The Burglars' Club Part 16

To Lord Roker it was humiliating in the extreme. To fail in his mission was exasperating; but the annoyance was increased tenfold with the knowledge that he had been forestalled. Someone else--a professional, no doubt--had been on the same errand. He had not dallied over the enterprise, and he had won the stakes for which he played, and now he, Lord Roker, would have to appear empty-handed at the Burglars'--he, a founder of the Club, would be the first man who had to resign through incapacity to carry out the terms of his membership; it was galling indeed. Even the neat hole he had made in the window had been placed to the credit of the other burglar.

At 6 p.m. he went upstairs to dress. The evenings were chilly, and he occasionally had a fire. He sat down before it now to finish his cigarette, and moodily watched the flames while his thoughts turned on the unsatisfactory nature of all earthly affairs.

Suddenly he gave an exclamation of extreme surprise, jumped out of his chair, and caught hold of a bit of half-burnt paper projecting from the grate. It was perhaps three inches long, and two across. Half of it was ash that fell away as he touched it. On the scant margin left was written, in stiff, archaic English, "Ye Slough of Desp----"

"Amazing!" he cried. For the fragment he held in his hand was part of the missing MS.!

In another instant he had seized his water-jug and emptied the contents on the fire, putting it out, and deluging the hearth. Then he rang the bell, and sent an urgent message for Mr. Pilgrim.

Five minutes later the American entered. Roker handed him the fragment, and pointed out where he had found it.

"Seems a pretty expensive way of li'tin' fires," said Mr. Pilgrim, grimly. "Allow me to ring for the help."

"Did you lay this fire?" he asked the maid who responded.

"No, sir. That's Jenny's work."

"Send Jenny up, then," said Mr. Pilgrim, now on his knees searching the grate for more traces of the MS., but searching in vain.

In a few minutes Jenny entered.

"Did you lay this fire?" Mr. Pilgrim asked again.

"Yes, sir."

"What sort of paper did you use for it?"

"Newspaper. Oh, I know! I laid it yesterday morning with some old rubbishy stuff I found on your floor, sir."

"Old rubbishy stuff you found on my floor!" cried Mr. Pilgrim. "What do you mean, girl?"

"I was lighting your fire yesterday morning, sir, and found I'd used up all my paper, so I got some out of your waste basket. There was a dirty lot of rubbishy paper lying on the floor beside it, so I took that as well, and used it up for my morning fires."

"How many fires did you lay with it altogether?"

"Your two, sir, this one, and the one in the hall."

"Then this is the only one of the lot that wasn't lit yesterday?"

"Yes, sir. I hope it wasn't anythink important that I used."

Mr. Pilgrim sat down.

"Important! Not a bit, my girl. It just cost me ten thousand dollars--that's all."

"It wasn't what they say you've lost, sir, was it?" said the girl. "Oh, sir, I'm that sorry. But all I can say, sir, is that it was on the floor, and it didn't look fit for wrapping sossingers in."

"Go!" shouted Mr. Pilgrim. "You're a born fool." Then, after a long pause, he added, "I'm much obliged to you, Roker. Now come along. I must see my secretary. I suspect he's another mortal fool in disguise."

Mr. Pilgrim's secretary was busy, as usual--this time taking down a letter from Miss Pilgrim's dictation.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "HEY! BUT WHAT ABOUT THAT HOLE IN THE WINDOW?"

(_p. 135._)]

"Excuse me a minute, Marion," said Mr. Pilgrim. Then to his secretary, "You said you were readin' that blamed Bunyan MS. the night before last.

Just describe when you got it out, and what followed."

"I'd finished my transcript of your notes on Miss Bronte, sir, about 11.30, and, having half an hour to spare, I thought I'd just run over that old ma.n.u.script again. John Bunyan had his own notions about caligraphy, and he was a bit freer in his spelling than any man I'd come across, so I rather fancied him. While I was reading, you may remember calling me to your room to take down that cable to Boston and the letter of confirmation. It was 12.30 when I left you, and I'd clean forgotten about the ma.n.u.script. I turned the light out, and went to bed. A quarter of an hour afterwards I remembered I'd left Bunyan out, so I came back here. I couldn't find the matches, but just felt round for the MS., and put it back in the drawer, and locked it."

"You derned hayseed!" burst in Mr. Pilgrim. "You have your p'ints, but at this pertic'ler moment I think you're more suited for raisin'

cabbages than for secretary work. If you can't tell the difference in the handle of a Bunyan MS. and your notes on Charlotte Bronte in the dark, you might know a banana from a potato in daylight.

You're--you're---- Man, you put the Bronte notes in the drawer, and left Bunyan out--brushed him on the floor in the dark, an' the help lit the fire with him. Gor!"

The secretary collapsed.

"Never mind, Mr. Tullitt," said Miss Pilgrim. "It was entirely a mistake. I might have done it myself. It comes of working so late. Dad, I guess there's plenty more old ma.n.u.scripts in the British Isles waiting for dollars to fetch them."

"I reckon there's only one Bunyan MS.," said Mr. Pilgrim, solemnly, "and that's gone to light Hydropathic fires because my secretary doesn't carry wax vestas in his pyjamas. Hey! But what about that hole in the window?"

Mr. and Miss Pilgrim, the secretary, and Lord Roker stared blankly at it.

And that is why Lord Roker was not able to show the Bunyan MS. at the next meeting of the Burglars' Club.

VII.

THE GREAT SEAL.

THE Hon. Richard Hilton stared at the type-written letter with distinct feelings of pleasure. This is what he read:--

SIR,--I have the honour to inform you of your election as a member of the Club, conditional upon your attendance on the 5th proximo with the Great Seal of the United Kingdom, procured in the usual way.--Yours faithfully,

THE HON. SECRETARY.

"That's good," he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "Ribston's a trump. But what on earth's the Great Seal of the United Kingdom, and where is it to be found?"

Mr. Hilton's library was chiefly devoted to sport and fiction, and he could find no reference to it therein. He had therefore to make inquiries outside, when he learnt that the Great Seal of the United Kingdom was the property of the Lord Chancellor for the time being, that it was a very important object indeed, its impression being requisite at the foot of the highest doc.u.ments of State; and, consequently, that its unexpected absence might very well upset the nation's affairs and incidentally bring serious trouble upon anyone who had tampered with it.

Mr. Hilton's sporting instincts were roused. "It seems to me," he thought, "that this is going to be the best thing I have had on since I walked across Thibet disguised as a second-cla.s.s Mahatma. But where does the Chancellor keep the thing?"

He skimmed through many biographies of Lord Chancellors with very little result. One of them, it appeared, kept the Great Seal with his silver, another always carried it about with him in a special pocket, and slept with it under his pillow; while a third stored it at the Bank of England. History was discreetly silent as to how the other hundred and one keepers of the Great Seal guarded their property.