Ambrotox and Limping Dick | Page 6

always ran away from him, and Gorgon had to be chained up."
"Who is this Melchard, Caldegard?" asked Randal.
"He came to me about eighteen months ago, and stayed about nine; a
very capable practical chemist; had worked for some time in the factory
of a Dutch rubber company. Sumatra, I think, or the Malay Peninsula.
Tried unqualified dentistry after he came home, went broke and got an
introduction to me. That's what he told me. An accurate and
painstaking worker, and never asked questions."
Dick began to be interested.
"But I really can't see anything horrible in all that," said Randal.
"At first it was what he was, not what he did," said Caldegard. "Tall,
slender, effeminate, over-dressed, native coarseness which would not
be hidden by spasmodic attempts at fine manners, and a foul habit of
scenting his handkerchiefs and even his clothes with some weird stuff
he made himself; left a trail behind him wherever he went. It smelt
something like a mixture of orris-root and attar of roses."
Amaryllis wiped her lips, and Dick Bellamy thought her cheeks nearly
as white as the little handkerchief.
"What did the fellow do?" asked Randal.
"For one thing, I discovered that he carried a hypodermic syringe; so I
watched him--morphia--not a bad case, but getting worse. And then,"
said Caldegard, looking towards his daughter, "he had the

presumption----"
"Oh, father, please!" cried Amaryllis.
"I'm sorry, my dear," said her father. "I was only----"
He was interrupted by a crash, a fumbling and a burst of flame. One of
the four-branched candlesticks had been upset, and its rose-coloured
shades were on fire. Very coolly the two Bellamys' pinched out the
flames and replaced the candles.
"Hope that didn't startle you, Miss Caldegard," said Randal.
"Not a bit," said Amaryllis, smiling.
"What a clumsy devil you are, Dick," he continued.
"I was trying to get the sugar," said Dick.
Randal tasted his coffee. "Cook's got one fault, Dick," he said. "She
can't make coffee; and we've been spoiled."
"Yes, indeed," said Caldegard. "I've never in my life drunk black coffee
to beat what your yellow-haired Dutch girl used to make."
Randal turned to his brother. "Parlour-maid, Dick. Best servant I ever
had. Didn't mind the country, and after she'd been here a fortnight
disclosed a heaven-sent gift for making coffee. Took some diplomacy, I
can tell you, to get cook to cede her rights."
"Why haven't you got her now?" asked Dick.
"Mother started dying in Holland," replied his brother, "and we miss
our coffee."
"I'll do it to-morrow night," said Dick.
"What'll Rogers say?" said Randal.

"Rogers? You don't tell me you've got Rogers still?"
"Of course I have."
"Not my Mrs. Rogers!" exclaimed Dick. "Why, she'd let me skate all
over her kitchen, if I wanted to."
* * * * *
Randal Bellamy, although he had a motor-car and used the telephone,
lagged lovingly behind the times in less important matters. He was
proud of his brass candlesticks, and hated electric light.
While Amaryllis was saying good-night to her host, Dick Bellamy
lighted her candle and waited for her at the foot of the stairs. When she
reached him, she did not at once take it, so that they mounted several
steps together; then she paused.
"Good night, Mr. Bellamy. I hope you didn't hurt your fingers, putting
the fire out. Are you a very awkward person?" she asked, looking up at
him whimsically.
"Shocking," said Dick. "I'm always doing things like that."
"I believe you are," she replied softly. "Thank you so much."
When he went to his room that night, Dick Bellamy was followed by a
vivid ghost with reddish-gold hair, golden-brown, expressive eyes,
adorable mouth, and skin of perfect texture, over neck and shoulders of
a creamy whiteness which melted into the warmer colour of the face by
gradation so fine that none could say where that flush as of a summer
sunset first touched the snow.
As he got into bed, he told himself that he did not object to being
haunted up to midnight, nor even over the edge of sleep, by a spook so
attractive. But if it should come to waking too early to a spectre
implacable--well, that had happened to him once only, long ago, and he
didn't want it to happen again.

But the car would be all right to-morrow--there was always the car.
CHAPTER V.
AMBROTOX.
Amaryllis found her father and Sir Randal at the breakfast-table.
"I'm so glad I'm not the laziest," she said, as she took her seat.
"I'm afraid you are, my dear," replied her father.
"Dick's fetching his car from Iddingfield," explained Randal.
The air was torn by three distinct wails from a syren.
"How unearthly!" said Amaryllis, with her hands to her ears.
"That's Dick," said his