Stan Lynn Part 57

"But a great many did come in?"

"Yes, uncle, and burned great patches in the floor."

"Come, that's something; you must take me up and show me."

"I can't show you much, uncle," was the reply, "for the bales have been stacked in their places again."

"Oh, come! this is disappointing," cried Uncle Jeff. "No ruins; no wounds but Mr Blunt's; no burnt-out warehouses! Why, after such a scare I expected to find the whole place crippled. Where's Wing?"

"Oh, I must have a word here," said Blunt. "I dare say Master Wing painted the affair up pretty well, but it was as bad as it could be."

"Why, I thought you were bowled out at the first ball," said Uncle Jeff sharply.

"So I was; but the other players had their innings, and told me all about it afterwards. Old Lawrence says it was awful."

"So it was, uncle," cried Stan; "nothing could have been worse."

"Well, all I can say is," said Uncle Jeff some time later, "that you have cleared away wonderfully. But there's one thing I don't like. It sticks in my memory very tightly, and it seems to me that it is the one weak spot in our armour if we are again attacked."

"And what's that, uncle?" asked Stan, for there was a pause.

"The traitor in the camp, my lad. You can't go on like this. What is the use of making all kinds of preparations when there is an enemy in the midst who is ready to spoil all and, as it were, sell you to the enemy?"

"You mean about the water poured over the ammunition?" said Blunt, speaking rather excitedly.

"Yes--of course. Now whom do you suspect?"

"At first I thought Wing might be the guilty party."

"Wing!" cried Uncle Jeff, starting. "Ah, to be sure!" he continued after but a few moments' thought. "He was my informant, and very eager to tell me all about it. Tried hard, I remember now, to make me understand it must have been some one at the _hong_. Here, Stan, it's a long time since I was at school; you've only just come away. What's that French proverb about the man who tries to clear himself making matters worse?"

"He who excuses himself accuses himself," said Stan promptly.

"Humph! Yes. But it sounds better in French. Here, I don't like to think old Wing guilty; he has been such a true and faithful servant to the 'foreign devils,' as they call us. Besides, he is so much one of us, and has been so well paid and treated. You've had no quarrel with him, Blunt?"

"Not the slightest. Always the best of friends. Of course, you know my way--short, sharp, and decisive."

"Yes; you always were a bit of a bully, Blunt."

"But I'm always just, sir."

"Perfectly; and I believe the people like you at bottom, even if you have a rough side to your tongue."

"Oh yes, uncle," put in Stan eagerly, to be rewarded by a grateful glance. "I'm sure there isn't a man here who wouldn't fight to the death for Mr Blunt."

"I wouldn't go so far as that, Lynn," said Blunt, with the hot blood colouring his pallid, sunken cheeks.

"But they've proved it," cried Stan energetically.

"I'm thinking it was more for you, Lynn," said Blunt quietly.

"Well, let that rest," cried Uncle Jeff; "and let's go on with the trial of Master Wing. You have been good friends with him, Blunt?"

"Excellent."

"No sudden quarrel?"

"Oh no."

"Given him no cause of offence? These Asiatics are rather fond of nursing up a bit of revenge."

"Oh no," repeated Blunt.

"What about the coolies, then? Any knocking down or punishing any of them?"

"Nothing of the kind, sir. I am quite at a loss to think of anything that could have prompted a Chinaman here to retaliate.--You can think of nothing, can you, Lynn, in the short time you have been here?"

Lynn remained silent and looked very conscious, while Uncle Jeff watched him sideways.

"Hah!" he said at last. "Dumb. Now, Stan, lad, what are you thinking of? Out with it."

The lad tried to clear his throat, but in vain, for his voice sounded husky as he said:

"I was thinking about Wing being on the watch, uncle--about my shooting at him, Mr Blunt, and his tumble."

"Puss! puss! puss! puss! puss!" said Uncle Jeff softly, and he looked towards the door.

It was the turn of Stan and the manager to stare at him now, and they looked as if they fancied he was going out of his mind.

But he looked back at them with a light that was certainly not that of insanity dancing in his clear, keen eyes, and there was the faint dawning of a smile upon his lips as he saw their puzzled looks.

"What are you staring at, Stan?" he said at last.

"I--I couldn't make out what you meant, uncle. Do you want the cat?

She's generally in the warehouse, watching for the rats that come out of the river-bank."

"Oh no; I wasn't alluding to that one, but to the other."

"There is no other cat on the premises, sir," said Blunt, staring in turn.

"Oh yes, there is. I mean the metaphorical cat. She's out of the bag now, and I was calling her back. Why, hang it, man! there's the cause of the plot. Tell us all about it."

The incident was repeated to the end.

"A great pity," said Uncle Jeff gravely.

"Yes, sir, it was," said Blunt. "I acted on the impulse of the moment, and of course I alone was to blame, for in my sharp, overbearing manner I insisted upon your nephew firing. Of course, I only meant, in my annoyance at his dozing off at such a time, to give him a startler. But I've felt sorry ever since."

"I am sorry too," said Uncle Jeff.