Ransom by Grace Livingston Hill Page B

trouble fer yerself,” pleaded the butler. “I’ll be obligated ta sue ya fer this ef ya don’t let me up before the police comes. I’ve done nothing at all but come up seeking me own property, and I found it gawn! It’s me that should send the police fer you, Mr. Kershaw, taking a honest man’s clothes outta his room and making a clean sweep of it. Not a thing left. Just tell me what have you done with me clothes an’ I’ll pack them up an’ get outta yer house. I never was treated like this in a place before. I tuk ya fer a gentleman, Mr. Kershaw.”
    â€œYes?” said the master. “And I took you for an honest servant, but I found out I was mistaken.”
    â€œI’m as honest a man as you’ll find,” said the butler fervently. “Call yer parlormaid. She’ll tell ya. She’s known me since she was a small child. Call Mrs. Kershaw’s maid, Marie. She’s me own niece.”
    â€œUnfortunately, they do not happen to be within calling distance,” said Kershaw, noticing with satisfaction that a pair of heavy footsteps were coming up the stairs.
    Then two big policemen who had been there the night before came tramping down the hall and stood at Hawkins’ feet, and the honest butler quailed as he met their eyes.
    â€œOh, there you are, McBride,” said Kershaw. “Thanks for coming so soon. We’re not needing this man’s services here any longer; perhaps you can relieve us of his custody. You’ll find his baggage down in the servants’ dining room, minus a good deal of the family silverware, which he had carefully stowed among his effects. I thought I’d just look around a little last night before he returned, and discovered that he had not been letting the grass grow under his feet while he was with us. He’s been in the house only about a fortnight, but I imagine we’ll find there are other things missing when I get a chance to look over the list of things that are out of the bank. I haven’t investigated further yet. Of course, if the man can return what he has taken away, it would go easier for him,” he added with a knowing look.
    The officers nodded gravely and bent to snap the handcuffs on their prisoner.
    Rannie, released from his position on Hawkins’ chest, rose and pointed to the gun in the corner.
    â€œBetter take that with ya,” he said with a boyish swagger. “He says it wasn’t loaded, but it hasn’t been touched yet. He pulled it on me just before I lunged at him, but when he fell it slid over there.”
    The officer gave the boy a keen look, another at the gun, a swift glance around to reconstruct the scene as it must have been enacted, and then pulled out a big handkerchief and picked up the gun with it. Carefully, he opened the gun and showed them a bullet inside, and without further word he folded the gun back in his handkerchief, slipped it in his pocket, and walked his prisoner away to the car waiting at the door.
    With the sound of the closing front door, the three who stood not far apart in the entrance to the servants’ hall drew sighs of relief.
    Then Rannie, with a voice of patronizing admonition, addressed his father.
    â€œDoncha realize what that guy was trying to do, Dad?” he said with the air of a wise parent addressing a small child. “He wanted ya ta pick up that gun and get yer fingerprints on it, an’ then he was figurin’ ta try an’ prove that
you
pulled the gun on
him
, see?”
    His father smiled a weary, half-amused smile.
    â€œI guess so, Sonnie,” he said, “but what I want to know is, how many times a week did you go to the movies while you have been in school, and just what kind of mystery stories have you been reading? I wonder if that won’t account for some of the complaints I’ve been having about you lately?”
    Randall’s face grew suddenly red.
    â€œAw, well, if