Part 12

On the following morning Maxwell-Pitt paid his hotel bill and went up to town. In the evening he returned with his bicycle, getting out at the station beyond Bamburn. At a few minutes to one o'clock he entered the grounds of Burgoyne Lodge, and made his way stealthily to the window fixed on. It open noiselessly, and he clambered through. Mademoiselle Adèle was not there. Perhaps she was reading Sir Walter Scott to Miss Richards. He would wait for half an hour, at any rate, before making any move. Perhaps Adèle had thought better of her determination about the cross, and would bring it with her rather than risk trouble.

He sat down and mused. A queer life, that of a burglar. Reminiscences of detective tales came back to him. He thought of Sherlock Holmes. The doings of the Burglars' Club would have puzzled him at first. Then there was his great predecessor, Poe's Dupin, the detective of The Murders in the Rue Morgue, of The Mystery of Marie Rogêt, and The Purloined Letter. Ah, The Purloined Letter! They were searching for that all over, probing every inch of space in the house for it, and there it was all the time, underneath their noses, hanging in a card-rack beneath the mantelpiece. Maxwell-Pitt rose and flashed his light over the mantelpiece. There was the usual assortment of odds and ends, but the V.C. was not there. No; it was too much to expect. Where did Richards keep it? Adèle had hesitated before replying that it was in the strong box in his bedroom. It might be--or it might not. Here, at any rate, were obvious traces of its owner--his letters and pipe on a side table, his service magazines on the chair. If the V.C. wasn't on the mantelpiece, it might be elsewhere in the room.

There was a bookcase with a cupboard and drawers. He opened the bookcase, but closed it quickly at the sight of the serried ranks of the "Encyclopædia Britannica." He had no better luck in the cupboard, but in the first drawer he pulled out, his eye was at once caught by two small cases. He eagerly opened one, to find the South African Medal, but in the second--ye gods! It was the Victoria Cross!

Maxwell-Pitt's fingers closed over it. At this moment the door opened gently.

"Who is there?" whispered a voice.

By this time he had moved to the table. He turned his light on again.

Adèle was there--pale and excited. From a pocket which she must have specially constructed she produced a large case. She opened it, disclosing a necklace of large pearls.

"Here it is," she whispered. "Where are the fifty sovereigns?"

Maxwell-Pitt drew out a bag and gave it to her. She opened it, and looked at the contents, then put it in her pocket.

"Now go," she said. "_Vite!_"

Maxwell-Pitt moved towards the window. "I don't want this," he said, pointing to the case.

"You don't want it?" she exclaimed in astonishment. For a moment they stood there facing one another. Then a sudden thought struck her. She went to the bookcase, opened the drawer, and saw only one case there.

"You are more clever than I thought," she said. "I wished to take these away upstairs to-night, but the Captain he remained here late, and then madame wanted me. You have got the medal, but you shall not go away with it. Give it back to me."

Maxwell-Pitt shook his head.

Her eyes blazed in anger. "You will not? _Mon Dieu!_ then I sound the alarm."

"How will you account for this?" said Maxwell-Pitt, pointing to the case on the table.

"I do not know. I do not care," she answered. "Give me the medal, or I ring."

Her hand clutched the bell rope. "Shall I ring or not?" she demanded.

Again there was a sound at the door. Once more he turned off his light. The door opened wide, and Captain Richards entered, carrying a lighted candle in his hand.

Maxwell-Pitt and Adèle stood there transfixed. The light shone full on them, but Captain Richards took no heed of them. His eyes were fixed, staring into space. He was walking in his sleep, conscious of nothing that was going on around him. He placed his candle on the side table, sat down in his easy chair, drew the book-rest towards him, and leaned back, staring vacantly at the pages of the open book.

Adèle released the bell rope and held a warning finger to her lips. She stepped lightly to Maxwell-Pitt. "Sh! it is dangerous to awaken him," she whispered. "Once they awakened my cousin suddenly when he walked like that in his sleep. He was never the same here again," and she tapped her forehead. "Now go at once, but softly."

He clambered out, and then looked back through the window into the room.

Adèle picked up the jewel case and put it into her pocket. There she touched the bag of gold. She pulled it out, looked at it for a moment, then stepped hastily to the window and flung it from her into the garden. She leaned out, and whispered, vindictively, "Take your money. I shall help the police. They shall catch you before the clock is round."

Then she stepped gently to the door. It closed behind her, and the sleep-walker was alone in the room.

Maxwell-Pitt picked up the bag of gold, and then cycled thirty miles. He caught an early train to London, and that evening he renewed his subscription to the Burglars' Club by exhibiting the Victoria Cross lately bestowed on Captain Sefton Richards by His Majesty.

On the following day, to his great astonishment, Captain Richards received the cross in a registered postal packet, with no word to explain the reason of its temporary absence; and a few days later a larger postal packet came for Mademoiselle Adèle, which, on being opened, disclosed to her enraptured eyes fifty sovereigns.

Thus did Maxwell-Pitt attempt to atone for the burglary he had perpetrated. "After all," he thought, "the only person who will have been seriously inconvenienced by the transaction is the balloonist in Belgium--and he deserves it."

XII.

THE LAST CHRONICLE.

GILBERT BROWN, second Baron Lothersdale, was generally regarded as being the best business man in the country. His talent for affairs was doubtless hereditary, as his father had successfully kept a big emporium before seeking the parliamentary honours which led to higher things. His son, in his turn, entered Parliament, and quickly ran the gamut of two under-secretaryships and the Cabinet. The Lord Lieutenancy of Ireland and the Governor-Generalship of India would undoubtedly have been his, but for the impossibility of associating Brown's Bayswater Bazaar with those regal positions.

When, therefore, the last of six successive schemes for the reorganisation of the British Army had fallen to the parliamentary floor and broken in pieces, it was felt that there was only one man who could tackle the matter, and bring it to a successful issue. Lord Lothersdale's tenure of the Postmaster-Generalship was remembered with pride by a grateful nation. Under his management the reply-postcard business, which had hitherto dragged and lost money, had become a popular and remunerative department, while his penny-in-the-slot form of application for Government annuities was an innovation as brilliant in conception as it was profitable in results.

When the country learnt that to Lord Lothersdale had been entrusted the task of reforming the Army it heaved a sigh of content, for it knew that the work was now as good as done; and when the news reached the Continent the officers of the Great General Staff of the German Army were noticed to wear a sad and pensive look unusual to them.

To accomplish the work that in the past twenty years alone had cost thousands of lives and millions of money, besides incidentally destroying six first-class parliamentary reputations, Lord Lothersdale retired to Moors, his Berkshire seat, and there, in his study overlooking the deer park, he accumulated his evidence and dictated his Report.

From time to time paragraphs appeared in the papers that Lord Lothersdale was busy at his work, or that he was making progress therein, and at last word went round that he was now putting the final touches to his Report, which would be laid before the Cabinet the following week.

Then it was that his Grace of Dorchester decided that Mr. Drummond Eyre must show the same Report at the next meeting of the Burglars' Club, if he wished to continue his membership thereof.

George Drummond Eyre was a Leicestershire man, an ex-guardsman, and a shooter of big game. He received the news of his mission without comment, and proceeded to make himself acquainted with the habits of his lordship of Lothersdale. He was still pursuing these investigations when he read in the _Morning Mail_:--

"Lord Lothersdale is just completing his work of reorganising the British Army on paper with the thoroughness which we associate with his name. Not content with revising the duties attached to the highest offices, with altering the length of service, and the pay of officer and private, his lordship is actually winding up with suggestions for a new full-dress uniform for our soldiers. The traditional red is to be discarded, and hues more in keeping with the aesthetic taste of the age will supplant it, in the hope of attracting a superior class of men to the army. We hear that Mr. Bower, the eminent tailor, was last week at Moors, and that to-day a member of his staff will arrive there with sample uniforms for his lordship's inspection. History is in making at Moors."

"Good!" said Eyre, with obvious satisfaction, as he read this paragraph. "This fits in well. I'm in luck's way."

That was at nine o'clock in the morning. At ten o'clock he drove up to Mr. Bower's well-known establishment, and sent in a card on which was printed in unostentatious letters, "Mr. Luke Sinnott," and in the bottom corner "Criminal Investigation Dept., New Scotland Yard."

In a few minutes he was shown into Mr. Bower's private room.

Mr. Bower was a ponderous gentleman. In a higher station of life he would have been a Dean.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Sinnott?" he inquired, eyeing his visitor over the top of his gold-rimmed glasses.

"I have come on important business, sir," said the pseudo-Sinnott. He went back to the door, and closed it cautiously, then deposited his hat and gloves on the table with a precision which impressed the tailor with a sense of deep mystery.

"I think you have just been to Moors," he said, after these preliminaries.

"That is so," replied the tailor, with unnatural indifference.

"And one of your people is going there to-day with some sample uniforms?"

"I am going there to-day with a sample uniform."

"Quite so. You are aware that Lord Lothersdale is working on a very important report?"

"Of course I am."

Mr. Sinnott came a step nearer to the tailor, and dropped his voice to an impressive whisper.

"What I am going to tell you," he continued, "is in the strictest confidence. A Continental Power that shall be nameless, but whose identity you, as a man of the world, will be able to guess, is moving heaven and earth to get to know what that report contains. It is certain that whatever Lord Lothersdale suggests will be carried out by our government, and this will immediately influence the military policy of the Power in question. Moreover, there are some secret portions of this report which will never be made public. Therefore this foreign power is striving to get sight of it before it leaves Lord Lothersdale's hands.

"One spy has already been detected and warned off by our man who is established in the village, but we have just learnt that another agent has obtained admission to the house itself, by taking service as a footman. On a previous occasion we alarmed Lord Lothersdale, without any real grounds, as it eventually turned out, and we should not care to repeat the incident. It is therefore essential that I, who know this man, should have the opportunity of seeing if he really is there, without anyone--not even his lordship--knowing who I am. With your assistance this will be possible; and I have come from Scotland Yard to ask you to allow me to go with you to Moors to-day, ostensibly as connected with your firm. If you will assist us in this matter you will not find us ungrateful. Scotland Yard does not forget, and some day it may be in our power to be of use to you. In the meantime, you will have done your country a great service."

Mr. Bower was considerably impressed by this speech. He had come back from Moors full of importance. He was most certainly assisting in preserving the integrity of the empire, and it was quite in keeping with this feeling that he should take part in the international complication outlined by his visitor. He appeared to weigh the matter judicially for a few minutes. Then he said solemnly, "We will give you our co-operation in this affair, Mr. Sinnott."

"Thank you, Mr. Bower," said the "detective."

So at one o'clock that afternoon Mr. Bower, accompanied by his new assistant, took train for Moors. In another compartment travelled a sample corporal of the British Army, who was to show off the uniform which Mr. Bower had designed under Lord Lothersdale's instructions.

It was a two-hours' journey, but Mr. Sinnott found it all too short in Mr. Bower's improving society, for that gentleman expounded views on life from a new standpoint.

"No, sir," he said, "things are not what they used to be. Gentlemen--noblemen, especially, I regret to state--do not display that intelligent attention to dress which they used to, even within my own recollection Lord Lothersdale is a notable exception, but enumerate any other statesmen you like, and if left to their own unaided judgment--I say it with all due deference--they would go to pieces. I assure you, upon my honour, at the end of six months you would be liable to mistake any one of them for a foreigner. You would scarcely think it, Mr. Sinnott, but no less than five members of the present Government are too busy to give a thought to their dress at all."

"You don't say so!" exclaimed Mr. Sinnott.

"I do. 'Bower,' they say, 'keep your eye on us, and whenever you think that we are gettin' shabby make us some new clothes, and we will wear them. We leave it all to you.' It is flatterin', sir, I suppose, to have such reliance placed in your judgment, but it demonstrates the absence of--shall I term it proper self-respect?--which is deplorable, absolutely deplorable. It has made me a firm believer in the degeneration of the race.

"Of course, to keep the Cabinet well-dressed is the principal object of my existence, and I flatter myself that under my superintendence the present Cabinet will compare favourably in taste and style with any previous one. But it is anxious, even harassin' work to decide what particular cut, colour, and texture will most suitably harmonise with each individual temperament. They cannot afford the time for interviews, so I have to anticipate the movements of ministers, and go out of my way to meet them. I track them down, as it were, and make my observations in the street, as best I can. Would you believe it, Mr. Sinnott, I was one day actually arrested for suspiciously followin' the Secretary of State for India? His trousers were positively baggin' at the knees. I couldn't take my eyes off them, and one of your smart young constables took me to Bow Street. Most humiliatin', I call it; and all because of my devotion to duty and the honour of the nation."

"Shocking," said Mr. Sinnott. "I sympathise with you, Mr. Bower. I should like to know the name of that constable."

"His name was Simpson--Archibald Simpson," replied the tailor.

Mr. Sinnott made a note of the name, and Mr. Bower continued:

"But, as I previously observed, Lord Lothersdale is a horse of another colour, if I may make use of such an expression. It is an inspiration to meet him. He is the busiest gentleman in England--bar none--but he is never too busy for a try-on or for a consultation. He is gifted, sir. He has ideas that would amaze you. The single-breasted frock-coat was his creation. What do you think of that?"

"You do astonish me, Mr. Bower. I had no idea of it."

"I knew you had not--that is where the greatness of the man comes in. It is his conception, and he is fully aware that the credit of it is attributed to me--but he does not mind. There is no petty jealousy of the profession about him. Then, silk breeches for evenin' wear. That is another of his grand ideas. You must have silk breeches if you visit at Moors, or you do not receive a second invitation. He is drastic in his methods, is my lord--a regular Roman. Mark my words, Mr. Sinnott, if the fashion takes it will be owin' to the influence of Lord Lothersdale, and once get the nation into silk breeches, and you do not know to what heights it may attain. It will be the beginnin' of a new era, the like of which no man livin' has known. I only hope I shall be here to witness its dawn."

Mr. Bower's eyes glistened, and his cheeks flushed in anticipation. Even Mr. Sinnott caught a little of his enthusiasm.

It was half-past three when they reached Moors. Lord Lothersdale could not see them until after dinner. At that moment a Japanese Surgeon-General was with him, explaining how they managed their field hospitals in the Far East. He had come by special permission of the Mikado, and had to return to the seat of war by the six o'clock train.

At nine o'clock the corporal was arrayed in the proposed new uniform for the Line--a taking arrangement in heliotrope, the outcome of Lord Lothersdale's creative genius and Mr. Bower's executive ability.

At nine-thirty they were admitted into Lord Lothersdale's study. The great man was in a genial mood, the result, no doubt, of an instructive afternoon and a good dinner.

He walked round the corporal, and inspected him critically.

"By Jove! Bower," he said at last, "you've done the trick. Capital! And your idea of primrose facings was quite right, after all."

"I am glad that you approve of it, my lord," said the beaming tailor.

"I do. And the country will, too. There'll be some recruiting when this gets out." Then he knitted his brows. "I think the cuffs are a shade too deep, though. I'm sure they are. But half-an-inch--no, a quarter--will put it right."

"A quarter-of-an-inch off the cuff facin's. Make a note of that," said Mr. Bower to his assistant, who had his pocket-book ready.

"You'll have it done by breakfast time, please," said Lord Lothersdale, "so that I can see how it looks by daylight. A photographer will be here, as I want some coloured prints for the Appendix."

Then the little deputation withdrew. The whole interview had not occupied more than five minutes, and most of that time the tailor's assistant had been taking his bearings, and trying to locate the report. That was surely it--a business-like foolscap volume on the desk. The secretary was writing in it when they entered, and later on he had carefully put it in the top left-hand drawer. The assistant manoeuvred round to the desk during the interview, and after taking particulars of the alterations required, he laid down his notebook, and deliberately left it there.

At two o'clock in the morning, when the whole household was presumably fast asleep, Mr. Bower's assistant suddenly remembered that he had left his notebook downstairs, and decided to recover it at once rather than wait till morning. He therefore made his way cautiously to Lord Lothersdale's study. He accomplished the return journey without any untoward event happening; but he brought back with him, in addition to the notebook, a manuscript volume, which he deposited in his handbag.

The alterations in the cuff facings were duly made by breakfast time. At nine o'clock Lord Lothersdale approved of the result. By nine-fifteen the corporal had been photographed in several attitudes--one of which now adorns the recruiting posters--and by nine-thirty the party was driving to the railway station, incidentally meeting a troop of Hussars on the march to Moors for purposes of the Appendix.

"That is what I call business," said Mr. Bower, as they took their seats in the train at the last moment. "No time is lost in dealin' with Lord Lothersdale. I hope that you got to know all you wanted."

"All," replied Mr. Sinnott. "We have evidently been misinformed, for the man I wanted is not there. If we'd made a fuss about it to Lord Lothersdale we should have been sorry. As it is, we are very much obliged to you, Mr. Bower, and we shan't forget it."

* * * * *

"The next business," said the Hon. Sec. at the Burglars' Club meeting that same evening, "is the payment by Mr. Drummond Eyre of his subscription for the next two years by the production of Lord Lothersdale's Report on the Army."

"Here it is," said Eyre, producing a manuscript volume.

A subdued murmur of applause ran round.

The President took up the book and glanced at it. "This seems to be in order," he said, turning to the end. "Lothersdale signs----"

He broke off suddenly. The door had opened without any warning, and a little sharp-featured individual entered, followed by half a dozen other men.

"In the name of the King," said the first comer, "I arrest George Drummond Eyre for feloniously stealing, taking, and carrying away certain papers, namely a Report, the property of the Right Honourable Gilbert Brown, Baron Lothersdale, and I arrest all others present as accessories."

Members rose to their feet, and simultaneously made a move towards the door, with the evident intention of resisting the intrusion.

Mr. Marvell--for it was he--held up his hand warningly. "There are more men outside," he said. "Resistance is useless."

"Where's your authority for all this?" demanded the Secretary.

"Here, sir," said Marvell, pulling out a bundle of papers from a capacious pocket. "Here are the warrants. 'Mr. George Drummond Eyre,'" he called out, reading from the pile. "Here you are, sir. 'The Duke of Dorchester.' Here, your Grace. 'The Earl of Ribston.' Here, my lord. 'Mr. Hilton,' 'Major Anstruther,'" and so on through the list of members. "You will find these quite in order, I think. Now, gentlemen, if you please. I have concluded that you would prefer to ride. Thompson, fetch the hansoms round."

"Stop!" called out Ribston. "What are you going to do with us?"

"Take you to Vine Street Station."

"Nonsense. We're not criminals."

"You can argue that out with the magistrate to-morrow, my lord," said the detective. "Here are the warrants, and I'm going to execute them. If the proceedings are not in order, you can claim reparation in the usual way. Now, gentlemen, please. If you will give your word to come quietly you will save time and trouble."

"Does the Home Secretary know of this?" asked the Duke.

"We don't report police court details to the Home Secretary," said Marvell, acidly. "No, sir, he doesn't."

"Then I demand to see him before these warrants are executed," said Dorchester.

"Impossible, your Grace," said Marvell, who twice before had been defrauded of his legitimate prey. Not again was he going to run the risk of undue favour staying the hand of Justice. He had now in his possession a batch of prisoners so notable that next day his name would ring from one end of the world to the other. "Impossible," was the obvious reply.

"May I write a letter?" asked the Duke.

"No, your Grace, you may not," replied Marvell firmly. "You are now a prisoner, and you will please come with me without more delay. Now, gentlemen, will you pass your words to come quietly? You can cause trouble if you like, but we are more than equal to you in numbers, so there could only be one end to the matter."