“That’s what I told you!” said Mrs Ainslie, in her excitement pulling the inspector’s arm. “I told you so! What’s a beard? it is as easy to take off as a bonnet. And he would have got clean off--look at him, look at him!--if it hadn’t been for me.”
“Look after that man, you fellows there,” said the inspector’s deep voice. “Don’t let him get away. Secure them both.”
No one had put handcuffs on Lew’s wrists; no policeman had touched him; he had been free, with all his wits about him, noting everything, alert, all conscious, self-possessed. Twice he had almost got away: the first time before Mrs Ainslie had interfered; the second when Janet with her evidence had come forward, directing all attention once more to Robbie--during which moment he had made his way backward again in the most cautious way, endeavouring to get behind the backs of the men and make a dash for the door. Almost! but what a difference was that! The policemen, roused and startled, hustled him forward to his “mate’s” side, but still without laying a hand upon him. All their suspicions and observation were for the handcuffed criminal standing silent and gloomy on the other side. Lew maintained his careless attitude well, nodding at the inspector, with a “Well, well, officer,” as if he yielded easily but half-contemptuously to punctilio. But when he saw another constable draw from his pocket another pair of handcuffs, he changed colour; his eyes lighted up with a wild fire. Mrs Ainslie, who had got beyond her own control, followed his movements with the closest inspection. She burst into a laugh as he grew pale. Her nerves were excited far beyond her control. She cried out, without knowing, without intending, “Ah, Lew! You have had more than you meant. You’ve found more than you wanted. Caught! caught at last. And you will not get off this time,” she cried, with the wild laugh which she was quite unable to quench, or even to restrain.
Whether he saw what no doubt was true, that every hope was over, and that, once conveyed to Edinburgh, no further mistake was possible, and his fate sealed; or whether he was moved by a swift wave of passion, as happened to him from time to time--and the exasperation of the woman’s voice, which worked him to madness--can never be known. He was still quite free, untouched by any one; but the handcuffs approaching which would make an end of every independent act. His tall figure, and clean-shaven, unveiled face seemed suddenly to rise and tower over every other in the heat and pale glow of passion. “You viper, Liz!” he thundered out. “Music-hall Liz!” with a fierce laugh, “here’s for you--the traitor’s pay!” And before any one could breathe or speak, before a hand could be lifted, there was a sudden flash and report, and in a moment he had flung himself forward upon the two or three startled men in front of him, with a rush for the open door, and the pistol still smoking in his hand. Two steps more, and he would have been out in the open, in the fresh air that breathed like heaven upon him, among the dark trees that give hiding and shelter, and make a man, with his wits about him, a match for any dozen. Two steps more! But rapid as he was, there were too many of them to make such an escape possible. Before he had reached that open way, half-a-dozen men were upon him. The struggle was but for a moment--a wild sudden tumult of stamping feet and loud voices; then there was again a sudden flash and report and fall. The whole band seemed to fall together--the men who had grappled with him being dragged with him to the ground. They gathered themselves up one by one--everybody who could move: and left the one on the ground who would never move again.