The Card, a Story of Adventure in the Five Towns Read online

  CHAPTER VI

  HIS BURGLARY

  I

  The fact that Denry Machin decided not to drive behind his mule to SneydHall showed in itself that the enterprise of interviewing the Countessof Chell was not quite the simple daily trifling matter that he stroveto pretend it was.

  The mule was a part of his more recent splendour. It was aged seven, andit had cost Denry ten pounds. He had bought it off a farmer whose wife"stood" St Luke's Market. His excuse was that he needed help in gettingabout the Five Towns in pursuit of cottage rents, for his business of arent-collector had grown. But for this purpose a bicycle would haveserved equally well, and would not have cost a shilling a day to feed,as the mule did, nor have shied at policemen, as the mule nearly alwaysdid. Denry had bought the mule simply because he had been struck all ofa sudden with the idea of buying the mule. Some time previously JosCurtenty (the Deputy-Mayor, who became Mayor of Bursley on the Earl ofChell being called away to govern an Australian colony) had made anenormous sensation by buying a flock of geese and driving them homehimself. Denry did not like this. He was indeed jealous, if a large mindcan be jealous. Jos Curtenty was old enough to be his grandfather, andhad been a recognised "card" and "character" since before Denry's birth.But Denry, though so young, had made immense progress as a card, andhad, perhaps justifiably, come to consider himself as the premier card,the very ace, of the town. He felt that some reply was needed toCurtenty's geese, and the mule was his reply. It served excellently.People were soon asking each other whether they had heard that DenryMachin's "latest" was to buy a mule. He obtained a little old victoriafor another ten pounds, and a good set of harness for three guineas. Thecarriage was low, which enabled him, as he said, to nip in and out muchmore easily than in and out of a trap. In his business you did almostnothing but nip in and out. On the front seat he caused to be fitted anarrow box of japanned tin, with a formidable lock and slits on the top.This box was understood to receive the rents, as he collected them. Itwas always guarded on journeys by a cross between a mastiff andsomething unknown, whose growl would have terrorised a lion-tamer. Denryhimself was afraid of Rajah, the dog, but he would not admit it. Rajahslept in the stable behind Mrs Machin's cottage, for which Denry paid ashilling a week. In the stable there was precisely room for Rajah, themule and the carriage, and when Denry entered to groom or to harness,something had to go out.

  The equipage quickly grew into a familiar sight in the streets of thedistrict. Denry said that it was funny without being vulgar. Certainlyit amounted to a continual advertisement for him; an infinitely moreeffective advertisement than, for instance, a sandwichman ateighteen-pence a day, and costing no more, even with the licence and theshoeing. Moreover, a sandwichman has this inferiority to a turnout: whenyou have done with him you cannot put him up to auction and sell him.Further, there are no sandwichmen in the Five Towns; in that democraticand independent neighbourhood nobody would deign to be a sandwichman.

  The mulish vehicular display does not end the tale of Denry's splendour.He had an office in St Luke's Square, and in the office was anoffice-boy, small but genuine, and a real copying-press, and outside itwas the little square signboard which in the days of his simplicity usedto be screwed on to his mother's door. His mother's steely firmness ofcharacter had driven him into the extravagance of an office. Even afterhe had made over a thousand pounds out of the Llandudno lifeboat in lessthan three months, she would not listen to a proposal for going into aslightly larger house, of which one room might serve as an office. Norwould she abandon her own labours as a sempstress. She said that sinceher marriage she had always lived in that cottage and had always worked,and that she meant to die there, working: and that Denry could do whathe chose. He was a bold youth, but not bold enough to dream of quittinghis mother; besides, his share of household expenses in the cottage wasonly ten shillings a week. So he rented the office; and he hired anoffice-boy, partly to convey to his mother that he _should_ do whathe chose, and partly for his own private amusement.

  He was thus, at an age when fellows without imagination are frayingtheir cuffs for the enrichment of their elders and glad if they canafford a cigar once a month, in possession of a business, businesspremises, a clerical staff, and a private carriage drawn by an animalunique in the Five Towns. He was living on less than his income; and inthe course of about two years, to a small extent by economies and to alarge extent by injudicious but happy investments, he had doubled theLlandudno thousand and won the deference of the manager of the bank atthe top of St Luke's Square--one of the most unsentimental men that everwrote "refer to drawer" on a cheque.

  And yet Denry was not satisfied. He had a secret woe, due to the factsthat he was gradually ceasing to be a card, and that he was notmultiplying his capital by two every six months. He did not understandthe money market, nor the stock market, nor even the financial articlein the _Signal_; but he regarded himself as a financial genius, anddeemed that as a financial genius he was vegetating. And as for settingthe town on fire, or painting it scarlet, he seemed to have lost thetrick of that.

  II

  And then one day the populace saw on his office door, beneath hisname-board, another sign:

  FIVE TOWNS UNIVERSAL THRIFT CLUB. _Secretary and Manager_--E.H. MACHIN.

  An idea had visited him.

  Many tradesmen formed slate-clubs--goose-clubs, turkey-clubs,whisky-clubs--in the autumn, for Christmas. Their humble customers paidso much a week to the tradesmen, who charged them nothing for keepingit, and at the end of the agreed period they took out the total sum ingoods--dead or alive; eatable, drinkable, or wearable. Denry conceived auniversal slate-club. He meant it to embrace each of the Five Towns. Hesaw forty thousand industrial families paying weekly instalments intohis slate-club. He saw his slate-club entering into contracts with allthe principal tradesmen of the entire district, so that the members ofthe slate-club could shop with slate-club tickets practically where theychose. He saw his slate-club so powerful that no tradesman could affordnot to be in relations with it. He had induced all Llandudno to performthe same act daily for nearly a whole season, and he now wished toinduce all the vast Five Towns to perform the same act to his profit forall eternity.

  And he would be a philanthropist into the bargain. He would encouragethrift in the working-man and the working-man's wife. He would guard theworking-man's money for him; and to save trouble to the working-man hewould call at the working-man's door for the working-man's money.Further, as a special inducement and to prove superior advantages toordinary slate-clubs, he would allow the working man to spend his fullnominal subscription to the club as soon as he had actually paid onlyhalf of it. Thus, after paying ten shillings to Denry, the working-mancould spend a pound in Denry's chosen shops, and Denry would settle withthe shops at once, while collecting the balance weekly at theworking-man's door. But this privilege of anticipation was to beforfeited or postponed if the working-man's earlier payments wereirregular.

  And Denry would bestow all these wondrous benefits on the working-manwithout any charge whatever. Every penny that members paid in, memberswould draw out. The affair was enormously philanthropic.

  Denry's modest remuneration was to come from the shopkeepers upon whomhis scheme would shower new custom. They were to allow him at leasttwopence in the shilling discount on all transactions, which would bemore than 16 per cent. on his capital; and he would turn over hiscapital three times a year. He calculated that out of 50 per cent. perannum he would be able to cover working expenses and a little over.

  Of course, he had to persuade the shopkeepers. He drove his mule toHanbridge and began with Bostocks, the largest but not the mostdistinguished drapery house in the Five Towns. He succeeded inconvincing them on every point except that of his own financialstability. Bostocks indicated their opinion that he looked far too muchlike a boy to be financially stable. His reply was to offer to depositfifty pounds with them before starting business, and to renew the sum inadvance as quickly as the members of his club should exha
ust it. Chequestalk. He departed with Bostocks' name at the head of his list, and heused them as a clinching argument with other shops. But the prejudiceagainst his youth was strong and general. "Yes," tradesmen would answer,"what you say is all right, but you are so young." As if to insinuatethat a man must be either a rascal or a fool until he is thirty, just ashe must be either a fool or a physician after he is forty. Nevertheless,he had soon compiled a list of several score shops.

  His mother said:

  "Why don't you grow a beard? Here you spend money on razors, strops,soaps and brushes, besides a quarter of an hour of your time every day,and cutting yourself--all to keep yourself from having something thatwould be the greatest help to you in business! With a beard you'd lookat least thirty-one. Your father had a splendid beard, and so could youif you chose."

  This was high wisdom. But he would not listen to it. The truth is, hewas getting somewhat dandiacal.

  At length his scheme lacked naught but what Denry called a "right-downgood starting shove." In a word, a fine advertisement to fire it off.Now, he could have had the whole of the first page of the _Signal_(at that period) for five-and-twenty pounds. But he had been soaccustomed to free advertisements of one sort or another that the notionof paying for one was loathsome to him. Then it was that he thought ofthe Countess of Chell, who happened to be staying at Knype. If he couldobtain that great aristocrat, that ex-Mayoress, that lovely witch, thatbenefactor of the district, to honour his Thrift Club as patroness,success was certain. Everybody in the Five Towns sneered at the Countessand called her a busybody; she was even dubbed "Interfering Iris" (Irisbeing one of her eleven Christian names); the Five Towns was fiercelydemocratic--in theory. In practice the Countess was worshipped; hersmile was worth at least five pounds, and her invitation to tea waspriceless. She could not have been more sincerely adulated in the UnitedStates, the home of social equality.

  Denry said to himself:

  "And why _shouldn't_ I get her name as patroness? I will have hername as patroness."

  Hence the expedition to Sneyd Hall, one of the ancestral homes of theEarls of Chell.

  III

  He had been to Sneyd Hall before many times--like the majority of theinhabitants of the Five Towns--for, by the generosity of its owner,Sneyd Park was always open to the public. To picnic in Sneyd Park wasone of the chief distractions of the Five Towns on Thursday and Saturdayafternoons. But he had never entered the private gardens. In the midstof the private gardens stood the Hall, shut off by immense ironpalisades, like a lion in a cage at the Zoo. On the autumn afternoon ofhis Historic visit, Denry passed with qualms through the double gates ofthe palisade, and began to crunch the gravel of the broad drive that ledin a straight line to the overwhelming Palladian facade of the Hall.

  Yes, he was decidedly glad that he had not brought his mule. As heapproached nearer and nearer to the Countess's front-door his argumentsin favour of the visit grew more and more ridiculous. Useless to remindhimself that he had once danced with the Countess at the municipal ball,and amused her to the giggling point, and restored her lost fan to her.Useless to remind himself that he was a quite exceptional young man,with a quite exceptional renown, and the equal of any man or woman onearth. Useless to remind himself that the Countess was notorious for heraffability and also for her efforts to encourage the true welfare of theFive Towns. The visit was grotesque.

  He ought to have written. He ought, at any rate, to have announced hisvisit by a note. Yet only an hour earlier he had been arguing that hecould most easily capture the Countess by storm, with no warning orpreparations of any kind.

  Then, from a lateral path, a closed carriage and pair drove rapidly upto the Hall, and a footman bounced off the hammercloth. Denry could notsee through the carriage, but under it he could distinguish the skirtsof some one who got put of it. Evidently the Countess was just returningfrom a drive. He quickened his pace, for at heart he was an audaciousboy.

  "She can't eat me," he said.

  This assertion was absolutely irrefutable, and yet there remained in hisbold heart an irrational fear that after all she _could_ eat him.Such is the extraordinary influence of a Palladian facade!

  After what seemed several hours of torture entirely novel in hisexperience, he skirted the back of the carriage and mounted the steps tothe portal. And, although the coachman was innocuous, being apparentlycarved in stone, Denry would have given a ten-pound note to find himselfsuddenly in his club or even in church. The masonry of the Hall rose upabove him like a precipice. He was searching for the bell-knob in theface of the precipice when a lady suddenly appeared at the doors. Atfirst he thought it was the Countess, and that heart of his began toslip down the inside of his legs. But it was not the Countess.

  "Well?" demanded the lady. She was dressed in black.

  "Can I see the Countess?" he inquired.

  The lady stared at him. He handed her his professional card which laywaiting all ready in his waistcoat pocket.

  "I will ask my lady," said the lady in black.

  Denry perceived from her accent that she was not English.

  She disappeared through a swinging door; and then Denry most clearlyheard the Countess's own authentic voice saying in a pettish, disgustedtone:

  "Oh! Bother!"

  And he was chilled. He seriously wished that he had never thought ofstarting his confounded Universal Thrift Club.

  After some time the carriage suddenly drove off, presumably to thestables. As he was now within the hollow of the porch, a sort of cave atthe foot of the precipice, he could not see along the length of thefacade. Nobody came to him. The lady who had promised to ask my ladywhether the latter could see him did not return. He reflected that shehad not promised to return; she had merely promised to ask a question.As the minutes passed he grew careless, or grew bolder, graduallydropping his correct attitude of a man-about-town paying an afternooncall, and peered through the glass of the doors that divided him fromthe Countess. He could distinguish nothing that had life. One of hispreliminary tremors had been caused by a fanciful vision ofmultitudinous footmen, through a double line of whom he would becompelled to walk in order to reach the Countess.

  But there was not even one footman. This complete absence of indoorfootmen seemed to him remiss, not in accordance with centuries oftradition concerning life at Sneyd.

  Then he caught sight, through the doors, of the back of Jock, theCountess's carriage footman and the son of his mother's old friend. Jockwas standing motionless at a half-open door to the right of the spacebetween Denry's double doors and the next pair of double doors. Denrytried to attract his attention by singular movements and strange noisesof the mouth. But Jock, like his partner the coachman, appeared to becarven in stone. Denry decided that he would go in and have speech withJock. They were on Christian-name terms, or had been a few years ago. Heunobtrusively pushed at the doors, and at the very same moment Jock,with a start--as though released from some spell--vanished away from thedoor to the right.

  Denry was now within.

  "Jock!" He gave a whispering cry, rather conspiratorial in tone. And asJock offered no response, he hurried after Jock through the door to theright. This door led to a large apartment which struck Denry as being anidealisation of a first-class waiting-room at a highly importantterminal station. In a wall to the left was a small door, half open.Jock must have gone through that door. Denry hesitated--he had notproperly been invited into the Hall. But in hesitating he was wrong; heought to have followed his prey without qualms. When he had conqueredqualms and reached the further door, his eyes were met, to theiramazement, by an immense perspective of great chambers. Denry had onceseen a Pullman car, which had halted at Knype Station with a Frenchactress on board. What he saw now presented itself to him as a train ofPullman cars, one opening into the other, constructed for giants. Eachcar was about as large as the large hall in Bursley Town Hall, and, likethat auditorium, had a ceiling painted to represent blue sky, milk-whiteclouds, and birds. But in the corners were grou
ps of naked Cupids,swimming joyously on the ceiling; in Bursley Town Hall there were nonaked Cupids. He understood now that he had been quite wrong in hisestimate of the room by which he had come into this Versailles. Insteadof being large it was tiny, and instead of being luxurious it was merelyfurnished with miscellaneous odds and ends left over from far moreimportant furnishings. It was indeed naught but a nondescript box of ahole insignificantly wedged between the state apartments and the outerlobby.

  For an instant he forgot that he was in pursuit of Jock. Jock wasperfectly invisible and inaudible. He must, however, have gone down thevista of the great chambers, and therefore Denry went down the vista ofthe great chambers after him, curiously expecting to have a glimpse ofhis long salmon-tinted coat or his cockaded hat popping up out of somecorner. He reached the other end of the vista, having traversed threeenormous chambers, of which the middle one was the most enormous and themost gorgeous. There were high windows everywhere to his right, and tohis left, in every chamber, double doors with gilt handles of a peculiarshape. Windows and doors, with equal splendour, were draped in hangingsof brocade. Through the windows he had glimpses of the gardens in theirautumnal colours, but no glimpse of a gardener. Then a carriage flewpast the windows at the end of the suite, and he had a very clear thougha transient view of two menials on the box-seat; one of those menials heknew must be Jock. Hence Jock must have escaped from the state suite byone of the numerous doors.

  Denry tried one door after another, and they were all fastened firmly onthe outside. The gilded handles would turn, but the lofty and ornateportals would not yield to pressure. Mystified and startled, he wentback to the place from which he had begun his explorations, and was evenmore seriously startled, and more deeply mystified to find nothing but ablank wall where he had entered. Obviously he could not have penetratedthrough a solid wall. A careful perusal of the wall showed him thatthere was indeed a door in it, but that the door was artfully disguisedby painting and other devices so as to look like part of the wall. Hehad never seen such a phenomenon before. A very small glass knob was thedoor's sole fitting. Denry turned this crystal, but with no usefulresult. In the brief space of time since his entrance, that door, andthe door by which Jock had gone, had been secured by unseen hands. Denryimagined sinister persons bolting all the multitudinous doors, andinimical eyes staring at him through many keyholes. He imagined himselfto be the victim of some fearful and incomprehensible conspiracy.

  Why, in the sacred name of common-sense, should he have been imprisonedin the state suite? The only answer to the conundrum was that nobody wasaware of his quite unauthorised presence in the state suite. But thenwhy should the state suite be so suddenly locked up, since the Countesshad just come in from a drive? It then occurred to him that, instead ofjust coming in, the Countess had been just leaving. The carriage musthave driven round from some humbler part of the Hall, with the lady inblack in it, and the lady in black--perhaps a lady's-maid--alone hadstepped out from it. The Countess had been waiting for the carriage inthe porch, and had fled to avoid being forced to meet the unfortunateDenry. (Humiliating thought!) The carriage had then taken her up at aside door. And now she was gone. Possibly she had left Sneyd Hall not toreturn for months, and that was why the doors had been locked. Perhapseverybody had departed from the Hall save one aged and deaf retainer--heknew, from historical novels which he had glanced at in his youth, thatin every Hall that respected itself an aged and deaf retainer wasinvariably left solitary during the absences of the noble owner. Heknocked on the small disguised door. His unique purpose in knocking wasnaturally to make a noise, but something prevented him from making anoise. He felt that he must knock decently, discreetly; he felt that hemust not outrage the conventions.

  No result to this polite summoning.

  He attacked other doors; he attacked every door he could put his handson; and gradually he lost his respect for decency and the conventionsproper to Halls, knocking loudly and more loudly. He banged. Nothing butsheer solidity stopped his sturdy hands from going through the panels.He so far forgot himself as to shake the doors with all his strengthfuriously.

  And finally he shouted: "Hi there! Hi! Can't you hear?"

  Apparently the aged and deaf retainer could not hear. Apparently he wasthe deafest retainer that a peeress of the realm ever left in charge ofa princely pile.

  "Well, that's a nice thing!" Denry exclaimed, and he noticed that he washot and angry. He took a certain pleasure in being angry. He consideredthat he had a right to be angry.

  At this point he began to work himself up into the state of "notcaring," into the state of despising Sneyd Hall, and everything forwhich it stood. As for permitting himself to be impressed or intimidatedby the lonely magnificence of his environment, he laughed at the idea;or, more accurately, he snorted at it. Scornfully he tramped up and downthose immense interiors, doing the caged lion, and cogitating in questof the right dramatic, effective act to perform in the singular crisis.Unhappily, the carpets were very thick, so that though he could tramp,he could not stamp; and he desired to stamp. But in the connectingdoorways there were expanses of bare, highly-polished oak floor, andhere he did stamp.

  The rooms were not furnished after the manner of ordinary rooms. Therewas no round or square table in the midst of each, with a checked clothon it, and a plant in the centre. Nor in front of each window was therea small table with a large Bible thereupon. The middle parts of therooms were empty, save for a group of statuary in the largest room.Great arm-chairs and double-ended sofas were ranged about in straightlines, and among these, here and there, were smaller chairs gilded fromhead to foot. Round the walls were placed long narrow tables with topslike glass-cases, and in the cases were all sorts of strange matters--such as coins, fans, daggers, snuff-boxes. In various corners whitestatues stood awaiting the day of doom without a rag to protect themfrom the winds of destiny. The walls were panelled in tremendous panels,and in each panel was a formidable dark oil-painting. The mantelpieceswere so preposterously high that not even a giant could have sat at thefireplace and put his feet on them. And if they had held clocks, asmantelpieces do, a telescope would have been necessary to discern thehour. Above each mantelpiece, instead of a looking-glass, was a vastpicture. The chandeliers were overpowering in glitter and in dimensions.

  Near to a sofa Denry saw a pile of yellow linen things. He picked up thetopmost article, and it assumed the form of a chair. Yes, these articleswere furniture-covers. The Hall, then, was to be shut up. He argued fromthe furniture-covers that somebody must enter sooner or later to put thecovers on the furniture.

  Then he did a few more furlongs up and down the vista, and sat down atthe far end, under a window. Anyhow, there were always the windows.

  High though they were from the floor, he could easily open one, springout, and slip unostentatiously away. But he thought he would wait untildusk fell. Prudence is seldom misplaced. The windows, however, held adisappointment for him. A mere bar, padlocked, prevented each one ofthem from being opened; it was a simple device. He would be under thenecessity of breaking a plate-glass pane. For this enterprise he thoughthe would wait until black night. He sat down again. Then he made a freshand noisy assault on all the doors. No result. He sat down a third time,and gazed info the gardens where the shadows were creeping darkly. Not asoul in the gardens. Then he felt a draught on the crown of his head,and looking aloft he saw that the summit of the window had a transverseglazed flap, for ventilation, and that this flap had been left open. Ifhe could have climbed up, he might have fallen out on the other sideinto the gardens and liberty. But the summit of the window was at leastsixteen feet from the floor. Night descended.

  IV

  At a vague hour in the evening a stout woman dressed in black, with ablack apron, a neat violet cap on her head, and a small lamp in herpodgy hand, unlocked one of the doors giving entry to the state rooms.She was on her nightly round of inspection. The autumn moon, nearly atfull, had risen and was shining into the great windows. And in front ofth
e furthest window she perceived in the radiance of the moonshine apyramidal group, somewhat in the style of a family of acrobats,dangerously arranged on the stage of a music-hall. The base of thepyramid comprised two settees; upon these were several arm-chairs laidflat, and on the arm-chairs two tables covered with cushions and rugs;lastly, in the way of inanimate nature, two gilt chairs. On the giltchairs was something that unmistakably moved, and was fumbling with thetop of the window. Being a stout woman with a tranquil and sagaciousmind, her first act was not to drop the lamp. She courageously clung tothe lamp.

  "Who's there?" said a voice from the apex of the pyramid.

  Then a subsidence began, followed by a crash and a multitudinoussplintering of glass. The living form dropped on to one of the settees,rebounding like a football from its powerful springs. There was a holeas big as a coffin in the window. The living form collected itself, andthen jumped wildly through that hole into the gardens.

  Denry ran. The moment had not struck him as a moment propitious forexplanation. In a flash he had seen the ridiculousness of endeavouringto convince a stout lady in black that he was a gentleman paying a callon the Countess. He simply scrambled to his legs and ran. He ranaimlessly in the darkness and sprawled over a hedge, after crossingvarious flower-beds. Then he saw the sheen of the moon on Sneyd Lake,and he could take his bearings. In winter all the Five Towns skate onSneyd Lake if the ice will bear, and the geography of it was quitefamiliar to Denry. He skirted its east bank, plunged into Great ShendonWood, and emerged near Great Shendon Station, on the line from Staffordto Knype. He inquired for the next train in the tones of innocency, andin half an hour was passing through Sneyd Station itself. In anotherfifty minutes he was at home. The clock showed ten-fifteen. His mother'scottage seemed amazingly small. He said that he had been detained inHanbridge on business, that he had had neither tea nor supper, and thathe was hungry. Next morning he could scarcely be sure that his visit toSneyd Hall was not a dream. In any event, it had been a completefailure.

  V

  It was on this untriumphant morning that one of the tenants under hiscontrol, calling at the cottage to pay some rent overdue, asked him whenthe Universal Thrift Club was going to commence its operations. He hadtalked of the enterprise to all his tenants, for it was precisely withhis tenants that he hoped to make a beginning. He had there a_clientele_ ready to his hand, and as he was intimately acquaintedwith the circumstances of each, he could judge between those who wouldbe reliable and those to whom he would be obliged to refuse membership.The tenants, conclaving together of an evening on doorsteps, had come tothe conclusion that the Universal Thrift Club was the very contrivancewhich they had lacked for years. They saw in it a cure for all theireconomic ills, and the gate to Paradise. The dame who put the questionto him on the morning after his defeat wanted to be the possessor ofcarpets, a new teapot, a silver brooch, and a cookery book; and she wasevidently depending upon Denry. On consideration he saw no reason whythe Universal Thrift Club should not be allowed to start itself by theimpetus of its own intrinsic excellence. The dame was inscribed forthree shares, paid eighteen-pence entrance fee, undertook to pay threeshillings a week, and received a document entitling her to spend L3,18s. in sixty-five shops as soon as she had paid L1, 19s. to Denry. Itwas a marvellous scheme. The rumour of it spread; before dinner Denryhad visits from other aspirants to membership, and he had posted acheque to Bostocks', but more from ostentation than necessity; for nomember could possibly go into Bostocks' with his coupons until at leasttwo months had elapsed.

  But immediately after dinner, when the posters of the early edition ofthe _Signal_ waved in the streets, he had material for otherthought. He saw a poster as he was walking across to his office. Theawful legend ran:

  ASTOUNDING ATTEMPTED BURGLARY AT SNEYD HALL.

  In buying the paper he was afflicted with a kind of ague. And thedescription of events at Sneyd Hall was enough to give ague to a negro.The account had been taken from the lips of Mrs Gater, housekeeper atSneyd Hall. She had related to a reporter how, upon going into the statesuite before retiring for the night, she had surprised a burglar ofHerculean physique and Titanic proportions. Fortunately she knew herduty, and did not blench. The burglar had threatened her with arevolver, and then, finding such bluff futile, had deliberately jumpedthrough a large plate-glass window and vanished. Mrs Gater could notconceive how the fellow had "effected an entrance." (According to thereporter, Mrs Gater said "effected an entrance," not "got in." And hereit may be mentioned that in the columns of the _Signal_ burglarsnever get into a residence; without exception they invariably effect anentrance.) Mrs Gater explained further how the plans of the burglar musthave been laid with the most diabolic skill; how he must have studiedthe daily life of the Hall patiently for weeks, if not months; how hemust have known the habits and plans of every soul in the place, and theexact instant at which the Countess had arranged to drive to Stafford tocatch the London express.

  It appeared that save for four maidservants, a page, two dogs, threegardeners, and the kitchen-clerk, Mrs Gater was alone in the Hall.During the late afternoon and early evening they had all been to assistat a rat-catching in the stables, and the burglar must have been awareof this. It passed Mrs Gater's comprehension how the criminal had gotclear away out of the gardens and park, for to set up a hue and cry hadbeen with her the work of a moment. She could not be sure whether he hadtaken any valuable property, but the inventory was being checked. Thoughsurely for her an inventory was scarcely necessary, as she had beenhousekeeper at Sneyd Hall for six-and-twenty years, and might be said toknow the entire contents of the mansion by heart! The police were atwork. They had studied footprints and _debris_. There was talk ofobtaining detectives from London. Up to the time of going to press, noclue had been discovered, but Mrs Gater was confident that a clue wouldbe discovered, and of her ability to recognise the burglar when heshould be caught. His features, as seen in the moonlight, were imprintedon her mind for ever. He was a young man, well dressed. The Earl hadtelegraphed, offering a reward of L20 for the fellow's capture. Awarrant was out.

  So it ran on.

  Denry saw clearly all the errors of tact which he had committed on theprevious day. He ought not to have entered uninvited. But havingentered, he ought to have held firm in quiet dignity until thehousekeeper came, and then he ought to have gone into full details withthe housekeeper, producing his credentials and showing her unmistakablythat he was offended by the experience which somebody's grosscarelessness had forced upon him.

  Instead of all that, he had behaved with simple stupidity, and theresult was that a price was upon his head. Far from acquiring moralimpressiveness and influential aid by his journey to Sneyd Hall, he hadutterly ruined himself as a founder of a Universal Thrift Club. Youcannot conduct a thrift club from prison, and a sentence of ten yearsdoes not inspire confidence in the ignorant mob. He trembled at thethought of what would happen when the police learned from the Countessthat a man with a card on which was the name of Machin had called atSneyd just before her departure.

  However, the police never did learn this from the Countess (who had goneto Rome for the autumn). It appeared that her maid had merely said tothe Countess that "a man" had called, and also that the maid had lostthe card. Careful research showed that the burglar had been disturbedbefore he had had opportunity to burgle. And the affair, after raising aterrific bother in the district, died down.

  Then it was that an article appeared in the _Signal_, signed byDenry, and giving a full picturesque description of the state apartmentsat Sneyd Hall. He had formed a habit of occasional contributions to the_Signal_. This article began:--

  "The recent sensational burglary at Sneyd Hall has drawn attention to the magnificent state apartments of that unique mansion. As very few but the personal friends of the family are allowed a glimpse of these historic rooms, they being of course quite closed to the public, we have thought that some account of them might interest the readers of the _Signal_. On the occasion of our la
st visit...," etc.

  He left out nothing of their splendour.

  The article was quoted as far as Birmingham in the Midlands Press.People recalled Denry's famous waltz with the Countess at the memorabledance in Bursley Town Hall. And they were bound to assume that therelations thus begun had been more or less maintained. They were struckby Denry's amazing discreet self-denial in never boasting of them. Denryrose in the market of popular esteem. Talking of Denry, people talked ofthe Universal Thrift Club, which went quietly ahead, and they admittedthat Denry was of the stuff which succeeds and deserves to succeed.

  But only Denry himself could appreciate fully how great Denry was, tohave snatched such a wondrous victory out of such a humiliating defeat!

  His chin slowly disappeared from view under a quite presentable beard.But whether the beard was encouraged out of respect for his mother'ssage advice, or with the object of putting the housekeeper of Sneyd Halloff the scent, if she should chance to meet Denry, who shall say?