In the Library, Page 2

brother. During the day he would stay in andwrite, as became a man who described himself as a journalist.

  Or suppose he went to the sea? Who would look for him in flannels,bathing and boating with ordinary happy mortals? He sat and pondered.One might mean life, and the other death. Which?

  His face burned as he thought of the responsibility of the choice. Somany people went to the sea at that time of year that he would surelypass unnoticed. But at the sea one might meet acquaintances. He got upand nervously paced the room again. It was not so simple, now that itmeant so much, as he had thought.

  The sharp little clock on the mantel-piece rang out "one," followedimmediately by the deeper note of that in the library. He thought of theclock, it seemed the only live thing in that room, and shuddered. Hewondered whether the thing lying by the far side of the table heard it.He wondered----

  He started and held his breath with fear. Somewhere down stairs a boardcreaked loudly, then another. He went to the door, and opening it alittle way, but without looking out, listened. The house was so stillthat he could hear the ticking of the old clock in the kitchen below. Heopened the door a little wider and peeped out. As he did so there was asudden sharp outcry on the stairs, and he drew back into the room andstood trembling before he had quite realized that the noise had been madeby the cat. The cry was unmistakable; but what had disturbed it?

  There was silence again, and he drew near the door once more. He becamecertain that something was moving stealthily on the stairs. He heard theboards creak again, and once the rails of the balustrade rattled. Thesilence and suspense were frightful. Suppose that the something whichhad been Fletcher waited for him in the darkness outside?

  He fought his fears down, and opening the door, determined to see whatwas beyond. The light from his room streamed out on to the landing, andhe peered about fearfully. Was it fancy, or did the door of Fletcher'sroom opposite close as he looked? Was it fancy, or did the handle of thedoor really turn?

  In perfect silence, and watching the door as he moved, to see thatnothing came out and followed him, he proceeded slowly down the darkstairs. Then his jaw fell, and he turned sick and faint again. Thelibrary door, which he distinctly remembered closing, and which,moreover, he had seen was closed when he went up stairs to his room, nowstood open some four or five inches. He fancied that there was arustling inside, but his brain refused to be certain. Then plainly andunmistakably he heard a chair pushed against the wall.

  He crept to the door, hoping to pass it before the thing inside becameaware of his presence. Something crept stealthily about the room. Witha sudden impulse he caught the handle of the door, and, closing itviolently, turned the key in the lock, and ran madly down the stairs.

  A fearful cry sounded from the room, and a heavy hand beat upon thepanels of the door. The house rang with the blows, but above themsounded the loud hoarse cries of human fear. Burleigh, half-way down tothe hall, stopped with his hand on the balustrade and listened. Thebeating ceased, and a man's voice cried out loudly for God's sake to lethim out.

  At once Burleigh saw what had happened and what it might mean for him.He had left the hall door open after his visit to the front, and somewandering bird of the night had entered the house. No need for him to gonow. No need to hide either from the hangman's rope or the felon's cell.The fool above had saved him. He turned and ran up stairs again just asthe prisoner in his furious efforts to escape wrenched the handle fromthe door.

  "Who's there?" he cried, loudly.

  "Let me out!" cried a frantic voice. "For God's sake, open the door!There's something here."

  "Stay where you are!" shouted Burleigh, sternly. "Stay where you are!If you come out, I'll shoot you like a dog!"

  The only response was a smashing blow on the lock of the door. Burleighraised his pistol, and aiming at the height of a man's chest, firedthrough the panel.

  The report and the crashing of the wood made one noise, succeeded by anunearthly stillness, then the noise of a window hastily opened. Burleighfled hastily down the stairs, and flinging wide the hall door, shoutedloudly for assistance.

  It happened that a sergeant and the constable on the beat had just met inthe road. They came toward the house at a run. Burleigh, withincoherent explanations, ran up stairs before them, and halted outsidethe library door. The prisoner was still inside, still trying todemolish the lock of the sturdy oaken door. Burleigh tried to turn thekey, but the lock was too damaged to admit of its moving. The sergeantdrew back, and, shoulder foremost, hurled himself at the door and burstit open.

  He stumbled into the room, followed by the constable, and two shafts oflight from the lanterns at their belts danced round the room. A manlurking behind the door made a dash for it, and the next instant thethree men were locked together.

  Burleigh, standing in the doorway, looked on coldly, reserving himselffor the scene which was to follow. Except for the stumbling of the menand the sharp catch of the prisoner's breath, there was no noise. Ahelmet fell off and bounced and rolled along the floor. The men fell;there was a sobbing snarl and a sharp click. A tall figure rose from thefloor; the other, on his knees, still held the man down. The standingfigure felt in his pocket, and, striking a match, lit the gas.

  The light fell on the flushed face and fair beard of the sergeant. Hewas bare-headed, and his hair dishevelled. Burleigh entered the room andgazed eagerly at the half-insensible man on the floor-a short, thick-setfellow with a white, dirty face and a black moustache. His lip was cutand bled down his neck. Burleigh glanced furtively at the table. Thecloth had come off in the struggle, and was now in the place where he hadleft Fletcher.

  "Hot work, sir," said the sergeant, with a smile. "It's fortunate wewere handy."

  The prisoner raised a heavy head and looked up with unmistakable terrorin his eyes.

  "All right, sir," he said, trembling, as the constable increased thepressure of his knee. "I 'ain't been in the house ten minutesaltogether. By ---, I've not."

  The sergeant regarded him curiously.

  "It don't signify," he said, slowly; "ten minutes or ten seconds won'tmake any difference."

  The man shook and began to whimper.

  "It was 'ere when I come," he said, eagerly; "take that down, sir. I'veonly just come, and it was 'ere when I come. I tried to get away then,but I was locked in."

  "What was?" demanded the sergeant.

  "That," he said, desperately.

  The sergeant, following the direction of the terror-stricken black eyes,stooped by the table. Then, with a sharp exclamation, he dragged awaythe cloth. Burleigh, with a sharp cry of horror, reeled back against thewall.

  "All right, sir," said the sergeant, catching him; "all right. Turn yourhead away."

  He pushed him into a chair, and crossing the room, poured out a glass ofwhiskey and brought it to him. The glass rattled against his teeth, buthe drank it greedily, and then groaned faintly. The sergeant waitedpatiently. There was no hurry.

  "Who is it, sir?" he asked at length.

  "My friend--Fletcher," said Burleigh, with an effort. "We livedtogether." He turned to the prisoner.

  "You damned villain!"

  "He was dead when I come in the room, gentlemen," said the prisoner,strenuously. "He was on the floor dead, and when I see 'im, I tried toget out. S' 'elp me he was. You heard me call out, sir. I shouldn'tha' called out if I'd killed him."

  "All right," said the sergeant, gruffly; "you'd better hold your tongue,you know."

  "You keep quiet," urged the constable.

  The sergeant knelt down and raised the dead man's head.

  "I 'ad nothing to do with it," repeated the man on the floor. "I 'adnothing to do with it. I never thought of such a thing. I've only beenin the place ten minutes; put that down, sir."

  The sergeant groped with his left hand, and picking up the Japanesesword, held it at him.

  "I've never seen it before," said the prisoner, struggling.

/>   "It used to hang on the wall," said Burleigh. "He must have snatched itdown. It was on the wall when I left Fletcher a little while ago."

  "How long?" inquired the sergeant.

  "Perhaps an hour, perhaps half an hour," was the reply. "I went to mybedroom."

  The man on the floor twisted his head and regarded him narrowly.

  "You done it!" he cried, fiercely. "You done it, and you want me toswing for it."

  "That 'll do," said the indignant constable.

  The sergeant let his burden gently to the floor again.

  "You hold your tongue, you devil!" he said, menacingly.

  He crossed to the