Blind Policy Part 36

"But it's too dangerous."

"No, it isn't. You keep quiet, and make that light shine well on the key-hole."

As he spoke the young man took a pound canister of fine gun-powder from the portmanteau pushing the latter afterwards outside into the pa.s.sage.

Then with a small funnel, also provided in the portmanteau, and fitted with a curved piece of pipe, to fill the interior of the lock with the fine black dust, which ran away down the funnel and pipe as easily as sand from one side to another of an hour-gla.s.s.

"This is the way," said Arthur, eagerly. "I shall get pretty well half a pound in."

It seemed quite probable, for the powder ran trickling on, every stoppage being overcome by a shake or a tap or two, till at last, no matter how the door was rapped, no more would go down.

"Doesn't matter; there's plenty," said the young man, quietly, thrusting in a piece of ready prepared slow match, which hung down the front of the door and half a yard over the floor, where the powder sprinkled about was carefully dusted away.

Then by means of a wedge some sc.r.a.ps of rag were driven in tightly to fill up the key-hole, and the young man rose up.

"There we are, old chap," he said. "All we've got to do is to open the lantern, touch the end of that slow match in the light, let it go down-- stop a minute, let's blow away a little more of the powder--then there'll be plenty of time to shut and lock the door, wait for the blow-out of the lock, and go in after and pick up the best pieces, fill our Gladstones as we like and be off."

He went down on his knees, and, trembling violently, Roach held up the lantern, as he stood quiet outside now.

"Here! How am I to see?" cried his companion, angrily.

"But it isn't safe to bring a light near the powder."

"Bosh! How can a light behind gla.s.s do any harm? Come closer, I mustn't leave any powder near the slow match. That's better; I can see now, and--Ah! take care."

For all at once the butler fell over him with a crash, the lantern struck against the opposite wall and came open, the lamp portion falling out and firing some of the scattered powder, while at the same moment the lobby door was banged to, shut, and they heard the shooting of the lock.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

THE COLLECTOR WAKES UP.

Professor Westcott, next door, had another consignment that morning.

The London and North Western Railway Company's men called with their van and a way-bill to deliver two chests from Birmingham, weighing over two hundredweight each, both strongly screwed up and roped, and a smaller line round them, carefully-sealed:--"Books; with great care. To be kept dry."

There were two men with the van, and a boy, the former making very light of the heavy chests as they lifted them off the tail-board of the vehicle, while the professor stood blinking on the steps in his big spectacles, his grey hair hanging down long from beneath a black velvet skull-cap, and his rusty dressing-gown, tied on anyhow, reaching nearly to his heels.

"Rum old owl, Joe," said one of the men. "This makes six chesties I've delivered since Christmas."

"Books?" said the other. "Yes, books. The old buffer's got his house chock-full of 'em from top to bottom, I should say. You'll see when we get in; he'll ask us to carry 'em downstairs."

"All right, mate; I don't mind if its anywheres near the beer cellar."

"Well, it ain't, Tom, and so I tell you. I've delivered boxes o' books to him for years now, and I never see a gla.s.s o' ale yet."

"Stingy old hunks! I say, we ain't 'bliged to carry 'em farther then the front door. That's delivering."

"Yes, that's delivering, mate, but you're allus in such a hurry. I was going to say you get no beer, but he'll be as civil as treacle, and stand rubbing his hands and telling yer to mind and not break the gla.s.s in the book-cases as you pa.s.ses; and when you've done he twinkles at you through them Chinee-looking specs of his, and crooks his finger, and beckons you to follow him into the front room, as is full of books.

Then he brings out a little gla.s.s and a bottle of the most heavenly old sperrets you ever tasted. Tlat! I can taste it yet. Talk about cordial--why, it's enough to make you say you'll never have a gla.s.s in a pub. again."

"Well, lay hold," said Tom, sharply; "look alive! Can't you see the gentleman's a-waiting?"

The head van-man chuckled, and together they lifted in chest Number 1, the professor smiling and looking deeply interested.

"On the mat, if you please," he said, "and when you have carried in the other, I should be very much obliged if you would take them both downstairs, where I can open them without making a mess."

"Suttunly, sir," said Tom, and they set down Number 1 and went after Number 2, upon which the boy sat, drumming the side with his heels.

"Right, Tommy?"

"Right you are, mate." And the men went on with their task muttering--

"Don't see how it would make a mess if they were opened in the front pa.s.sage. Long time since there's been a broom there."

"See the spiders too?"

"No, but I saw the webs."

"But what does he do with all these books? He can't read 'em all."

"Collects 'em, I should say. Steady! Got it?"

"Right!" and the second chest was carried in. "One moment while I shut the door," said the professor, rubbing his hands; "then I'll show you the way. Now then, please; mind the book-cases as you pa.s.s. It is rather dark. Very heavy, I suppose?"

"Oh, tidy, sir. Nothing to signify. Books is heavy things."

"Yes, very heavy, my good man. That's right, through this door, and down these stone stairs. I'm afraid you find it very heavy."

"Oh, we're all right, sir. Used to it," grunted Tom. "We're always lifting things in or out; but we has a good rest between, sir, and rides about in the company's carriage."

"Down there, please, under that window, where I can see to unpack them.

Thank you."

The two men went up the stone staircase again, noting the empty chests and book-cases with which the walls were lined, and above all the dust of years collected thickly. Then the second chest was carried down, and the quaint-looking old gentleman smiled and made his round-gla.s.sed spectacles twinkle as they reached the hall.

"I must sign the paper and pay you, my men," he said; and then in a drily comical way he crooked his right index finger, and beckoned to them to follow him into the gloomy book-lined dining-room, where he signed the delivery book, paid the carriage, and then took a bottle from a cellarette and a gla.s.s from a closet under a book-case, and poured out for the men, while they tossed off the rich spirit in turn.

"That's prime, sir," said the first man.

"'Eavenly," sighed Tom.

"Old and good, my men. I'm glad you like it. It's soft and mellow, and will not hurt you. Have another gla.s.s?"

"Hurt yer, sir!" said the second man, with a sigh; "that stuff wouldn't hurt a babby."

It did not hurt him when it came to his turn. To use his own figurative way of speaking, he only made one bite at it, and then glanced at the black bottle as if it were a little idol which ought to be worshipped, before following his leader out into the hall, the old professor closing the door after them and immediately after, drawing himself up straight, taking off his goggle gla.s.ses and thrusting them into his pocket, looking now a keen-eyed, elderly man, with the sharp, yellow-tinged face of a New Englander.

Going back with a firm step into the dining-room, and with the weak old stooping manner entirely wanting, he took a fresh gla.s.s from the closet, filled it and tossed off the contents.