"IT seems to me," said his Grace of Dorchester, "that the Army has been
abominably neglected by us. On looking through our archives, I do not
come across the record of a single military achievement. In the Church
and in the State, in Diplomacy and Commerce, in Science, Art, and
Literature, our activities are marked, but we have unaccountably left
the Services alone. Our enemies--if such there be--might unkindly
suggest that we have purposely refrained from interfering with the most
vigorous portion of the community. To avoid this reproach, and to make
good the omission, I therefore propose a series of three military raids,
the first to be immediately undertaken by Mr. Maxwell-Pitt, who will
have the opportunity of renewing his subscription at our next meeting by
the production of the last Victoria Cross bestowed by His Majesty."
As the result of inquiries, Mr. Maxwell-Pitt learned that the last
Victoria Cross had been given to Captain Sefton Richards, who had
rescued a wounded soldier from the Somali, and, single-handed, had kept
the enemy at bay till support arrived.
"H'm!" reflected Maxwell-Pitt. "He'll be a tough customer to tackle. It
strikes me that if I pull this off I shall have earned the Blue Riband
of the Club. I wonder where the beggar is stationed?"
Further inquiries elicited the fact that Captain Richards was at present
spending his well-earned leave with his sister, who lived at Bamburn, in
Lincolnshire.
The next meeting of the Club had been fixed for the 22nd of the month.
On the 19th Maxwell-Pitt set out for Bamburn.
It was an ancient country town. Once it had been an ecclesiastical
centre--as its minster still bore witness--but now it was given up to
the sale of sheep and the manufacture of chocolate. In its outskirts was
a number of highly eligible residences, and in one of these, the bequest
of an uncle who was the inventor of chocolate caramels, lived Miss
Richards.
Maxwell-Pitt learnt some of this from the local directory, and some from
the waiter at the inn, the night of his arrival; and on the following
morning he made his way to the neighbourhood of Burgoyne Lodge--so Miss
Richards' house was styled--and sat down on a seat thoughtfully provided
by the local district council. He waited there a long time, apparently
deeply absorbed in the columns of a sporting paper, but in reality
rarely taking his eyes from the house.
At eleven o'clock his patience was rewarded. The gate opened, and two
people came out. The man--tall, straight, and bronzed--was obviously
Captain Richards, the lady probably his sister. Mr. Maxwell-Pitt saw
them disappear along the road in the direction of the town, and then he
approached the house to take in its bearings. It was the last building
on the road, and it was closely surrounded by a belt of trees; behind
the trees were thick bushes. This screen effectually concealed the house
from the road--for the inventor of chocolate caramels had been a recluse
by nature--so, in order to obtain a better view of it, Maxwell-Pitt got
over the wall, and peered through the bushes.
It was a solid Georgian dwelling, with two windows on each side of the
door. Which window should he attempt to force? The end ones would be
farthest from the hall, and perhaps the safest. Or would it be better to
try the back? Confound it!
His eyes had been so intently fixed on the house that he had omitted to
notice an occupant of the garden, but now he was aware that a trimly and
plainly gowned little woman who was engaged in cutting flowers had
stopped in her work, and was watching him. The position was ridiculous.
What excuse could he offer? He turned round, got over the wall again,
and walked quickly away, with the conviction that he had made a blunder,
criminal in a professional, and unpardonable even for an amateur.
During the afternoon, while he was walking down the main street of the
town, wondering at the number of sheep the land contained--for it was
market day--he came face to face with the same good-looking, dapper
little person he had seen in the grounds of Burgoyne Lodge. She had
appeared from a side street, and no escape was open to him. He fixed his
eyes on the celebrated Perpendicular architecture of the minster tower,
hoping to escape her attention, but, to his surprise, she stopped him.
"Pardon me, I think we have seen one another before," she said slowly,
and with a marked foreign intonation.
"Of course we have," he replied, as he took off his hat. "I remember the
occasion perfectly. How do you do?" Then he added, unblushingly, "And
how is your sister?"
"I thank you," she answered. "My sister would, no doubt, be quite well
if I had one. But please do not make romances. I saw you this morning at
Burgoyne Lodge. I know what you want."
"The dickens you do!" he exclaimed in blank amazement. "And pray what is
it?"
"I think it is something that does not belong to you," she said, her
dark eyes looking steadily at him.
"Indeed! And how do you know that?"
She shrugged her shoulders expressively. "_Cela n'importe_," she
answered. "If you please, let us walk on so that we do not draw
attention. Yes, I know what you want, and I think that I can assist you
a little."
"It's very good of you to suggest it," said Maxwell-Pitt as they walked
along the street; "and I'm sure I'm much obliged to you. I'm not
accustomed to this sort of business, you know."
"You have made the same business once before," she said.
"You are really remarkably well informed," he replied. "The least you
can do is to tell me how you come to know these things."
"Do not waste the time," she said impatiently. "I am Adèle, Miss
Richards' maid. She is in town with her brother, the captain. They must
not see us together. When do you intend to--to----" She hesitated.
"To pick mushrooms, shall we call it?" he answered.
"To--pick--mushrooms?" she repeated, with a puzzled look. Then she
smiled. "Ah, I understand. Yes, when do you intend to pick the fine
mushrooms?"
"As soon as I know where they are, and how to get them. If you assist me
it will, of course, make matters easy for me."
"To-night?"
"Mademoiselle, you are a thought-reader. You anticipate my wishes.
To-night, by all means."
"Then I will see that one of the windows is left unlatched. _Mon Dieu!_
Meet me here at this place at nine o'clock." With this she turned
abruptly round the corner they were passing, and disappeared into a
shop.
Maxwell-Pitt glanced ahead, and saw Captain and Miss Richards
approaching. They might not have seen him with the maid, for they were
in earnest conversation. Captain Richards only glanced casually at him
in passing.
"Well, this is what I call remarkable--simply re-markable," said
Maxwell-Pitt to himself as he walked to his hotel. "How on earth should
she know of the V.C. business, and, what is more, that I had to pay my
entrance fee by a previous burglary? Who could have told her? I wonder
why any member should be so extremely anxious to assist me. . . . Stop!
Was it really a member? There's that man Marvell--the detective. He has
been present at two former burglaries--called in by accident, certainly,
but he has his eye on us, and perhaps he now has some means of finding
out in advance the task set to members. The remarkably obliging Adèle
may be merely a female detective. She may assist me to get into the
house, and show me where the V.C. is, and then, when I get it, her
friend Marvell will appear. In that case Richards and his sister are in
the know, and this apparently casual meeting just now, and Adèle's
annoyance, was pre-arranged to throw me off the scent. It seems to me,
Maxwell-Pitt, that you'll have to be very careful what you are about, or
you'll be landed to-night, and by a woman."
That evening he kept his appointment at the street-corner. The maid was
late. The clocks had chimed the quarter before she came, hot and
breathless--not her cool, nonchalant self of the morning.
"It has been so difficult to leave," she explained. "Miss Richards would
have me to read to her after the dinner. Walter Scott! And me dying all
the time to be here, Mr.---- What shall I call you?"
"Jones," said Maxwell-Pitt, "is a dreamy, romantic name, very suitable
for a mushroom picker."
"Yes; Jones is a beautiful name," she replied. "Have you decided to pick
to-night, Mr. Jones?"
"I should like to."
"You wish me to leave that window open?"
"If you will."
"And what do you give me, if you please?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"What am I going to have of it all?"
"'All.' That is rather a big word for the little mushroom I shall take
away; but if you would like some memento of the occasion, what shall it
be? A bracelet?"
"A bracelet? _Comment!_ Absurd! With my help, _m'sieu_, it will not be a
little mushroom, _point du tout_. For me myself I demand fifty pounds."
Maxwell-Pitt stared at her blankly.
"What is it now?" she cried angrily. "_Mais_, you are too stupid--more
stupid than the ordinary Englishman. Miss Richards has some fine pearls,
and her diamonds are _magnifiques_, and I can give them to you. This is
not to be another Wedderburn mistake."
"Ah, quite so--quite so," replied Maxwell-Pitt, who was absolutely
nonplussed by the turn the conversation had taken. Then he drew his bow
at a venture. "Wedderburn made a bit of a mistake, didn't he?" he said.
She looked at him sharply. "'He.' Who's 'he'? You know precisely that I
speak of the burglary at Wedderburn 'Ouse last week, where you were not
very clever."
"Oh, of course, of course. I understand," said Maxwell-Pitt.
"Of course you do understand. Why do you so pretend to me? I knew it was
you when I saw you seeking round our 'ouse. I saw you were big and dark,
with a long moustache, like the butler at Wedderburn 'Ouse said. How
else did you think I could have known you were a burglar? You are to
look at only like a gentleman?"
"Ah, I see--I see," said Maxwell-Pitt, the light at last breaking in
upon him. "It seems that I have done friend Marvell an injustice."
"I do not know who your friend is, nor what you talk about," said
Mademoiselle Adèle. "I must return at once. Is it to be a bargain or
not? Fifty pounds is little compared to your share."
"Mademoiselle," said Maxwell-Pitt, "you are not only an accomplished
thought-reader, but you appear to have the business instinct strongly
developed as well. You can quite understand that when I planned
this--er--botanical expedition I did not anticipate such a drain on my
resources. In plain words, I haven't fifty pounds on me."
"You can get it, and come to-morrow night instead."
"There will still be time," said Maxwell-Pitt thoughtfully.
"Of course there will. Now I go. It is settled?"
"Yes; I'll come to-morrow night and bring fifty pounds with me."
"In gold sovereigns, please."
"In gold, if you wish it."
"Good. And I'll have the jewellery ready. The pearl necklace cost more
than a thousand sovereigns. There will be no need to take anything else,
I hope. That big mushroom should satisfy you enough."
"Amply. I don't want any more jewels, but where does Captain Richards
keep his decorations--his Victoria Cross, for instance?"
"You don't want that?"
"I do."
"It is only worth a few centimes--not half a franc, they tell me."
"Never mind its value. I am a collector of such trifles, and want this
specimen particularly."
"He won it in battle. It would be cruel--abominable--to take it. You
cannot have it."
"Mademoiselle Adèle, your scruples do you credit; but, after all, are
mushroom-pickers the people to talk about scruples? Here you are
planning what is, in plain English, the robbery of your employer, so why
stick at a trifle like that?"
"_Écoutez_, Mr. Jones. You are only a burglar, so your opinion is no
matter, but I shall tell you why I do this thing. I come to your country
to get riches. I am clever, but there are no riches, even for clever
people, in my own valley of the Durance. First I was maid to one lady
with a title so long," and she extended her arms to their full width. "I
was 'appy. Then I met an aëronaut--you understand, one who makes
ascensions in a balloon--who talked my language like myself. He
persuades me to leave my place and marry him. I was idiot to do so. Then
one day he goes up in his balloon at--what you call it?--Birmingham, for
a brief voyage. But he disappears in the clouds. He sends me postcard
from Ostend to tell me that he is landed all-right. Then I never found
him again."
She paused dramatically. Maxwell-Pitt felt that something was demanded
of him, and hastened to murmur some words of sympathy, but she did not
listen.
"Then I took a place again as lady's maid," she went on. "There was
trouble over some jewels. They blamed me. Bah! I was innocent. But they
say 'No,' and 'You go at once,' and 'No character.' So I am alone in
England, with no money and _mon mari_ gone. I come here, and I think
this lady so kind to take me without a character written. Then I find
the ones who have the characters written will not stay with her--not one
month--so that is why she takes me. She is black slave-driver, and her
temper--_mon Dieu_, it is dis-graceful! It is a horrible time here. Then
there is Alphonse, who is waiter at the Élysée Palace, who wants me to
marry him and assist him to found a restaurant, and I must continually
tell him 'Wait.'
"When I see you, Mr. Jones, I see my way to escape from it all. It came
at one jump--the thought, 'I will help him, and he will give me fifty
gold sovereigns, and I shall go to Belgium at once. My 'usband is either
dead, or I find him and tell him what I think of him, and get a
divorce, and then return and marry the good Alphonse, who adores me.' So
you see that I am no common thief. Bah! As for madame's jewellery, _ça
ne fait rien_. She is rich. I shall be glad to have annoyed her. But at
once I tell you, you shall not have the Victoria Medal. That is not to
be. Captain Richards is the only man in this miserable country who has
been kind to me. And he is a brave soldier. I shall not permit that you
annoy him."
"I promise to return it."
"Then for why do you take it?"
"That is my affair. I will bring the fifty pounds to-morrow night, but I
must have the cross whether you help me to get it or not. Where does he
keep it?"
"Keep it? _Attendez._ Oh, I know. In the strong box locked in his
bedroom. He is a man to shoot certain, and he always has his pistol to
hand. You will give me the money instantly you are in the 'ouse, for if
you go upstairs you will be a dead man at once. I tell you so myself."
"That is an extremely unpleasant prospect. I must see my lawyer--my
_notaire_, mademoiselle--in the morning, and arrange my affairs. Which
window will you unlatch for me?"
"The one at the front, the nearest to where you stood when I saw you. If
you will come at one o'clock I will be in the room with the beautiful
pearls. Now I must fly. _Bon soir, cher_ Mr. Jones."
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."
[Illustration: "HE WAS WALKING IN HIS SLEEP, CONSCIOUS OF NOTHING."
(_p. 250._)]
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."