Chapter 3

NEXT morning came, chill and grey, and reminded me that I had two
duties. I was to wait at home till Philippa came over from Mrs.
Thompson’s, and I was also to hang about the road from the station, and
challenge Sir Runan to mortal combat. Can duties clash? They can. They
did! The hours lagged slowly by, while I read Sir Runan’s letter, read
and re-read it, registered and re-registered (a pretty term of my own
invention) this vow of vengeance.

Philippa’s ‘things ‘--her boxes with all her properties--arrived in due
time.

Philippa did not.

I passed a distracted day, now bounding forth half way to the railway
station to meet Sir Runan, now speeding back at the top of my pace to
welcome Philippa at the ‘pike.

As I knew not by what train Sir Runan would reach Roding, nor when
Philippa might be looked for, I thus obtained exercise enough to make up
for months of inaction.

Finally the last train was due.

It was now pitch-dark and snowing heavily, the very time which Philippa
generally chose for a quiet evening walk.

I rushed half-way to Roding, changed my mind, headed back, and arrived
at the ‘pike.

‘Has a lady called for me?’ I asked the Sphynx.

‘Now, is it likely, sir?’ answered my fellow, with rough humour.

‘Well, I must go and meet her,’ I cried, and, hastily snatching a
bull’s-eye lantern and policeman’s rattle from the Sphynx, I plunged
into the darkness.

First I hurried to Mrs. Thompson’s, where I learned that Philippa had
just gone out for a stroll after a somewhat prolonged luncheon. This was
like Philippa. I recognised that shrinking modesty which always made her
prefer to veil her charms by walking about after nightfall.

Turning from Mrs. Thompson’s, I felt the snow more sharply on my face.
Furiously, blindly, madly it whirled here and drifted there.

Should I go for Sir Runan? Should I wait where I was? Should I whistle
for a cab? Should I return to the ‘pike?

Suddenly out of the snow came a peal of silvery laughter. Philippa
waltzed gracefully by in a long ulster whitened with snow.

I detected her solely by means of my dark lantern.

I rushed on her, I seized her. I said, ‘Philippa, come back with me!’

‘No, all the fun’s in the front,’ shrieked Philippa. ‘My quarter’s
salary! Oh, my last quarter’s salary!’

With these wild words, like bullets from a Gatling gun rattling in my
ears, I seized Philippa’s hand.

Something fell, and would have rattled on the hard high road had it not
been for the snow.

I stooped to pick up this shining object, and with one more wild yell of
‘My quarter’s salary!’ Philippa waltzed again into the darkness.

Fatigued with the somewhat exhausting and unusual character of the day’s
performances, and out of training as I was, I could not follow her.

Mechanically, I still groped on the ground, and picked up a small chill
object.

It was a latch-key! I thrust it in my pocket with my other keys.

Then a thought occurred to me, and I chucked it over the hedge, to
serve as circumstantial evidence. Next I turned and went up the road,
springing my rattle and flashing my bull’s-eye lantern on every side,
like Mr. Pickwick when he alarmed the scientific gentleman.

Suddenly, with a cry of horror, I stopped short. At my very feet, in the
little circle of concentrated light thrown by the lantern, lay a white
crushed, cylindrical mass.

That mass I had seen before in the warm summer weather--that mass, once
a white hat, had adorned the brows of that masher!

It was Sir Runan’s topper!