When night had fairly hung its sable curtains over the great city, Mr
Blurt descended to the shop.
"Now, Mr Aspel, I'll relieve you. The lady you sent up, Miss
Lillycrop, is, it seems, an old friend of my brother, and she insists on
acting the part of nurse to-night. I am all the better pleased, because
I have business to attend to at the other end of the town. We will
therefore close the shop, and you can go home. By the _way_, have you a
home?"
"O yes," said Aspel, with a laugh. "A poor enough one truly, off the
Strand."
"Indeed?--that reminds me: we always pay salaries in advance in this
office. Here is a sovereign to account of your first quarter. We can
settle the amount afterwards."
Aspel accepted the coin with a not particularly good grace.
"Now then, you had better--ha--excuse me--put up the shutters."
Instantly the youth pulled out the sovereign and laid it on the counter.
"No, sir," he said firmly; "I am willing to aid you in your
difficulties, but I am not willing to become a mere shop-boy--at least
not while there is man's work to be had."
Mr Blurt looked perplexed. "What are we to do?" he asked.
"Hire a little boy," said Aspel.
"But there are no little boys about," he said, looking out into the
street, where the wind was sending clouds of dust and bits of straw and
paper into the air. "I would do it myself, but have not time; I'm late
as it is. Ah! I have it--Mrs Murridge!"
Calling the faithful domestic, he asked if she knew how to put up the
shutters, and would do it. She was quite willing, and set about it at
once, while Mr Blurt nodded good-night, and went away.
With very uncomfortable feelings George Aspel stood in the shop, his
tall figure drawn up, his arms crossed on his broad breast, and his
finely formed head bent slightly down as he sternly watched the
operation.
Mrs Murridge was a resolute woman. She put up most of the shutters
promptly in spite of the high wind, but just as she was fixing the last
of them a blast caught it and almost swept it from her grasp. For two
seconds there was a tough struggle between Boreas and the old woman.
Gallantry forbade further inaction. Aspel rushed out just in time to
catch Mrs Murridge and the shutter in his strong arms as they were
about to be swept into the kennel. He could do no more, however, than
hold them there, the wind being too much even for him. While in this
extremity he received timely aid from some one, whom the indistinct
light revealed as a broad-shouldered little fellow in a grey uniform.
With his assistance the shutter was affixed and secured.
"Thank you, friend, whoever you are," said Aspel heartily, as he turned
and followed the panting Mrs Murridge.
But the "friend," instead of replying, seized Aspel by the arm and
walked with him into the shop.
"George Aspel!" he said.
George looked down and beheld the all but awe-stricken visage of Philip
Maylands.
Without uttering a word the former sat down on the counter, and burst
into a fit of half-savage laughter.
"Ah, then, you may laugh till you grow fat," said Phil, "but it's more
than that you must do if I'm to join you in the laugh."
"What more can I do, Phil?" asked Aspel, wiping his eyes.
"Sure, ye can explain," said Phil.
"Well, sit down on the counter, and I'll explain," returned Aspel,
shutting and locking the door. Then, mounting the stool, he entered
into a minute explanation--not only in reference to his present position
and circumstances but regarding his recent misfortunes.
Phil's admiration and love for his friend were intense, but that did not
altogether blind him to his faults. He listened attentively,
sympathetically but gravely, and said little. He felt, somehow, that
London was a dangerous place compared with the west of Ireland,--that
his friend was in danger of something vague and undefined,--that he
himself was in danger of--he knew not what. While the two were
conversing they heard a step in the now quiet street. It advanced
quickly, and stopped at the door. There was a rustling sound; something
fell on the floor, and the step passed on.
"It's only a few letters," said Aspel; "Mr Blurt explained matters to
me this morning. They seem to have been a careless lot who have managed
this business hitherto. A slit was made in the door for letters, but no
box has ever been attached to the slit. The letters put through it at
night are just allowed to fall on the floor, as you see, and are picked
up in the morning. As I am not yet fully initiated into my duties, and
don't feel authorised to open these, we will let them lie.--Hallo! look
there."
The last words were uttered in a low, soft tone. Phil Maylands glanced
in his friend's face, and was directed by his eyes to a corner near the
front door, where, from behind the shelter of an over-stuffed pelican of
the wilderness, two intensely bright little eyes were seen glistening.
The gradual advance of a sharp nose revealed the fact that their owner
was a rat!
No Red Indian of the prairie ever sat with more statuesque rigidity,
watching his foe, than did these two friends sit watching that rat.
They were sportsmen, both by nature and practice, to the backbone. The
idiotic owl at their elbow was not more still than they--one point only
excepted: Phil's right hand moved imperceptibly, like the hour-hand of a
watch, towards a book which lay on the counter. Their patience was
rewarded. Supposing, no doubt, that the youths had suddenly died to
suit its convenience, the rat advanced a step or two, looked suspicious,
became reassured, advanced a little farther and displayed its tail to
full advantage. After smelling at various objects, with a view, no
doubt, to supper, it finally came on the letters, appeared to read their
addresses with some attention, and, seizing one by a corner, began
apparently to open it.
At this point Phil Maylands' fingers, closing slowly but with the deadly
precision of fate, grasped the book and hurled it at the foe, which was
instantly swept off its legs. Either the blow or the fright caused the
rat to fly wriggling into the air. With a shriek of agonised emotion,
it vanished behind the pelican of the wilderness.
"Bravo, Phil! splendidly aimed, but rather low," cried Aspel, as he
vaulted the counter and dislodged the pelican. Of course the rat was
gone. After a little more conversation the two friends quitted the
place and went to their respective homes.
"Very odd and absolutely unaccountable," observed Mr Blurt, as he sat
next morning perusing the letters above referred to, "here's the same
thing occurred again. Brownlow writes that he sent a cheque a week ago,
and no one has heard of it. That rascal who made off with the cash
could not have stolen it, because he never stole cheques,--for fear, no
doubt, of being caught,--and this was only for a small amount. Then,
here is a cheque come all right from Thomson. Why should one appear and
the other disappear?"
"Could the rats have made away with it?" suggested Aspel, who had told
his patron of the previous night's incident.
"Rats might destroy letters, but they could not eat them--at least, not
during the few hours of the night that they lie on the floor. No; the
thing is a mystery. I cannot help thinking that the Post-Office is to
blame. I shall make inquiries. I am determined to get to the bottom of
it."
So it ever is with mankind. People make mistakes, or are guilty of
carelessness, and straightway they lay the blame--not only without but
against reason--on broader shoulders than their own. That wonderful and
almost perfect British Post-Office delivers quickly, safely, and in good
condition above fourteen hundred millions of letters etcetera in the
year, but some half-dozen letters, addressed to Messrs. Blurt and
Company, have gone a-missing,--therefore the Post-Office is to blame!
Full of this idea Mr Enoch Blurt put on his hat with an irascible fling
and went off to the City. Arrived at St. Martin's-le-Grand he made for
the principal entrance. At any other time he would have, been struck
with the grandeur of the buildings. He would have paused and admired
the handsome colonnade of the old office and the fine front of the new
buildings opposite, but Mr Blurt could see nothing except missing
letters. Architecture appealed to him in vain. Perhaps his state of
irritability was increased by a vague suspicion that all Government
officials were trained and almost bound to throw obstacles in the way of
free inquiry.
"I want," said he, planting himself defiantly in front of an official
who encountered him in the passage, "to see the--the--Secretary, the--
the--Postmaster-General, the chief of the Post-Office, whoever he may
be. There is my card."
"Certainly, sir, will you step this way?"
The official spoke with such civility, and led the way with such
alacrity, that Mr Blurt felt it necessary to think exclusively of his
wrongs lest his indignation should cool too soon. Having shown him into
a comfortable waiting-room, the official went off with his card. In a
few minutes a gentleman entered, accosted Mr Blurt with a polite bow,
and asked what he could do for him.
"Sir," said Mr Blurt, summoning to his aid the last rags of his
indignation, "I come to make a complaint. Many of the letters addressed
to our firm are missing--have been missing for some time past,--and from
the inquiries I have made it seems evident to me that they must have
been lost in passing through the Post-Office."
"I regret much to hear this," returned the gentleman, whom--as Mr Blurt
never ascertained who he was--we shall style the Secretary, at all
events he represented that officer. "You may rely on our doing our
utmost to clear up the matter. Will you be kind enough to give me the
full particulars?"
The Secretary's urbanity gave the whole of Mr Blurt's last rags of
indignation to the winds. He detailed his case with his usual
earnestness and good-nature.
The Secretary listened attentively to the close. "Well, Mr Blurt," he
said, "we will investigate the matter without delay; but from what you
have told me I think it probable that the blame does not lie with us.
You would be surprised if you knew the number of complaints made to us,
which, on investigation, turn out to be groundless. Allow me to cite
one or two instances. In one case a missing letter having fallen from
the letter-box of the person to whom it was addressed on to the
hall-floor, was picked up by a dog and buried in some straw, where it
was afterwards found. In another case, the missing letter was
discovered sticking against the side of the private letter-box, where it
had lain unobserved, and in another the letter had been placed between
the leaves of a book as a mark and forgotten. Boys and others sent to
post letters are also frequently unfaithful, and sometimes stupid. Many
letters have been put into the receptacles for dust in our streets,
under the impression that they were pillar letter-boxes, and on one
occasion a letter-carrier found two letters forced behind the plate
affixed to a pillar letter-box which indicates the hours of collection,
obviously placed there by the ignorant sender under the impression that
that was the proper way of posting them. Your mention of rats reminds
me of several cases in which these animals have been the means of making
away with letters. The fact that rats have been seen in your shop, and
that your late letters drop on the floor and are left there till
morning, inclines me to think that rats are at the bottom of it. I
would advise you to make investigation without delay."
"I will, sir, I will," exclaimed Mr Blurt, starting up with animation,
"and I thank you heartily for the trouble you have taken with my case.
Good-morning. I shall see to this at once."
And Mr Blurt did see to it at once. He went straight back to his
brother's house, and made preparation for a campaign against the rats,
for, being a sanguine and impulsive man, he had now become firmly
convinced that these animals were somehow at the bottom of the mystery.
But he kept his thoughts and intentions to himself.
During the day George Aspel observed that his friend employed himself in
making some unaccountable alterations in the arrangements of one part of
the shop, and ventured to ask what he was about, but, receiving a vague
reply, he said no more.
That night, after the shop was closed and Aspel had gone home, and Mr
Fred Blurt had gone to sleep, under the guardianship of the faithful
Miss Lillycrop, and Mrs Murridge had retired to the coal-hole--or
something like it--which was her dormitory, Mr Enoch Blurt entered the
shop with a mysterious air, bearing two green tablecloths. These he
hung like curtains at one corner of the room, and placed a chair behind
them raised on two empty packing-boxes. Seating himself in this chair
he opened the curtains just enough to enable him to peep through, and
found that he could see the letter-slit in the door over the counter,
but not the floor beneath it. He therefore elevated his throne by means
of another packing-box. All being ready, he lowered the gas to
something like a dim religious light, and began his watch. It bade fair
to be a tedious watch, but Enoch Blurt had made up his mind to go
through with it, and whatever Enoch made up his mind to do he did.
Suddenly he heard a scratching sound. This was encouraging. Another
moment and a bright pair of miniature stars were seen to glitter behind
the pelican of the wilderness. In his eagerness to see, Mr Blurt made
a slight noise and the stars went out--suddenly.
This was exceedingly vexatious. He blamed himself bitterly, resettled
himself in his chair, rearranged the curtains, and glared intently. But
although Mr Blurt could fix his eyes he could not chain his thoughts.
These unruly familiars ere long began to play havoc with their owner.
They hurried him far away from rats and ornithological specimens,
carried him over the Irish Channel, made him look sadly down on the
funnels of the Royal Mail steamer, plunged him under the waves, and
caused him to gaze in fond regret on his lost treasures. His thoughts
carried him even further. They bore him over the sea to Africa, and set
him down, once more, in his forsaken hut among the diamond-diggers.
From this familiar retreat he was somewhat violently recalled by a
scratching sound. He glared at the pelican of the wilderness. The
little stars reappeared. They increased in size. They became
unbearable suns. They suddenly approached. As suddenly Mr Blurt rose
to fight or fly--he could scarce tell which. It did not matter much,
because, next instant, he fell headlong to the floor, dragging the
curtains down, and forming a miscellaneous avalanche with the chair and
packing-boxes.
The unfortunate man had fallen asleep, and the rats, which had in truth
ventured out, fled to their homes as a matter of course.
But Mr Blurt had resolved to go through with it. Finding that he was
unhurt, and that the household had not been disturbed, he rebuilt his
erection and began his watch over again. The shock had thoroughly
roused him. He did not sleep again. Fortunately London rats are not
nervous. Being born and bred in the midst of war's alarms they soon get
over a panic. The watcher had not sat more than a quarter of an hour
when the stars appeared once again. The Pyramid of Cheops is not more
immovably solid than was Mr Blurt. A sharp nose advanced; a head came
out; a body followed; a tail brought up the rear, and the pelican of the
wilderness looked with calm indifference on the scene.
The rat was an old grey one, and very large. It was followed by a brown
one, nearly as large. There was an almost theatrical caution in their
movements at first, but courage came with immunity from alarm. Six
letters, that had been thrust through the slit by the evening postman,
lay on the floor. To these the grey rat advanced, seized one in its
teeth, and began to back out, dragging the letter after it. The brown
rat followed the grey rat's example. While thus engaged, another brown
rat appeared, and followed suit. Nothing could have been more
fortunate. Mr Blurt was charmed. He could afford to let the grey rat
well out of sight, because the two brown rats, following in succession,
would, when he sprang on them, leave a trail of letters to point the
direction of their flight.
Just as the third rat dragged its missive behind the pelican of the
wilderness the watcher leaped upon them, and in his haste consigned the
pelican to all but irretrievable destruction! The rats vanished, but
left the tell-tale letters, the last two forming pointers to the first,
which was already half dragged through a slit between the skirting and
the wall. At the extremity of this slit yawned the gateway to the rats'
palace.
Mr Blurt rubbed his hands, chuckled, crowed internally, and, having
rescued the letters, went to bed.
Next morning, he procured a crowbar, and, with the able assistance of
George Aspel, tore off the skirting, uprooted a plank, and discovered a
den in which were stored thirty-one letters, six post-cards, and three
newspapers. [See Postmaster-General's Report for 1877, page 13.]
The corners of the letters, bearing the stamps, were nibbled away,
showing that gum--not money or curiosity--was the occasion of the theft.
As four of these letters contained cheques and money-orders, their
discovery afforded instant relief to the pressure which had been
gradually bearing with intolerable weight on the affairs of Messrs.
Blurt and Company.