Chapter XIV: In Quest of Ammunition

THE Gidleys had always been keen sportsmen; and the present owner of the Manor House had been noted, in former years, as one of the best shots in the county. There were fire-arms of all sorts decorating the walls of the hall, hanging side by side with swords of a bygone date, which Lionel had been strictly commanded never to touch; he had never done so, though he had often cast longing eyes upon them; consequently, he had been delighted at the finding of the old blunderbuss, and additionally pleased when his grandfather had not forbidden its being used as a plaything.

The boy was extremely thoughtful and quiet on the morning after Sir Richard's unexpected interruption of the game in the disused room, so that Ruth, who understood her brother's ways perfectly, knew there was something weighing upon his mind. She was devoured with curiosity to find out what it was, but at the same time, she was quite aware it would be useless to question him. However, she kept a watchful eye on him during the morning, greatly to his annoyance; but she could not follow him about all day, especially as her mother invited her to drive to a neighbouring town, to do some shopping in the afternoon—a pleasure which she could not refuse. At the last moment, when the carriage was at the door, Sir Richard decided to accompany them, so Lionel was left to his own devices.

His first act on being alone was to repair to the study. It was a dingy room with heavy mahogany furniture, upholstered in a dull shade of green; the walls were lined with book-cases containing old volumes, mostly covered in leather; no one ever read them, for Sir Richard was not of a studious disposition. A writing-table occupied a prominent position in front of the window. On this table a few rusty pens, a sheet of blotting paper almost unsoiled, and a handful of bills were scattered, whilst the ink in the inkstand—fashioned in the shape of a fox's head in bronze—had become clotted.

From the writing-table Lionel's eyes travelled to an old oak bureau, placed across one corner of the room; he tried the drawers, but much to his disappointment, found them all locked.

"Bother!" he exclaimed aloud, irritably; "what shall I do now? It's just possible grandfather may have some powder and shot in one of these drawers. I wish I knew where he keeps his keys!"

Lionel was perfectly aware he had no right to pry into any place which was locked nevertheless, when his roving glance caught sight of a bunch of keys on the mantel-piece, he seized them at once, and tried if he could find one to fit the lock of the top drawer of the bureau. Some were too large, others were too small, but at length he found one that fitted the lock exactly, and in another moment the drawer was open. He was disappointed with its contents, which comprised a tangle of fishing lines, a book containing hooks and flies, a few floats, and a ball of whip-cord. The key fitted all the drawers, so he opened them in succession; but it was not until he came to the last that his hopes of finding what he was searching for went up with a bound.

"At last!" he exclaimed exultantly.

The drawer was full of ammunition. There were boxes of cartridges; but those Lionel turned aside, whilst his eager fingers grasped a flask, which proved on examination to contain gunpowder. On searching a little further, at the back of the drawer, he discovered a bag full of shot. This was a find indeed! He had taken possession of these treasures, and was about to shut and lock the drawer, when some one, who had quietly entered the room unnoticed by him, touched him on the shoulder. He started violently, and could not repress a slight shriek.

"What are you doing here, Master Lionel?" asked a well-known voice, in tones of mingled astonishment and reproof.

"Nothing!" he answered shortly, relieved to find that it was Susan Morecombe, and not his grandfather, who had come upon him unawares.

"Nothing!" the woman repeated, her eyes resting upon the bag of shot and flask of gunpowder which Lionel still grasped. "Oh, Master Lionel, how can you tell me such a big story as that!"

"I mean I'm doing nothing wrong," he amended, flushing hotly. "I—I—the truth is, I want a little ammunition to fire off my toy cannon—it's like a real cannon, you know, but only a few inches long—and I thought grandfather would not mind if I took some?"

"Have you Sir Richard's permission to help yourself," she asked, looking at him sharply.

"Well—no!" he admitted with reluctance.

"Then you must put back that bag and flask, sir. You must, indeed! I cannot allow you to take them. Do you mean to say you helped yourself to Sir Richard's keys and searched these drawers? Oh, how could you do it? What would Sir Richard say if he knew—or your mother?"

With a sigh, for he realised all his trouble had been in vain, Lionel replaced the articles he had taken from the drawer, and shut it, turning the key in the lock. He looked sullen, and though his face was crimson, it was more with anger at having been foiled than from any sense of shame.

"Are you going to sneak on me, Susan?" he asked, thinking he had better ascertain her intentions upon that point.

The woman hesitated. She had no desire to get the boy into trouble; but at the same time she was indignant at his dishonourable conduct, and doubted his tale about the toy cannon.

"It is a serious matter to take keys belonging to another, and open locked drawers," she said gravely, "and I believe it is my duty to inform Sir Richard."

"Oh, Susan!" Lionel cried earnestly, thoroughly alarmed. "Don't tell him! He'll be so awfully angry!"

"You should have thought of that before, Master Lionel," she reminded him.

"I know I should! Oh, please don't tell him! Think what a fearful row you will get me into!"

"I want to do what is right," Susan said, her kind face full of distress. "I cannot imagine, Master Lionel, how you could have come here and pried into those locked drawers! Then you were going to take away that flask of gunpowder and bag of shot without asking leave! You knew well enough Sir Richard would have refused them to you! You have behaved very badly!"

Lionel was silent, thinking what the consequences would be if Susan betrayed him. He did not fear his mother's anger—that he could face unabashed—but he did fear his grandfather's.

"I believe it is my duty to inform Sir Richard," Susan said again.

"Oh, don't tell him, please don't!" Lionel pleaded.

"Tell mother if you like, but not grandfather, won't it do if you tell mother?"

Susan considered the matter, and finally decided that if she told Mrs. Compton she would relieve herself from all sense of responsibility.

"Very well, Master Lionel," she said. "I will tell your mother what you've been up to this afternoon, and she can do as she pleases about informing your grandfather of your conduct."

Lionel heaved a sigh of deep relief, and thanked her, feeling for the moment quite grateful. She gave him a well-meant lecture, pointing out to him in what a dishonourable way he had behaved; but though he thought it wise to listen to all she had to say, he was not in the least impressed. Susan watched him replace the bunch of keys on the mantel-piece, then she followed him from the room.

He took his hat and went out of the front door, raging against Susan Morecombe in his heart for having balked his plans; his sense of gratitude to her was lost in the thought that, but for her, he would have had the ammunition he wanted.

Through the gardens he went into the grounds beyond; but instead of following the carriage drive to across the park to the sloping woods which spread to the hill above the village of Holton. It was cool and pleasant beneath the shade of the trees and Lionel was hot with anger against Susan. He sat down on a large moss-covered stone under the spreading branches of a big oak, and thought how foolish he had been not to lock the study door against intruders. A bright-eyed squirrel on a bough overhead peeped down at him inquisitively; and a rabbit, at a little distance, seated on its haunches, solemnly washed its face with its forepaws regardless of his presence.

He had been there some time when he heard footsteps approaching; some one was pushing his way through the bracken and undergrowth—a lanky youth of about eighteen, clad in fustian, with a greasy cap upon his unkempt head. He was closely followed by a dog—a lean, hungry-looking animal of the lurcher breed. Lionel recognised the slouching, ungainly figure as that of Bill Coysh, who was regarded in Holton as a ne'er-do-weel, because he apparently never did anything for a living. It was popularly supposed that he was a poacher, and all the gamekeepers in the neighbourhood looked upon him with great suspicion, though no direct charge had ever been brought against him. Now, when he came upon Lionel perched upon the stone, he paused irresolutely, glancing back to see that the dog was at his heels.

"Hulloa!" cried Lionel. "What are you doing here?"

"No harm, sir!" was the quick reply, whilst the lanky individual touched his cap, and looked sideways at his interrogator.

"If a gamekeeper saw you, he might think you were doing a bit of poaching, especially as you've got that dog with you!" Lionel told him.

"What, sir? Poaching? And because I've got Spring with me? Bless you, sir, Spring wouldn't look at a rabbit if one passed in front of his nose!"

This was such an evident piece of bounce, that Lionel burst into a loud laugh. Bill Coysh's wide mouth was distorted into a grin; and he met the other's glance with a broad wink.

"I say," said Lionel, his face brightening as a sudden thought crossed his mind, "have you got a gun?"

"Maybe," was the cautious response, "but what's that to you, sir? I an't shot anything belonging to you, have I?"

"No, no! I daresay you've had some of my grandfather's game, though! Oh, it doesn't matter to me if you have or not! What I want to know is whether your gun is a breech-loader or a muzzle-loader?"

Bill Coysh looked extremely surprised at this question. He opened his eyes and his mouth too, but he made no reply.

"Because if it's a breech-loader, of course you fire it with cartridges," Lionel proceeded; "but if it's a muzzle-loader I thought you might possibly keep a stock of powder and shot, and I wondered if you'd feel inclined to sell me some!"

A crafty expression crossed Bill Coysh's face upon hearing this, and a particularly shrewd gleam came into the small gray eyes, which, set near together, close to his nose, were not pleasant to look into.

"My gun's a breech-loader," he said slowly.

"Oh, what a pity!" exclaimed Lionel in much disappointment, his countenance falling perceptibly.

"But that's not to say I don't keep a small stock o' powder and shot," the other continued. "What's to prevent my filling my cartridges myself, eh? I might be able to supply them as is ready to pay for what they require!" —and the lanky youth grinned broadly again.

"Oh, of course I will pay you if you will supply me with some ammunition!" Lionel cried eagerly.

"What do you want it for?" Bill Coysh questioned. "I can't let you get me into trouble, you know!"

"Oh, no, no! I wouldn't do that for the world! If you'll let me have what I want no one shall ever know where I got it! I promise that faithfully! Besides, I'm not going to do any harm! I want the powder and shot to fire off a gun, and if you'll sell me some I'll pay you well. Look here!" —and Lionel drew half-a-crown from his pocket.

Bill Coysh looked at the coin, then he shook his head decidedly.

"Half-a-crown's not enough!" he declared contemptuously, "but if you care to fork out five shillings, I'll bring you enough powder and shot to fire off your gun half-a-dozen times or more!"

"That will do capitally!" said Lionel, whilst his companion regretted he had not asked for a larger sum. "Can you meet me here with the ammunition this evening, about seven o'clock?"

"Money to be paid in advance, sir?"

"No!" Lionel replied, after a moment's consideration, during which he reflected that that would not be wisdom on his part, seeing he had no guarantee for his companion's good faith; "no—half-a-crown now, and the rest when we meet this evening!"

"Very well," Bill Coysh agreed, accepting the proferred coin. "You're a sharp un, you are! I suppose you think I might run word, but I won't! I'll play fair, sir!"

"See you do!" Lionel retorted good-humouredly.

"And you'll never let on where you got the powder and shot?" the other questioned.

"No, certainly not; and I won't tell Sir Richard you were prowling about the woods with a lurcher! Mind you're here this evening about seven! We'd better not stay talking now, for if a gamekeeper came along—"

"He might think you weren't keeping good company!" Bill Coysh broke in with a harsh laugh, as he turned away and motioned to the dog to follow him. The intelligent brute, who had been trained to understand and obey the slightest sign, fell behind his master, close to his heels, and silently followed him out of sight.

Lionel went back to the Manor House much elated; and not until he was informed that the driving party had returned, and his mother desired to see him in her own room, did a damper fall upon his spirits.

He found his mother much distressed by the tale she had heard from Susan Morecombe.

"Oh, Lionel, how could you have acted in such a dishonourable way!" she cried reproachfully. "What were you going to do with the powder and shot?" Then, as he remained silent, she continued: "I am thankful Susan found you out! You are not thinking of firing off that old blunderbuss, are you? If that was your idea, I forbid you to do it! You know how nervous I am of fire-arms!"

"I put back what I took," Lionel said sulkily.

"So Susan said! Are you not ashamed of your conduct? I believe if your grandfather knew about it, he would give you a sound thrashing! I wonder how it is you have so little sense of honour!"

Poor Mrs. Compton, who had been in the habit of scolding her children so frequently that they had grown to take little notice of her words, and had never punished them in her life, looked at her son with reproachful eyes. She was realising how little influence she had over him, and wondering why it was.

"I am very sorry, mother," he said, and he spoke the truth as far as being sorry for her evident distress went, for he was really fond of her, though she was too indulgent with him to command his obedience. "I promise never to pry into anything belonging to grandfather again!"

She gave a sigh of relief, for far stronger than her sorrow for her son's conduct was her fear of her father's anger. It never crossed her mind that Lionel would try to obtain the articles he had endeavoured in vain to get from the bureau in the study from another source; so after a few more reproaches, to which he listened without making a remark, she sent him away with his offence condoned as far as she was concerned.