The Lyndhurst Jewels stolen! No wonder Aunt Sophia had seemed peevish,
for they were the treasured heirlooms of her husband's family,
cherished and guarded by her with anxious eye. McAllister had always
said the old man was an ass to go lugging 'em off down among the mangoes
and land-crabs, but the Governor-General liked to have his lady appear
in style at Government House, and took much innocent pleasure in
astonishing the natives by the splendor of her adornment. The jewelry,
however, was the source of unending annoyance to himself, Sophia, and
everybody else, for it was always getting lost, and burglar scares
occurred with regularity at the islands. It had been still intact,
however, on their arrival in New York.
The clubman found his uncle and aunt sitting dejectedly at the
breakfast-table in the Diplomatic Suite.
The atmosphere of gloom struck a cold chill to our friend's centre of
vivacity. There were also evidences of a domestic misunderstanding. His
aunt fidgeted nervously, and his uncle evaded McAllister's eye as they
responded half-heartedly to his cheerful salutation. That the matter was
serious was obvious. Clearly this time the jewels must be really gone.
In addition, both the Governor-General and his lady kept looking over
their shoulders fearfully, as if dreading the momentary assault of some
assassin. McAllister inquired what the jolly mess was, incidentally
suggesting that their hurry-call had deprived him of any attempt at
breakfast. His hint, however, fell on barren ground.
"That fool Morton has packed all the jewelry in the big Vuitton!"
exclaimed his uncle, nervously jabbing his spoon into a grape-fruit. "To
say the least, it was excessively careless of him, for he knows
perfectly well that we always carry it in the morocco hand-bag, and
never allow it out of our sight." The Governor-General paused, and took
a sip of coffee.
"Well," said McAllister, rather impatiently, "why don't you have him
unpack it, then?" He couldn't for the life of him see why they made such
a row about a thing of that sort. It was clear enough that they were
both more than half mad.
"Ah, that's the point! It was sent to the station with the rest of the
luggage last evening. Heaven knows it may all have been stolen by this
time! Think of it, McAllister! The Lyndhurst Jewels, secured merely by a
miserable brass check with a number on it--and the railroad liable by
express contract only to the extent of one hundred dollars!" Before
Uncle Basil had attained his present eminence he had been called to the
bar, and his book on "Flotsam and Jetsam" is still an authority in those
regions to which later works have not penetrated. "You see we're
leaving at three this afternoon, but why send it all so early unless
_for a purpose_?" Lord Lyndhurst nodded conclusively. He had the air of
one who had divined something.
Still Chubby failed to see the connection. Someone, a valet evidently,
had packed the jewelry in the wrong place, and then sent the load off a
little ahead of time. What of it? He recalled vividly an occasion when
the jewels had been stuffed by mistake into the soiled-clothes basket,
but had turned up safe enough at the end of the trip.
"If that is all," replied McAllister, "all you have to do is to send
your man over to the station and have the trunk brought back. Send the
fellow who packed the trunk--this Morton--whoever he is."
"No," said his uncle, studiously knocking in the end of a boiled egg.
"There are reasons. I wish you would go, instead. The fact is I don't
wish Morton to leave the rooms this morning; I--I need him." Lord
Lyndhurst again evaded the clubman's inquiring glance, and eyed the egg
in an embarrassed fashion.
McAllister laughed. "I guess your jewelry's all right," said he
cheerfully. "Certainly I'll go. Don't worry. I'll have the trunk and the
jewels back here inside of fifty minutes. Who's Morton, anyhow?"
"My valet," replied Lord Lyndhurst, lowering his voice, and looking over
his shoulder. "You wouldn't recall him. I engaged the man at Kingston on
the way out. As a servant I have had absolutely no fault to find at all.
You know it's very hard to get a good man to go to the Tropics, but
Morton has seemed perfectly contented. Up to the present time I haven't
had the slightest reason to suspect his honesty!"
"Well, I don't see that you have any now," said McAllister. "I guess
I'll start along. I haven't had anythin' to eat yet. Have you the
check?"
Uncle Basil gingerly handed him the bit of brass.
"I secured it from Morton," he remarked, attacking the egg viciously.
"Secured it?" exclaimed McAllister.
The Governor-General nodded ambiguously.
Aunt Sophia during the course of the recital had become almost
hysterical, and now sat wringing her hands in the greatest agitation.
Suddenly she broke forth:
"I told Basil he had been too hasty! But he would have it that there was
nothing else to do! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Why don't you tell him what
you've done?"
"What in thunder _have_ you done?" asked McAllister, now convinced
beyond peradventure that his uncle was a candidate for the nearest
insane asylum.
Lord Lyndhurst became very red, stammered, and jerked his thumb over his
shoulder.
"Yes, secured it! Morton, if you must know it, is locked in the
clothes-closet. I locked him!"
"He's in _there_!" suddenly wailed Aunt Sophia. "Basil put him in! And
now the jewelry's no one knows where, and there's a man in the room, and
I'm afraid to stay and Basil's afraid to go for fear he may get out,
and----"
She was interrupted by a smothered voice that came from within the
closet. McAllister was startled, for there was something faintly,
vaguely familiar about it.
"It's a bloomin' houtrage, it is! Look 'ere, sir, I'll 'ave you to
hunderstand that I gives notice at once, sir, 'ere and now, sir! It's a
great hindignity you are a-puttin' me to, sir! Won't you let me hout,
sir?" The voice ceased momentarily.
"Isn't it awful!" exclaimed Aunt Sophia. "He's been like that for over
an hour!"
"Yes!" added Uncle Basil. "At times he's been actually abusive." But
McAllister was lost in an effort to recall the hazy past. Where had he
heard that voice before?
"'Ang it, sir! Won't you let me hout, sir," continued Morton. "I'm
stiflin' in 'ere, an' I thinks there's a rat, sir. O Lawd! Let me hout!"
McAllister jumped to his feet. Of course he recognized the voice! Could
he ever forget it? Had anyone ever said "O Lawd!" in quite the same way
as the majestic Wilkins? It could be no other! By George, the old man
wasn't such a fool _after_ all! And the jewels! He smote his fist upon
the table, while his uncle and aunt gazed at him apprehensively. There
was no use exciting their fears, however. It was all plain to him, now.
The clever dog! Well, the first thing was to see what had become of the
jewels.
"Damn!" came in vigorous tones from the closet, as Wilkins endeavored to
assert himself. "It's a bloomin' houtrage, it is! I'll 'ave you arrested
for hassault an' bat'ry, I will, if you _are_ a guv'nor! Let me _hout_,
I say!"