Nicky-Nan, Reservist Part 33

"You're not a woman yet. When the time comes you may start cryin' or you mayn't. But I'll take even money you box 'Biades' ears."

'Beida's glance travelled to that forlorn child. "I'll not take any bet," she announced; "when you know that it may be necessary at any moment--he's that unaccountable." She lifted her voice so that the innocent culprit could not avoid hearing. "I don't speckilate on a _thief_," she added with vicious intention.

"Hush--hus.h.!.+" said 'Bert, and glanced anxiously at his sobbing parent.

Nicky-Nan was the worst puzzled of them all. He had promised Sam Penhaligon to do his best when the family s.h.i.+fted quarters: and now Mrs Penhaligon would not hear of his lifting so much as a hand.

He spent most of the day out on the cliffs, idly watching the military.

Mrs Penhaligon had invoked the aid of Farmer Best; and Farmer Best (always a friend of the unfriended) had sent down two hay waggons to transport the household stuff. By four in the afternoon, or thereabouts, the last load had been carried and was in process of delivery at Aunt Bunney's cottage.

At a quarter to five Nicky-Nan returned to the desolate house.

The front door stood open, of course. So (somewhat to his surprise) did the door of the Penhaligons' kitchen.

"They're all behindhand," thought Nicky-Nan. "Better fit the good woman hadn' been so forward to despise my helpin'."

He peered in cautiously. The room was uninhabited; stark bare of furniture, save for the quadrant key left to hang from the midmost beam; the "h.e.l.len "-slated floor clean as a new pin.

Nicky-Nan heaved a sigh. "So they've gone," he thought to himself; "an' so we all pa.s.s out, one after another. A decent, cleanly woman, with all her kinks o' temper. Much like my own mother, as I remember her."

He pa.s.sed into his parlour, laid down hat and walking-staff, and of a sudden pulled himself upright, rigid.

Footsteps were treading the floor overhead.

For a moment it shook him almost to faintness. Then, swiftly, wrath came to his aid, and s.n.a.t.c.hing up his staff again he stumped out to the foot of the stairway.

"Who's that, up there?"

"Ha! . . . Is that you, Nanjivell," answered the voice of Mr Pamphlett. "A domiciliary visit, and no harm intended." The figure of Mr Pamphlett blocked the head of the landing.

Nicky-Nan raised his stick and shook it in a fury.

"You get out within this minute, or I'll have the law of 'ee."

"Gently, my friend," responded Mr Pamphlett soothingly. "I have the Constable here with me, besides Mr Gilbert the builder. And here's my Ejectment Order, if you drive me to it."

"When you promised me--" stammered Nicky-Nan, escalading the stairs and holding his staff before him as if storming a breach.

"But,"--Mr Pamphlett waved a hand,--"we need not talk about ejectment orders. By the terms of your lease, if you will examine them, the landlord is ent.i.tled to examine his premises at any reasonable hour.

You won't deny this to be a reasonable hour. . . . Well, constable?

What about that cupboard?"

Nicky-Nan, reaching the doorway, gave a gasp. Across the room Rat-it-all, on hands and knees, had pulled open the door of the fatal cupboard, and had thrust in head and shoulders, exploring.

"There's a loose piece of flooring here, Mr Pamphlett. New, by the looks of it."

There was a sound of boards being shaken and thrown together in a heap.

"Queer old cache here below. . . . Steady, now . . . wait till I turn my bull's-eye on it! Lucky I brought the lantern, too!"

"You dare!" screamed Nicky-Nan, rus.h.i.+ng to pull him backward by the collar.

The constable, his head in the bowels of the hiding-place, neither heard him nor saw Mr Pamphlett and Builder Gilbert interpose to hold Nicky-Nan back.

"But 'tis empty," announced Policeman Rat-it-all.

"Empty?"

EMPTY?

Nicky-Nan, bursting from the two men, gripped Rat-it-all by the collar, flung him back on the floor, s.n.a.t.c.hed his bull's-eye, and diving as a rabbit into its burrow, plunged the lantern's ray into the gulf.

Rat-it-all had spoken truth. The treasure--every coin of it--had vanished!

Nicky-Nan's head dropped sideways and rattled on the boards.

CHAPTER XXII.

SALVAGE.

"Mister Nanjivell! Mis-ter Nanjivell!"

It was the child 'Beida's voice, calling from below.

"Are you upstairs, Mister Nanjivell? I want to see you--in _such_ a hurry!"

Following up her summons, she arrived panting at the open doorway.

"O-oh!" she cried, after a catch of the breath. Her face blanched as she looked around the bedroom; at Builder Gilbert, standing, wash-jug in hand; at Mr Pamphlett, kneeling, examining the cupboard; at Policeman Rat-it-all, kneeling also, but on one knee, while on the other he supported Nicky-Nan's inert head and bathed a cut on the right temple, dipping a rag of a towel into the poor chipped basin on the ground beside him.

"What are you doin' to him?" demanded 'Beida, her colour coming back with a rush.

Mr Pamphlett had slewed about on his knees. "Here, you cut and run!"

he commanded sharply. But his posture did not lend itself to authority, and he showed some embarra.s.sment.

"What are you doin' to him?" the child demanded again.

"He've had a fit," explained Builder Gilbert, holding out the ewer.

"Here, run downstairs and fetch up some more water, if you want to be useful."

'Beida stared at the ewer. She transferred her gaze to Rat-it-all and his patient: then, after a s.h.i.+ver, to Mr Pamphlett. She had courage. Her eyes grew hard and fierce.

"Is that why Mr Pamphlett's pokin' his nose into a cupboard?"

"Rat it all!" the constable e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, casting a glance over his shoulder and dipping a hand wide of the basin.