Chapter XVII. "It Is a Very Bad Sign"

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

　　The policeman was not so much excited as out of temper. He didnot know what Marco knew or what The Rat knew. Some common ladhad got himself locked up in a house, and some one would have togo to the landlord and get a key from him. He had no intentionof laying himself open to the law by breaking into a privatehouse with his truncheon, as The Rat expected him to do."He got himself in through some of his larks, and he'll have towait till he's got out without smashing locks," he growled,shaking the area door. "How did you get in there?" he shouted.It was not easy for Marco to explain through a keyhole that hehad come in to help a lady who had met with an accident. Thepoliceman thought this mere boy's talk. As to the rest of thestory, Marco knew that it could not be related at all withoutsaying things which could not be explained to any one but hisfather. He quickly made up his mind that he must let it bebelieved that he had been locked in by some queer accident. Itmust be supposed that the people had not remembered, in theirhaste, that he had not yet left the house.When the young clerk from the house agency came with the keys, hewas much disturbed and bewildered after he got inside."They've made a bolt of it," he said. "That happens now andthen, but there's something queer about this. What did they lockthese doors in the basement for, and the one on the stairs? Whatdid they say to you?" he asked Marco, staring at himsuspiciously."They said they were obliged to go suddenly," Marco answered."What were you doing in the basement?""The man took me down.""And left you there and bolted? He must have been in a hurry.""The lady said they had not a moment's time.""Her ankle must have got well in short order," said the young man."I knew nothing about them," answered Marco. "I had neverseen them before.""The police were after them," the young man said. "That'swhat I should say. They paid three months' rent in advance, andthey have only been here two. Some of these foreign spieslurking about London; that's what they were."The Rat had not waited until the keys arrived. He had swunghimself at his swiftest pace back through the streets to No. 7Philibert Place. People turned and stared at his wild pale faceas he almost shot past them.He had left himself barely breath enough to speak with when hereached the house and banged on the door with his crutch to savetime.Both Loristan and Lazarus came to answer. The Rat leaned against the door gasping."He's found! He's all right!" he panted. "Some one hadlocked him in a house and left him. They've sent for the keys.I'm going back. Brandon Terrace, No. 10."Loristan and Lazarus exchanged glances. Both of them were at themoment as pale as The Rat."Help him into the house," said Loristan to Lazarus. "He muststay here and rest. We will go." The Rat knew it was an order.He did not like it, but he obeyed."This is a bad sign, Master," said Lazarus, as they went outtogether."It is a very bad one," answered Loristan."God of the Right, defend us!" Lazarus groaned."Amen!" said Loristan. "Amen!"The group had become a small crowd by the time they reachedBrandon Terrace. Marco had not found it easy to leave the placebecause he was being questioned. Neither the policeman nor theagent's clerk seemed willing to relinquish the idea that he couldgive them some information about the absconding pair.The entrance of Loristan produced its usual effect. The agent'sclerk lifted his hat, and the policeman stood straight and madesalute. Neither of them realized that the tall man's clotheswere worn and threadbare. They felt only that a personage wasbefore them, and that it was not possible to question his air ofabsolute and serene authority. He laid his hand on Marco'sshoulder and held it there as he spoke. When Marco looked up athim and felt the closeness of his touch, it seemed as if it werean embrace-- as if he had caught him to his breast."My boy knew nothing of these people," he said. "That I canguarantee. He had seen neither of them before. His entering thehouse was the result of no boyish trick. He has been shut up inthis place for nearly twenty-four hours and has had no food. Imust take him home. This is my address." He handed the youngman a card.Then they went home together, and all the way to Philibert PlaceLoristan's firm hand held closely to his boy's shoulder as if hecould not endure to let him go. But on the way they said verylittle."Father," Marco said, rather hoarsely, when they first got awayfrom the house in the terrace, "I can't talk well in the street.For one thing, I am so glad to be with you again. It seemed asif--it might turn out badly.""Beloved one," Loristan said the words in their own Samavian,"until you are fed and at rest, you shall not talk at all."Afterward, when he was himself again and was allowed to tell hisstrange story, Marco found that both his father and Lazarus hadat once had suspicions when he had not returned. They knew noordinary event could have kept him. They were sure that he musthave been detained against his will, and they were also surethat, if he had been so detained, it could only have been forreasons they could guess at."This was the card that she gave me," Marco said, and he handedit to Loristan. "She said you would remember the name."Loristan looked at the lettering with an ironic half-smile."I never heard it before," he replied. "She would not send mea name I knew. Probably I have never seen either of them. But Iknow the work they do. They are spies of the Maranovitch, andsuspect that I know something of the Lost Prince. They believedthey could terrify you into saying things which would be a clue.Men and women of their class will use desperate means to gaintheir end.""Might they--have left me as they threatened?" Marco asked him."They would scarcely have dared, I think. Too great a hue andcry would have been raised by the discovery of such a crime. Toomany detectives would have been set at work to track them."But the look in his father's eyes as he spoke, and the pressureof the hand he stretched out to touch him, made Marco's heartthrill. He had won a new love and trust from his father. Whenthey sat together and talked that night, they were closer to eachother's souls than they had ever been before.They sat in the firelight, Marco upon the worn hearth-rug, andthey talked about Samavia--about the war and its heart-rendingstruggles, and about how they might end."Do you think that some time we might be exiles no longer?" theboy said wistfully. "Do you think we might go there together--and see it--you and I, Father?"There was a silence for a while. Loristan looked into thesinking bed of red coal."For years--for years I have made for my soul that image," hesaid slowly. "When I think of my friend on the side of theHimalayan Mountains, I say, `The Thought which Thought the Worldmay give us that also!' "