget, the window was forced--the Rose was stolen. A detective shall decide."

George grew quite cold. Employment of a detective had not occurred to him. They were at the front door. He put a hand on Mr. Marrapit's arm.

"Oh, not a detective. Don't get a detective."

"If need be I will get forty detectives. I will blacken the countryside with detectives."

George grew quite hot. "Uncle, let us keep this private. Leave it with me. Rely on me. I will find your cat."

"Into the garden," cried Mr. Marrapit. "Join the searchers. They have failed once. Lead, animate, encourage."

"And you won't get a detective?"

Mr. Marrapit did not reply. He had opened the hall door; Mr. Fletcher in the middle distance approached moodily.

Mr. Marrapit thrust out a hand. "Back! Back!" he cried hoa.r.s.ely.

Wearily Mr. Fletcher gave answer. "It's no use, Mr. Marrapit. It's no good saying 'back.' I've been back. I've been back and I've been front and I've been both sides. I've looked here, I've looked there; I've looked up, I've looked down. I'm giddy with looking." He approached; stood before them. Woe heavily draped herself about this man.

"Oh, easily discouraged!" Mr. Marrapit cried.

"Oh, infirm of purpose! Back, faint-heart! Do not say die."

Faint-heart mopped a streaming brow. "But I do say die. I do say die, Mr. Marrapit, and I d.a.m.n well shall die if I go creepin' and crawlin'

and hissin' much longer. It's 'ard--d.a.m.n 'ard. I'm a gardener, I am; not a cobra."

Mr. Marrapit slammed the door. George hurried out of sight; in the kitchen garden sat down to think. He was frightened. Thus far the plot had not worked well. Detectives!

He gave an hour to the search he was ostensibly conducting; when he again entered the house was more easy-minded. Employed in meditation that hour gave him back his coolness of the night. Rudely awakened, given no time in which firmly to plant his feet, securely to get a purchase with his hands before the storm burst, he had been whirled along helpless and bewildered before Mr. Marrapit's gusty agony.

Instead of resisting the torrent, directing its course, he had been caught where it surged fiercest, hurled down-stream. In the vulgar simile of his reflections he was rotting the whole show.

But now he had steadied himself. He girded his loins against the part he had to play; with new determination and confidence entered the house.

II.

There was no breakfast at Herons' Holt that morning. When George, dressed, bathed and shaved, sought out his uncle, it was to find Mr.

Marrapit in the study.

The distracted man was pacing the floor, a closely written sheet of paper in his hands. He turned upon George.

"In the hour of my travail I am also beneath the burden of earlier griefs. Yesterday a disastrous scene took place between us. Oaths rasped from your lips."

"Forget that, sir. Forget it."