William The Conqueror (16 page)

‘Well,’ he gasped, ‘we were jolly lucky to escape alive. I guess he was jus’ goin’ to kill us.’

‘I saw his hand goin’ to his pocket where he keeps his bombs,’ said Henry breathlessly.

‘Well,’ said William, ‘we’ve just gotter think of some other way. We’ll have a meetin’ tonight an’ think out plans.’

Ginger went home with William to fetch a bow and arrow which he and William jointly owned.

They crept as silently as they could up the hall. Each of the Outlaws accepted as a matter of course this dislike of the families of the other members. They would have regarded with deep
suspicion any evidences of a warmer feeling. It would have embarrassed them terribly.

THE MYSTERIOUS MAN HEARD A SLIGHT SOUND AND TURNED SUDDENLY.

FOUR BOYS WERE RUNNING VIOLENTLY AWAY. THE SIGHT HAD BEEN TOO MUCH FOR THE OUTLAWS.

‘No,’ said Mrs Brown with interest. ‘Who is he?’

‘It’s a Mr Finchley – very ugly, but very distinguished, I believe. An author or something like that.’

‘Is he keeping the Jones’s maids on?’

‘No. They’ve gone on holiday. He’s got his old nurse, they say, to look after him. Deaf and very old, but a good worker. He’s come here to be quiet. He’s writing
something or other. Well, I really must go, dear—’

Evidently they were coming to the door. William and Ginger flew with haste, but not without sound, up to William’s bedroom. As the echoes died away they heard Mrs Brown’s plaintive
but resigned voice ejaculate the two words, ‘Those boys!’

Upstairs in William’s bedroom William turned to Ginger with a meaning look. ‘Writing something,’ he repeated. ‘Old nurse! That’s all
they
know –
Huh!’

The Outlaws met in the old barn. They discussed the affair in all its bearings. They went over again the previous history of Dmitritch as related in ‘Hunted by the Reds’; they
wondered where the noble Paulovitch was now, and what had happened to the fair princess.

‘I bet he’s somewhere round here,’ said Ginger earnestly. ‘I bet he’d never leave old Dimtritch to do his dastardly deeds without tryin’ to stop him. I bet he
wrote that book to let people know – people like us what had the sense to see it mus’ be real, an’ I bet he’s somewhere round here doggin’ old Dimtritch an’
tryin’ to catch him an’—’

‘Gentlemen,’ said a voice at the open door of the barn. ‘You are right in everything. I am Paulovitch, and I am here trying to foil the old villain once more.’

The Outlaws gasped. A tall young man stood framed in the sunlight of the open door smiling at them. Certainly such might well be Paulovitch. But surprise had deprived the Outlaws of their
usually so ready speech. The young man came into the barn and stood looking down at them.

‘I was resting there by the hedge outside,’ he said simply, ‘and I heard everything you said. It is all quite true. I knew that I had found some trusty friends at
last.’

‘You – you’re Paulovitch,’ gasped William.

The young man bowed.

‘That is my name,’ he said.

‘You – you wrote the book?’ gasped William again.

‘I wrote the book,’ said the young man.

‘An’ did he imprison the princess like what you said?’ said William.

‘Yes,’ said the young man.

‘An’ – an’ you rescued her?’ gasped Douglas.

‘Alas, no!’ said the young man. ‘The attempt was unsuccessful. For the purposes of the book I pretended that I had rescued her. In reality he still holds her
captive.’

‘N-n-n-not at “The Limes”?’ stammered Henry, quivering with excitement.

‘Yes,’ said the young man, ‘at “The Limes”. I’m going to try to rescue her tonight.’

The Outlaws thrilled visibly.

‘C-c-can we help?’ squeaked Henry almost hysterical with excitement.

‘Yes,’ said the young man. ‘I think you can help quite a lot.’

Mr Finchley was sitting alone in his study. It was his old nurse’s day out, and Mr Finchley was guarding the house. He never left the house unguarded. He was guarding it quite comfortably
with a pipe and whisky and soda and a pile of foolscap paper.

Suddenly there came a violent knock at the door. Mr Finchley groaned and cursed softly to himself. Then he went to answer the door.

Four boys stood on the doorstep. Curious. And only the other day four boys had suddenly appeared, first looking at him over a hedge and later fleeing down the road behind him. Four boys seemed
to be haunting him. Most curious!

‘May we speak to you?’ said one of them in a deep voice.

‘Er – yes, I suppose so,’ said Mr Finchley without much enthusiasm. ‘Come in, come in!’

They trooped into the hall. Suddenly Mr Finchley felt rather touched. He found generally that his crooked nose and cross-eyes put children off. On the whole he was not sorry that this should be
so, but he felt rather touched that these children had sought him out of their own accord.

‘We want to show you something in Mr Jones’s back garden, if you don’t mind,’ said William, the expression of his freckled face stern and forbidding.

Most
curious children. However— ‘All right,’ he said. ‘All right – come on.’

He closed the door very carefully and shuffled with them down the hall and out at the other door into the back garden.

As soon as they had gone down the little garden path to the right Henry murmured that he had dropped his handkerchief in the hall and ran back. In the hall he cautiously opened the front door,
then hastily returned to the others. He had seen Paulovitch crouching in the shadow of the laurels waiting for the opening of the door. It would not be long now before he had his princess again. Mr
Finchley was beginning to feel irritable. He’d had a splendid idea for the next chapter and this would entirely put it out of his head. He began to feel distinctly annoyed.

‘Well, well, well, well!’ he said. ‘What is it? What is it?’

‘We just want to show you somethin’ down at the bottom of the garden,’ said William.

He spoke with excessive politeness and Mr Finchley was softened. Funny things, children, and, anyway, he might get some copy out of them. He always found a difficulty with any child characters
he had to introduce into his books. It might be worth it. It certainly might be worth it. Not that these were normal children, he thought moodily – far from it. They were most – most
strange children. Still, he was growing interested, in spite of himself. After all, anything might happen. It might be the beginning of a real adventure. He’d never had a real adventure. The
greatest romance in his life had been the collecting of old English spoons. He had a valuable and almost unique collection of them. He’d brought them away with him for safety. He kept them in
a safe in his study. He gloated over them every night. He loved them. Oh, bother these boys!

He wanted to get back to his spoons and his writing. That splendid idea he’d had for the next chapter had evaporated already. He knew it would. Oh, bother these boys –

‘Now, come, come!’ he said, trying to speak breezily, but firmly. ‘I’m rather a busy man, you know. I can’t waste all the afternoon.’

‘We know you’re a busy man,’ said William meaningly, ‘we know all about
that
!’

Curious the way he said it, thought Mr Finchley.

He felt suddenly apprehensive. There
was
something strange about them. He hoped – he hoped they weren’t – dangerous or anything.

‘It’s this we want to show you,’ said William.

They had arrived at an empty pigsty that stood at the farther end of Mr Jones’s back garden.

Mr Finchley stared at it in amazement, his apprehension growing stronger each moment.

‘Er – what?’ he stammered.

‘Jus’ go in an’ you’ll find somethin’ interestin’,’ said William.

Mr Finchley had not the slightest intention of going in. But he was taken unawares. One of the terrible boys suddenly opened the gate and another of the terrible boys suddenly pushed him in.
Then they banged to the gate, bolted it and stood in a row glaring at him over the wall.

There was no doubt at all in Mr Finchley’s mind now. He was in the presence of four youthful lunatics. Quite possible. There must be an institution for youthful lunatics in the
neighbourhood from which these had escaped. He must be very careful. They were probably endowed with lunatic strength as they were certainly endowed with lunatic cunning.

He smiled at them uneasily over the pigsty door in an attempt to propitiate them. It would, of course, be fatal to anger them. They probably had weapons concealed about them even now.

‘You’re Dimtritch, aren’t you?’ said William sternly.

Mad. Hopelessly, ravingly mad. He must humour them, of course. ‘Er – yes,’ he said looking round for an unguarded spot in the pigsty wall.

‘An’ you know Paulovitch,’ went on William.

‘Y – yes,’ said Mr Finchley. ‘Very well. Very well, indeed.’

‘An’ you’ve taken the princess prisoner, haven’t you?’ said William sternly.

‘Er – yes,’ admitted Mr Finchley.

His eye picked out a nice unguarded spot in the wall and he made for it and scrambled up, only to be pushed down by a combined attack of the four young lunatics.

‘Well, he’s rescued the princess now,’ said William triumphantly, ‘
rescued her – so
there!’

THE MAN SMILED AT THEM UNEASILY OVER THE PIGSTY DOOR. ‘YOU’RE DIMTRITCH, AREN’T YOU?’ SAID WILLIAM.

‘Yes,’ said William. ‘He’s foiled you an’ rescued her an’ – an’ you’d better be careful an’—’

‘Exactly,’ said Mr Finchley. He attacked another likely spot in the wall as he spoke, climbed over, successfully eluded his captors and sprinted up the garden path more nimbly than
he had ever sprinted anywhere in his life before. The four youthful lunatics pursued him equally nimbly into the house.

‘She’s gone,’ shouted William. ‘He’s taken her away all right.’

They followed him into the study. The safe door hung open, and the safe was empty.

‘My spoons,’ screamed Mr Finchley in dismay. ‘Someone’s taken my spoons!’

The young man was caught before he reached London. He was carrying the professor’s spoons in a leather bag. At his trial he made quite a racy story of his coup. William and his friends
were addressed as Dmitritch and Paulovitch for many weeks afterwards. They went about morose and bitter.

William said that that’s what came of trying to help people, and Henry said it was enough to turn you into a communal yourself.

Very gradually the memory of the affair faded and the Outlaws again held up their manly heads. But if you want really to annoy William and the others you’ve only to mention Dmitritch or
Paulovitch or the princess.