pgw.uneasymoney-第25部分

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　He　felt　devilish　fit。　He　would　have　liked　to　run　a　mile　or　two　and　jump　a　few　gates。　He　wished　five　or　six　starving　beggars　would　e　along；　it　would　be　pleasant　to　give　the　poor　blighters　money。　It　was　too　much　to　expect　at　that　time　of　night；　of　course；　but　it　would　be　rather　jolly　if　Jess　Willard　would　roll　up　and　try　to　pick　a　quarrel。　He　would　show　him　something。　He　felt　grand　and　strong　and　full　of　beans。　What　a　ripping　thing　life　was　when　you　came　to　think　of　it。
　'This；'　he　said；　'is　perfectly　extraordinary！'　And　time　stood　still。
　A　sense　of　something　incongruous　jarred　upon　Bill。　Something　seemed　to　be　interfering　with　the　supreme　romance　of　that　golden　moment。　It　baffled　him　at　first。　Then　he　realized　that　he　was　still　holding　Eustace　by　the　tail。
　Dudley　Pickering　had　watched　these　proceedingsas　well　as　the　fact　that　it　was　extremely　dark　and　that　he　was　endeavouring　to　hide　a　portly　form　behind　a　slender　bush　would　permit　himwith　a　sense　of　bewilderment。　A　ic　artist　drawing　Mr　Pickering　at　that　moment　would　no　doubt　have　placed　above　his　head　one　of　those　large　marks　of　interrogation　which　lend　vigour　and　snap　to　modern　ic　art。　Certainly　such　a　mark　of　interrogation　would　have　summed　up　his　feelings　exactly。　Of　what　was　taking　place　he　had　not　the　remotest　notion。　All　he　knew　was　that　for　some　inexplicable　reason　his　quarry　had　e　to　a　halt　and　seemed　to　have　settled　down　for　an　indefinite　stay。　Voices　came　to　him　in　an　indistinguishable　murmur；　intensely　irritating　to　a　conscientious　tracker。　One　of　Fenimore　Cooper's　Indiansnotably　Chingachgook；　if；　which　seemed　incredible；　that　was　really　the　man's　namewould　have　crept　up　without　a　sound　and　heard　what　was　being　said　and　got　in　on　the　ground　floor　of　whatever　plot　was　being　hatched。　But　experience　had　taught　Mr　Pickering　that；　superior　as　he　was　to　Chingachgook　and　his　friends　in　many　ways；　as　a　creeper　he　was　not　in　their　class。　He　weighed　thirty　or　forty　pounds　more　than　a　first…class　creeper　should。　Besides；　creeping　is　like　golf。　You　can't　take　it　up　in　the　middle　forties　and　expect　to　pete　with　those　who　have　been　at　it　from　infancy。
　He　had　resigned　himself　to　an　all…night　vigil　behind　the　bush；　when　to　his　great　delight　he　perceived　that　things　had　begun　to　move　again。　There　was　a　rustling　of　feet　in　the　undergrowth；　and　he　could　just　see　two　indistinct　forms　making　their　way　among　the　bushes。　He　came　out　of　his　hiding　place　and　followed　stealthily；　or　as　stealthily　as　the　fact　that　he　had　not　even　taken　a　correspondence　course　in　creeping　allowed。　And　profiting　by　earlier　mistakes；　he　did　succeed　in　making　far　less　noise　than　before。　In　place　of　his　former　somewhat　elephantine　method　of　progression　he　adopted　a　species　of　shuffle　which　had　excellent　results；　for　it　enabled　him　to　brush　twigs　away　instead　of　stepping　flatfootedly　on　them。　The　new　method　was　slow；　but　it　had　no　other　disadvantages。
　Because　it　was　slow；　Mr　Pickering　was　obliged　to　follow　his　prey　almost　entirely　by　ear。　It　was　easy　at　first；　for　they　seemed　to　be　hurrying　on　regardless　of　noise。　Then　unexpectedly　the　sounds　of　their　passage　ceased。
　He　halted。　In　his　boyish　way　the　first　thing　he　thought　was　that　it　was　an　ambush。　He　had　a　vision　of　that　large　man　suspecting　his　presence　and　lying　in　wait　for　him　with　a　revolver。　This　was　not　a　forting　thought。　Of　course；　if　a　man　is　going　to　fire　a　revolver　at　you　it　makes　little　difference　whether　he　is　a　giant　or　a　pygmy；　but　Mr　Pickering　was　in　no　frame　of　mind　for　nice　reasoning。　It　was　the　thought　of　Bill's　physique　which　kept　him　standing　there　irresolute。
　What　would　Chingachgookassuming；　for　purposes　of　argument；　that　any　sane　godfather　could　really　have　given　a　helpless　child　a　name　like　thathave　done？　He　would；　Mr　Pickering　considered；　after　giving　the　matter　his　earnest　attention；　have　made　a　_detour_　and　outflanked　the　enemy。　An　excellent　solution　of　the　difficulty。　Mr　Pickering　turned　to　the　left　and　began　to　advance　circuitously；　with　the　result　that；　before　he　knew　what　he　was　doing；　he　came　out　into　a　clearing　and　understood　the　meaning　of　the　sudden　silence　which　had　perplexed　him。　Footsteps　made　no　sound　on　this　mossy　turf。
　He　knew　where　he　was　now；　the　clearing　was　familiar。　This　was　where　Lord　Wetherby's　shack…studio　stood；　and　there　it　was；　right　in　front　of　him；　black　and　clear　in　the　moonlight。　And　the　two　dark　figures　were　going　into　it。
　Mr　Pickering　retreated　into　the　shelter　of　the　bushes　and　mused　upon　this　thing。　It　seemed　to　him　that　for　centuries　he　had　been　doing　nothing　but　retreat　into　bushes　for　this　purpose。　His　perplexity　had　returned。　He　could　imagine　no　reason　why　burglars　should　want　to　visit　Lord　Wetherby's　studio。　He　had　taken　it　for　granted；　when　he　had　tracked　them　to　the　clearing；　that　they　were　on　their　way　to　the　house；　which　was　quite　close　to　the　shack；　separated　from　it　only　by　a　thin　belt　of　trees　and　a　lawn。
　They　had　certainly　gone　in。　He　had　seen　them　with　his　own　eyesfirst　the　man；　then　very　close　behind　him；　apparently　holding　to　his　coat；　the　girl。　But　why？
　Creep　up　and　watch　them？　Would　Chingachgook　have　taken　a　risk　like　that？　Hardly；　unless　insured　with　some　good　pany。　Then　what？　He　was　still　undecided　when　he　perceived　the　objects　of　his　attention　emerging。　He　backed　a　little　farther　into　the　bushes。
　They　stood　for　an　instant；　listening　apparently。　The　man　no　longer　carried　the　sack。　They　exchanged　a　few　inaudible　words。　Then　they　crossed　the　clearing　and　entered　the　wood　a　few　yards　to　his　right。　He　could　hear　the　crackling　of　their　footsteps　diminishing　in　the　direction　of　the　road。
　A　devouring　curiosity　seized　upon　Mr　Pickering。　He　wanted；　more　than　he　had　wanted　almost　anything　before　in　his　life；　to　find　out　what　the　dickens　they　had　been　up　to　in　there。　He　listened。　The　footsteps　were　no　longer　audible。　He　ran　across　the　clearing　and　into　the　shack。　It　was　then　that　he　discovered　that　he　had　no　matches。
　This　needless　infliction；　ing　upon　him　at　the　crisis　of　an　adventurous　night；　infuriated　Mr　Pickering。　He　swore　softly。　He　groped　round　the　walls　for　an　electric…light　switch；　but　the　shack　had　no　electric…light　switch。　When　there　was　need　to　illuminate　it　an　oil　lamp　performed　the　duty。　This　occurred　to　Mr　Pickering　after　he　had　been　round　the　place　three　times；　and　he　ceased　to　grope　for　a　switch　and　began　to　seek　for　a　match…box。　He　was　still　seeking　it　when　he　was　frozen　in　his　tracks　by　the　sound　of　footsteps；　muffled　but　by　their　nearness　audible；　just　outside　the　door。　He　pulled　out　his　pistol；　which　he　had　replaced　in　his　pocket；　backed　against　the　wall；　and　stood　there　prepared　to　sell　his　life　dearly。
　The　door　opened。
　One　reads　of　desperate　experiences　ageing　people　in　a　single　night。　His　present　predicament　aged　Mr　Pickering　in　a　single　minute。　In　the　brief　interval　of　time　between　the　opening　of　the　door　and　the　moment　when　a　voice　outside　began　to　speak　he　became　a　full　thirty　years　older。　His　boyish　ardour　slipped　from　him；　and　he　was　once　more　the　Dudley　Pickering　whom　the　world　knew；　the　staid　and　respectable　middle…aged　man　of　affairs；　who　would　have　given　a　million　dollars　not　to　have　got　himself　mixed　up　in　this　deplorable　business。
　And　then　the　voice　spoke。　　'I'll　light　the　lamp；'　it　said；　and　with　an　overpowering　feeling　of　relief　Mr　Pickering　recognized　it　as　Lord　Wetherby's。　A　moment　later　the　temperamental　peer's　dapper　figure　became　visible　in　silhouette　against　a　background　of　pale　light。
　'Ah…hum！'　said　Mr　Pickering。
　The　effect　on　Lord　Wetherby　was　remarkable。　To　hear　some　one　clear　his　throat　at　the　back　of　a　dark　room；　where　there　should　rightfully　be　no　throat　to　be　cleared；　would　cause　even　your　man　of　stolid　habit　a　passing　thrill。　The　thing　got　right　in　among　Lord　Wetherby's　highly　sensitive　ganglions　like　an　earthquake。　He　uttered　a　strangled　cry；　then　dashed　out　and　slammed　the　door　behind　him。
　'There's　someone　in　there！'
　Lady　Wetherby's　tranquil　voice　made　itself　heard。
　'Nonsense；　who　could　be　in　there？'
　'I　heard　him；　I　tell　you。　He　growled　at　me！'
　It　seemed　to　Mr　Pickering　that　the　time　had　e　to　relieve　the　mental　distress　which　he　was　causing　his　host。　He　raised　his　voice。
　'It's　all　right！'　he　called。
　'There！'　said　Lord　Wetherby。
　'Who's　that？'　asked　Lady　Wetherby；　through　the　door。
　'It's　all　right。　It's　mePickering。'
　The　door　was　opened　a　few　inches　by　a　cautious　hand。
　'Is　that　you；　Pickering？'
　'Yes。　It's　all　right。'
　'Don't　keep　saying　it's　all　right；'　said　Lord　Wetherby；　irritably。　'It　isn't　all　right。　What　do　you　mean　by　hiding　in　the　dark　and　popping　out　and　barking　at　a　man？　You　made　me　bite　my　tongue。　I've　never　had　such　a　shock　in　my　life。'
　Mr　Pickering　left　his　lair　and　came　out　into　the　open。　Lord　Wetherby　was　looking　aggrieved；　Lady　Wetherby　peacefully　inquisitive。　For　the　first　time　Mr　Pickering　discovered　that　Claire　was　present。　She　was　standing　behind　Lady　Wetherby　with　a　floating　white　something　over　her　head；　looking　very　beautiful。
　'For　the　love　of　Mike！'　said　Lady　Wetherby。
　Mr　Pickering　became　aware　that　he　was　still　holding　the　revolver。
　'Oh；　ah！'　he　said；　and　pocketed　the　weapon。
　'Barking　at　people！'　muttered　Lord　Wetherby　in　a　querulous　undertone。
　'What　on　earth　are　you　doing；　Dudley？'　said　Claire。
　There　was　a　note　in　her　voice　which　both　puzzled　and　pained　Mr　Pickering；　a　note　that　seemed　to　suggest　that　she　found　herself　in　imperfect　sympathy　with　him。　Her　expression　deepened　the　suggestion。　It　was　a　cold　expression；　unfriendly；　as　if　it　was　not　so　keen　a　pleasure　to　Claire　to　look　at　him　as　it　should　be　for　a　girl　to　look　at　the　man　whom　she　is　engaged　to　marry。　He　had　noticed　the　same　note　in　her　voice　and　the　same　hostile　look　in　her　eye　earlier　in　the　evening。　He　had　found　her　alone；　reading　a　letter　which；　as　the　stamp　on　the　envelope　showed；　had　e　from　England。　She　had　seemed　so　upset　that　he　had　asked　her　if　it　contained　bad　news；　and　she　had　replied　in　the　negative　with　so　much　irritation　that　he　had　desisted　from　inquiries。　But　his　own　idea　was　that　she　had　had　bad　news　from　home。　Mr　Pickering　still　clung　to　his　early　impression　that　her　little　brother　Percy　was　consumptive；　and　he　thought　the　child　must　have　taken　a　turn　for　the　worse。　It　was　odd　that　she　should　have　looked　and　spoken　like　that　then；　and　it　was　odd　that　she　should　look　and　speak　like　that　now。　He　had　been　vaguely　disturbed　then　and　he　was　vaguely　disturbed　now。　He　had　the　feeling　that　all　was　not　well。
　'Yes；'　said　Lady　Wetherby。　'What　on　earth　are　you　doing；　Dudley？'
　'Popping　out！'　grumbled　Lord　Wetherby。
　'We　came　here　to　see　Algie's　picture；　which　has　got　something　wrong　with　its　eyes　apparently；　and　we　find　you　hiding　in　the　dark　with　a　gun。　What's　the　idea？'
　'It's　a　long　story；'　said　Mr　Pickering。
　'We　have　the　night　before　us；'　said　Lady　Wetherby。
　'You　remember　The　Manthe　fellow　I　found　looking　in　at　the　window；　The　Man　who　said　he　knew　Claire？'
　'You've　got　that　man　on　the　brain；　Dudley。　What's　he　been　doing　to　you　now？'
　'I　tracked　him　here。'
　'Tracked　him？　Where　from？'
　'From　that　bee…farm　place　where　he's　living。　He　and　that　girl　you　spoke　of　went　into　these　woods。　I　thought　they　were　making　for　the　house；　but　they　went　i