Room 13 Read Online Free

totally deaf to miss hearing all that was said.
    “I don’t know what sort of houses you’ve been in, and what sort of people you’ve been working for, but I can tell you that if I find you in my room again, looking in my boxes, I shall tell Mr Kane. I won’t have it, Mr Ford!”
    “No, miss,” said the butler huskily.
    It was not, as Johnny knew, emotion which produced the huskiness. Barney Ford had been husky from his youth – probably squawled huskily in his cradle.
    “If you are a burglar and trying to keep your hand in, I understand it,” the girl continued hotly. “But you’re supposed to be a respectable man! I won’t have this underhand prying and sneaking. Understand that! I won’t have it!”
    “No, miss,” said the hoarse Barney.
    John Gray surveyed the scene with amusement. Barney he knew very well. He had quitted the shadier walks of life when Peter Kane had found it expedient to retire from his hazardous calling. Ex-convict, ex-burglar and ex-prize-fighter, his seamy past was in some degree redeemed by his affection for the man whose bread he ate and in whose service he pretended to be, though a worse butler had never put on uniform than Barney.
    The girl was pretty, with hair of dull gold and a figure that was both straight and supple. Now her face was flushed with annoyance, and the dark eyes were ablaze. Barney certainly had prying habits, the heritage of his unregenerate days. Other servants had left the house for the same reason, and Peter had cursed and threatened without wholly reforming his servitor.
    The girl did not see him as she turned and flounced into the house, leaving the old man to stare after her.
    “You’ve made her cross,” said John, coming up behind him.
    Barney Ford spun round and stared. Then his jaw dropped.
    “Good Lord, Johnny, when did you come down from college?”
    The visitor laughed softly.
    “Term ended yesterday,” he said. “How is Peter?”
    Before he replied the servant blew his nose violently, all the time keeping his eye upon the newcomer.
    “How long have you bin here?” he asked at length.
    “I arrived at the tail-end of your conversation,” said Johnny, amused. “Barney, you haven’t reformed!”
    Barney Ford screwed up his face into an expression of scorn.
    “They think you’re a hook even if you ain’t one,” he said. “What does she know about life? You ain’t seen Peter? He’s in the house; I’ll tell him in a minute. He’s all right. All beans and bacon about the girl. That fellow adores the ground she walks on. It’s not natural, being fond of your kids like that. I never was.” He shook his head despairingly. “There’s too much lovey-dovey and not enough strap nowadays. Spare the rod and spoil the child, as the good old poet says.”
    John Gray turned his head at the sound of a foot upon a stone step. It was Peter, Peter radiant yet troubled. Straight as a ramrod, for all his sixty years and white hair. He was wearing a morning coat and pearl-grey waistcoat – an innovation. For a second he hesitated, the smile struck from his face, frowning, and then he came quickly, his hand outstretched.
    “Well, Johnny boy, had a rotten time?”
    His hand fell on the young man’s shoulder, his voice had the old measure of pride and affection.
    “Fairly rotten,” said Johnny; “but any sympathy with me is wasted. Personally, I prefer Dartmoor to Parkhurst – it is more robust, and there are fewer imbeciles.”
    Peter took his arm and led him to a chair beneath the big Japanese umbrella planted on the lawn. There was something in his manner, a certain awkwardness which the newcomer could not understand.
    “Did you meet anybody…there…that I know, Johnny boy?”
    “Legge,” said the other laconically, his eyes on Peter’s face.
    “That’s the man I’m thinking of. How is he?”
    The tone was careless, but Johnny was not deceived. Peter was intensely interested.
    “He’s been out six months – didn’t you know?” The