Johnny Ludlow First Series Part 103

Pell that he was being watched? I had distinctly heard the man say he was going away directly: why had he stayed? Yes, it would be right and kind. Walking a bit further, I quietly turned back.

Clement-Pell had a pen in his hand this time, and was poring over what seemed to be a big account-book, or ledger. He looked surprised again, but spoke quietly.

"Still left something behind you, Mr. Ludlow?"

"No, sir, not this time," I said, speaking below my breath. "I thought I would come back and tell you, Mr. Pell, that some one outside is watching this room. If----"

I broke off in sheer astonishment. He started up from his chair and came creeping to where I stood, to hide himself as it seemed from the watcher, his haggard cheeks white as death. But he put a good face on it to me.

"I could not hear you," he whispered. "What did you say? Some one watching?"

"It is the same man I saw you talking to in the dark walk to-night, with the black hair and white whiskers. Perhaps he means no harm, sir; he is hiding in the trees, and just peeping out to look in here."

"You are sure it is that same man?" he asked with a relieved air.

"Quite sure."

"Then it is all right. Mr. Johnson is an eccentric friend of mine.

Rather--in fact, rather given to take at times more than is good for him. I suppose he has been going in for champagne. I--I thought it might be some bad character."

It might be "all right," as Mr. Pell said: I fancied, by the relieved tone, that it _was_ so: but I felt quite sure that he had cause to fear, if not Mr. Johnson, some one else. At that moment there arose a slight rustle of leaves outside, and he stood, holding his breath to listen, his finger raised. The smell of the shrubs was borne freely on the night air.

"It is only the wind: there must be a little breeze getting up," said Mr. Clement-Pell. "Thank you; and good night. Oh, by the way, don't talk of this, Mr. Ludlow. If Johnson _has_ been exceeding, he would not like to hear of it again."

"No fear, sir. Once more, good night."

Before I had well leaped the steps of the balcony, the window, a very heavy one, was closed with a bang, and the shutters being put to.

Glancing back, I saw the white face of Clement-Pell through the closing shutters, and then heard the bolts shot. What could he be afraid of?

Perhaps Johnson turned mad when he drank. Some men do.

"Have you been making that bag, Johnny?" they called out when I caught them up.

"No."

"I'm sure it was on the chair," said Helen.

"Oh, I found it at once. I stayed talking with Mr. Pell. I say, has the night grown damp?--or is it my fancy?"

"What does it matter?" returned Bill Whitney. "I wish I was in a bath, for my part, if it was only cold water."

The Squire stood at the end of the garden when we reached home, with old Jacobson, whose gig was waiting. After reproaching us with our sins, first for sending the carriage back empty, then for being so late, the Squire came round and asked all about the party. Old Jacobson drew in his lips as he listened.

"It's fine to be the Clement-Pells!" cried he. "Why, a Duke-Royal could not give a grander party than that. Real lace for gowns, had they! No wonder Madame Pell turns her nose up at farmers!"

"Did Clement-Pell send me any particular message?" asked the Pater.

"He sent his kind regards," I said. "And he was sorry you and Mrs.

Todhetley did not go."

"It was a charming party," cried Helen Whitney. "Papa and mamma put it to us, when the invitation came--would we go, or would we not go. They don't much care for the Clement-Pells. I am glad we did go: I would not have missed it for the world. But there's something about the Clement-Pells that tells you they are not gentlepeople."

"Oh, that's the show and the finery," said Bill.

"No, I think it lies more in their tones and their manner of speaking,"

said Helen.

"Johnny, are you _quite_ sure Clement-Pell sent me no message, except kind regards, and that?"

"Quite sure, sir."

"Well, it's very odd."

"What is very odd, sir?"

"Never you mind, Johnny."

This was after breakfast on the Sat.u.r.day morning. The Squire was opening a letter that the post had brought, and looked up to ask me. Not that the letter had anything to do with Clement-Pell, for it only enclosed a bill for some ironmongery bought at Evesham.

On the Friday the Whitneys had gone home, and Tod with them. So I was alone: with nothing to do but to wish him back again.

"I am going to Alcester, Johnny," said the Pater, in the course of the morning. "You can come with me if you like."

"Then will you please bring me back some money?" cried Mrs. Todhetley.

"You will pa.s.s the Bank, I suppose."

"It's where I am going," returned the Pater: and I thought his voice had rather a grumbling tone in it.

We took the pony-carriage, and he let me drive. It was as hot as ever; and the Squire wondered when the autumn cool would be coming in. Old Brandon happened to be at his gate as we went by, and the Pater told me to pull up.

"Going in to Alcester?" cried Mr. Brandon.

"Just as far as the Bank," said the Pater. "So I hear you went to the Clement-Pells' after all, Brandon."

"I looked in to see what it was like," said old Brandon, giving me a moment's hard stare: as much as to recall to my mind what had really taken him there.

"It was a das.h.i.+ng affair, I hear."

"Rather too much so for me," cried Mr. Brandon drily. "Where's your son, sir?"

"Oh, he's gone home with the Whitneys' young folk. How hot it is to-day!"

"Ay. Too hot to stand in it long. Drive on, Johnny."

The Squire went in to the Bank alone, leaving me with the carriage. He banked with the Old Bank at Worcester; but it was a convenience to have some little money nearer in case of need, and he had recently opened a small account at Alcester. Upon which Clement-Pell had said he might as well have opened it with him, at his Church d.y.k.ely branch. But the Squire explained that he had as good as promised the Alcester people, years ago, that if he did open an account nearer than Worcester it should be with them. He came out, looking rather glum, stuffing some notes into his pocket-book.

"Turn the pony round, Johnny," said he. "We'll go back. It's too hot to stay out to-day."