Chapter 73
he said, in a low, derisive tone. "Here is fortune at the feet of a man like you!"
Drayton growled, and Mercy heard the oath that came from beneath his breath. "I'm wanting to be out of this, and I ain't ashamed for you to know it."
Hugh Ritson's light laugh came from the bedside. He was still standing by Paul Ritson's head. "If the lord mayor came for you in his carriage, with a guard of flunkies, you would leave this house in less safety," he said. Then he added, impatiently: "Come, waste no words; strip off that tell-tale coat."
With this he leaned over the bed, and there was a creak of the spring mattress.
"What's that?" said Drayton, in an affrighted tone.
"For G.o.d's sake, be a man!" said Hugh, bitterly.
"D'ye call this a man's work?" muttered Drayton.
The light laugh once more. "Perhaps not so manly as robbing the dead and dying," said Hugh Ritson, and his voice was deep and cold.
Mercy heard another muttered oath. Dear G.o.d! what was about to be done?
Could she escape? The door was closed. Still, if she could but reach it, she might open it and fly away.
At that instant, Hugh Ritson, as if apprehending her thought, said, "Wait," and then stepped back to the door and drew the snap bolt. Mercy leaned against the wall, and heard the beating of her heart. In the darkness she knew that Paul Drayton had thrown off his coat. "A good riddance!" he muttered, and the heavy garment fell with a thud.
Hugh Ritson had returned to the bed-head. "Give me a hand," he said; "raise him gently--there, I'll hold him up--now draw off his coat--quietly, one arm at a time. Is it free? Then, lift--away."
Another heavy garment fell with a thud.
"What's the fence got in his other pockets, eh?"
"Come, lend your hand again--draw off the boots--they're c.u.mberland make, and yours are c.o.c.kney style--quick!"
Drayton stepped to the bottom of the bed and fumbled at the feet of the insensible man. He was then within a yard of the spot where the girl stood. She could feel his proximity, and the alcoholic fumes of his breath rose to her nostrils. She was dizzy, and thought she must have fallen. She stretched out one hand to save herself, and it fell on to the bed-rail. It was within a foot of Drayton's arm.
"Take off his stockings--they're homespun--while I remove the cravat.
The pin was a present;
The slant of the moonlight had died off the floor, and all was dark.
Drayton's craven fears seemed to leave him. He laughed and crowed. "How quiet the fence is--very obliging, I'm sure--just fainted in the nick of time. Will it last?"
"Quick! strip off your own clothes and put them where these have come from. The coat with the torn lapel--where is it? Make no mistake about that."
"I'll pound it, no!" Drayton laughed a short, hoa.r.s.e laugh.
There was some shuffling in the darkness. Then a pause.
"Hus.h.!.+"
Mercy knew that Hugh Ritson had grasped the arm of Drayton, and that both held their breath. At that moment the moonlight returned, and the bleared shaft that had once crossed the floor now crossed the bed. The light fell on the face of the prostrate man. His eyes were open.
"Water--water!" said Paul Ritson, very feebly.
Hugh Ritson stepped out of the moonlight and went behind his brother.
Then Mercy saw a hand before Paul's face, putting a spirit flask to his mouth.
When the hand was raised the face twitched slightly, the eyes closed with a convulsive tremor, and the half-lifted head fell back on to the pillow.
"He'll be quieter than ever now," said Hugh Ritson, softly. Mercy thought she must have screamed, but the instinct of self-preservation kept her still. She stirred not a limb. Her head rested against the wall, her eyes peered into the darkness, her parched tongue and parted lips burned like fire.
"Quick! put his clothes on to your own back, and let us be gone."
Drayton drew on the garments and laughed hoa.r.s.ely. "And a good fit, too--same make of a man to a T--ex--act--ly!"
The window and the door stood face to face; the bed was on the left of the door, with the head at the door-end. The narrow alcove in which the girl stood was to the left of the window, and in front of the window there was a dressing-table. Drayton stepped up to this table to fix the cravat by the gla.s.s. The faint moonlight that fell on his grinning face was reflected dimly into the mirror.
At that moment Mercy's sickening eyes turned toward the bed. There, in repose that was like death itself, lay the upturned face of Paul Ritson.
Two faces cast by nature in the same mold--one white and serene and peaceful, the other bloated, red, smirking, distorted by pa.s.sion, with cruel eyes and smoking lips.
"The very thing--the very thing--damme if his own mother wouldn't take me for her son!"
Hugh Ritson stepped to Drayton's side. When he spoke his voice was like a cold blast of wind.
"Now listen: From this moment at which you change your coat for his you cease to be Paul Drayton, and become Paul Ritson."
"Didn't you say I was to be Paul Lowther?"
"That will come later."
"As I say, it won't go into my n.o.b."
"No matter; say nothing to yourself but this, 'I am to pretend to be Paul Ritson.'"
"Well, now for it!"
"Ready?" asked Hugh. He returned to the bed-head.
"Ready."
"Then give a hand here. We must put him up into your garret. When the police come for him he must seem to be in hiding and in drink. You understand?"
A low, hoa.r.s.e laugh was the only answer.
Then they lifted the unconscious man from the bed, opened the door, and carried him into the pa.s.sage.
Mercy recovered her stunned senses. When the men were gone she crept out on tiptoe and tripped down the pa.s.sage to her own room. At the door she reeled and fell heavily. Then, in a vague state of consciousness, she heard these words pa.s.sed over her--"Carry her back into her room and lock her in." At the same instant she felt herself being lifted in a strong man's arms.
CHAPTER XVI.