A Knight on Wheels Part 16

"I will think things over in the night watches," said Mrs. Falconer, "and in the morning I will come and tell you what to do. Now, you queer little mortal, eat up your supper and go to sleep. As you have no mother, do you think I might give you one kiss?"

That was half an hour ago.

Philip was conscious of a slight draught upon the back of his neck, which was turned towards the door. Hardly had he realised this when he was aware of an inarticulate roar; and into his field of vision there bounded a gentleman with a golden beard and a fiery eye, wearing a black velvet dinner-jacket. This was doubtless Pegs's father, and from external evidence he was suffering from one of his "tempers."

"What the Blazing Henry are you doing here?" bawled the gentleman.

Philip replied politely that he was having supper.

"Supper?" yelled Montagu Falconer. "How dare you have supper in my studio? How dare you bring your filthy food in here? Tell me that!" His eye fell upon the tray, suggesting a fresh outrage. "Where did that supper come from?" he demanded. "Where from, you mooncalf?"

"It came along that pa.s.sage," replied the mooncalf, taking a drink of cocoa.

Peggy's papa waved his arms and raved.

"Curse you!" he shouted. "Don't drink cocoa in my presence! It is a beastly habit and a beastly beverage. It's my cocoa, too!"

"It was getting cold," explained Philip, in extenuation.

"And don't answer back!" bellowed the master of the house. "Don't answer back, or I'll brain you--like--like this!"

He s.n.a.t.c.hed a mediaeval mace from off the wall, and, to Philip's intense gratification, proceeded to pound an Etruscan vase into smithereens.

"Who are you?" he continued. "Who are you, to go filibustering all over my house? Who are you, to insinuate your disgusting presence into my kitchen and forage among my household stores?"

Philip, still keeping a hopeful eye on the mediaeval mace, considered.

"I'm a boy," he said cautiously.

This eminently reasonable explanation only exasperated Mr. Falconer still further.

"No, you are _not_!" he bawled. "You are a criminal! Do you know I have a wife and daughter--let alone a staff of young and innocent servants?

Supposing one of them had seen you? You might have frightened them all out of their wits--you toad!"

Mr. Falconer stamped up and down the room, plainly meditating further acts of violence. Philip, realising that his host had not yet been taken into the confidence of his wife and daughter regarding the present situation, decided to be cautious.

Presently the fermenting Montagu came to a standstill.

"Why did you come here at all?" he demanded.

"I wanted somewhere to sleep," replied Philip.

Montagu uplifted clenched hands to heaven.

"Unutterable dolt!" he roared. "Do you imagine you are in a common lodging-house?"

"Oh, no, sir," Philip a.s.sured him. "I like your pictures awfully," he added, with a friendly smile.

This time Montagu Falconer first gaped at him, and then enquired:--

"Are you a _cretin_?"

Philip, who did not know what a _cretin_ was, shook his head dubiously, and said he was not sure. Mr. Falconer, after a.s.suring him that there was no doubt on the matter whatever, continued his cross-examination.

"Where the devil have you come from? I suppose you know _that_!"

"I came from Hampstead," replied Philip.

"Do you live in that beastly spot?"

"Yes."

"What for?"

"You have to live somewhere," the _cretin_ pointed out gently.

"Then why not go on living there, you unspeakable Yahoo? Why leave your antimaca.s.sars, and china dogs, and wool mats, and wax fruit, and--and harmoniums, and come bursting into a civilised household--eh?"

"I have run away from home," said Philip simply.

Mr. Falconer uttered a yell of triumph.

"A-a-ah! _Now_ we are getting at the facts. What is your address?"

Philip told him.

Mr. Falconer a.s.sumed an air of ferocious satisfaction.

"Admirable!" he cried; "most inexpressibly satisfactory! You are outwitted! I have over-reached you--criminal! To-night, since you desire it, you shall enjoy my hospitality; but to-morrow morning, on the stroke of nine, an officer of the law--a policeman--shall wait upon you and conduct you back to the slum from which you came. Meanwhile, wretched offal, sleep! Sleep all over the studio if you like, and be d.a.m.ned to you! To-morrow--_ad leones_! Good-night!"

And without another word this excellent but ill-balanced householder shot out of the studio into the pa.s.sage, locking the door behind him.

Philip finished the last piece of ham and the last mouthful of cocoa, turned out the electric light, rolled himself up in a Greek robe of saffron serge, and lay down upon the sofa. He was concerned in his mind about several things. In the first place, he had been discovered, and that might mean trouble both for Peggy and her mother. In the second the door was locked, which meant that he was a prisoner. In the third, he was to be sent back to Uncle Joseph at nine o'clock next morning, which would be an ignominious ending to his first great adventure. He pondered.

In due course, just before he fell asleep, his obvious and proper course of action occurred to him. It was the only way, he decided, and moreover promised further adventure. He would have liked to be able to say good-bye to Peggy, but....

His eyes closed, and he slipped into the dreamless, motionless sleep of tired childhood, the lay figure and the other Strange Bedfellows keeping watch and ward by his pillow.

CHAPTER X

THE ECCENTRIC GENTLEMAN

IT was a lovely morning. Philip, tramping vigorously along a Hertfordshire highway, felt that if all his adventures were to be conducted under such a kindly sun as this he would have little to complain of. But at present his most pressing desire was to get as far away from the residence of Mr. Montagu Falconer as possible.