Mr. Polegate’s Sense of Humour
“How time flies!” said Joan Chacewater, in mock despondency. “To-night
I’m in my prime. To-morrow I shall be twenty-one, with all my bright
youth behind me. Five years after that, I shall quite possibly be
married to Michael here, if I’m still alive and he hasn’t died in the
meantime. Then I shall sit o’ nights darning his socks in horn-rimmed
spectacles, and sadly recalling those glad days when I was young and
still happy. It’s dreadful! I feel I want to cry over it. Give me
something to cry into, Michael; I seem to have mislaid my bag.”
Michael Clifton obligingly held out a handkerchief. Joan looked at it
disparagingly.
“Haven’t you anything smaller than that? It discourages me. I’m not
going to cry on a manufacturing scale. It wouldn’t be becoming.”
Una Rainhill laid her cigarette down on the ash-tray beside her.
“If you’re going to be as particular as that, Joan, I think I’d be
content with a gulp or two of emotion or perhaps a lump in the throat.
Cheer up! You’ve one more night before the shadows fall.”
“Ah, there it is!” said Joan, tragically. “You’re young, Una, and you
never had any foresight, anyway. But I can see it all coming. I can
see the fat ankles”—she glanced down at her own slim ones—“and the
artificial silk stockings at three-and-eleven the pair; because
Michael’s business will always be mismanaged, with him at the head of
it. And I’ll have that red nose that comes from indigestion; because
after Michael ends up in bankruptcy, we won’t be able to keep a maid,
and I never could cook anything whatever. And then Michael will grow
fat, and short of breath and bald . . .”
“That’ll be quite enough for the present,” interrupted the outraged
Michael. “I’m not so sure about letting you marry me at all, after
that pleasant little sketch.”
“If you can’t drop those domineering ways of yours, Michael, I shall
withdraw,” Joan warned him, coldly. “You can boss other people as much
as you choose; I rather like to see you doing it. But it doesn’t go
with me, remember. If you show these distressing signs of wanting your
own way, I shall simply have to score you off my list of possibles.
And that would no doubt be painful to both of us—to you, at any rate.”
“Oh, to both of us, to both of us, I’m sure. I wouldn’t dream of
contradicting you, Joan. Where would you be, if the only serious
candidate dropped out? Anything rather than that.”
“Well, it’s a blessing that one man seems to have some sense,” Joan
admitted, turning to the others. “One can’t help liking Michael, if
it’s only for the frank way he acknowledges when he’s in the wrong.
Skilful handling does a lot with the most unpromising material, of
course.”
Cecil leaned over in his chair and peered athwart the greenery which
surrounded the nook in the winter-garden in which they were sitting.
“There’s Foxy wandering round.”
He raised his voice:
“Are you looking for us, Foxy? We’re over here.”
Foxton Polegate’s freckled face, surmounted by a shock of reddish
hair, appeared at the entrance to their recess.
“Been hunting about for you,” he explained as he sat down. “Couldn’t
make out where you’d got to.”
He turned to Joan.
“Dropped across this evening on important business. Fact is, I’ve lost
my invitation-card and the book of words. Didn’t read it carefully
when it came. So thought I’d drop over and hear what’s what.
Programme, I mean, and all that sort of thing, so there’ll be no
hitch.”
Una leaned over and selected a fresh cigarette from the box.
“You’re hopeless, Foxy,” she pronounced. “One of these memory courses
is what you need badly. Why not treat the thing as a practical joke
instead of in earnest? _Then_ you’d have no difficulty. Jokes are the
only things you ever seem to take seriously.”
“Epigrams went completely out before you were born, Una,” Foxy
retorted. “Don’t drag ’em from their graves at this hour of the
century. And don’t interrupt Joan in her instructions to the guest of
the evening. Don’t you see she’s saying ’em over nervously to herself
for fear she forgets ’em?”
“There’s a bit too much of the harassed nursemaid about you, Foxy,
with all your ‘don’ts,’” Joan broke in. “Now take your stylus and
tablets and jot this down carefully, for I won’t repeat it under a
shilling a page. Here’s the programme. Ten p.m.: Arrival of
distinguished guests. (They’re all distinguished, except you, Foxy.)
Brilliant and animated conversation by those who can manage it; the
rest can listen intelligently. (You may try listening, Foxy, if it
isn’t too much of a strain.) The cloak-room, picture-gallery, museum,
and poultry-yard will be thrown open for inspection by the public
absolutely free of charge. It won’t cost you a cent. Bridge-tables
will be provided for the curiosities who don’t dance. Dancing will
begin straightway and will be continued up to 11.45, when the judges
will take their seats. As soon as they are comfortable, the march-past
will start. All guests must present themselves at this without fail,
Foxy. At five minutes to twelve the identity of the prize-winners will
be disclosed. When midnight strikes, all guests will remove their
masks, even at the cost of shocking the company in some cases. Dancing
will then be resumed and will continue into the dewy dawn. And that’s
how it will take place according to plan.”
“There’s just one point,” said Foxy, hesitatingly. “Are the prizes
portable things, or shall I have to hire a van to take mine away with
me?”
“I shouldn’t worry a bit about that, Foxy,” said Una, comfortingly.
“We’ve decided to keep the prizes in the family, you see. Joan gets
one, because it will be her birthday. I get the other for the best
female costume. Cecil, Maurice, and Michael are going to toss odd-man
for the two men’s prizes. So you can come as a Teddy Bear without
pockets if you like. It won’t be of any consequence. You’ll have
nothing to carry away.”
“Can’t say fairer than that,” Foxy admitted. “Always liked that plain,
straightforward way of doing things myself.”
A recollection of his talk with Sir Clinton passed across Cecil
Chacewater’s mind, and without reflection he communicated it to the
others:
“By the way, Sir Clinton seemed a trifle worried over this affair. He
pointed out to me that some scallywag might creep in amongst the
guests and play Old Harry in the museum if he got the chance.”
Just at this moment, Maurice Chacewater passed along the alley in the
winter-garden from which the nook opened.
“Maurice!” Joan called to her brother. “Come here for a moment,
please.”
Maurice turned back and entered the recess. He seemed tired; and there
was a certain hesitancy in his manner as though he were not quite sure
of himself. His sister made a gesture inviting him to sit down, but he
appeared disinclined to stay.
“What’s the trouble?” he asked, with a weary air.
“Cecil’s been suggesting that it’s hardly safe to leave the
collections open to-morrow night, in case a stranger got in with a
mask on. Hadn’t we better have some one to stay in the museum and look
after them?”
“Cecil needn’t worry his head,” Maurice returned, ignoring his
brother. “I’m putting one of the keepers on to watch the museum.”
He turned on his heel and went off along the corridor. Foxy gazed
after him with a peculiar expression on his face.
“Maurice looks a bit done-up, doesn’t he?” he finally said, turning
back towards the group about him. “He hasn’t been quite all right for
a while. Seems almost as if he expected a thunderbolt to strike him
any minute, doesn’t he? A bit white about the gills and holding
himself in all the time.”
Before any one could reply to this, Joan rose and beckoned to Michael.
“Come along, Michael. I’ll play you a hundred up, if you like.
There’ll be no one in the billiard-room.”
Michael Clifton rose eagerly from his chair and followed her out. Foxy
looked after them.
“As an old friend of the family, merely wanting to know, _are_ those
two engaged or not? They go on as if they were and as if they weren’t.
It’s most confusing to plain fellows like me.”
“I doubt if they know themselves,” said Una, “so I’d advise you not to
waste too much brain-matter over it, Foxy. What do boys of your age
know about such things?”
“Not much, not much, I admit. Cupid seems to pass me by on his rounds.
Perhaps it’s the red hair. Or maybe the freckles. Or because I’m not
the strong, talkative sort like Michael. Or just Fate, or something.”
“I expect it’s just Something, as you say,” Una confirmed in a
sympathetic tone. “That seems, somehow, to explain everything, doesn’t
it?”
“As it were, yes,” retorted Foxy. “But don’t let the fact that you’ve
ensnared Cecil—poor chap—lead you into putting on expert airs with me.
Betrays inexperience at once, that. Only the very young do it.”
His face lighted up.
“I’ve just thought of something. What a joke! Suppose we took the
Chief Constable’s tip and engineered a sham robbery to-morrow night?
Priceless, what? Carry it through in real good style. Make Maurice sit
up for a day or two, eh? Do his liver good if he’d something to worry
about.”
Cecil’s face showed indecision.
“I shouldn’t mind giving Maurice a twinge or two just to teach him
manners,” he confessed. “But I don’t see much in the notion as it
stands, Foxy. Maurice is posting a keeper in the museum, you know; and
that complicates things a bit. The keeper would spot any of us
tampering with things. He knows us all as well as his own brother.”
“Not in fancy dress, with a mask on, dear boy. Don’t forget that part
of it.
‘Fancy me in fancy dress,
Fancy me as Good Queen Bess!’”
he hummed softly. “Only I don’t think I’ll come as Good Queen Bess,
after all.”
Cecil knitted his brows slightly and seemed to be considering Foxy’s
idea.
“I wouldn’t mind giving Maurice a start,” he admitted
half-reluctantly. “And your notion might be good enough if one could
work it out properly. Question is, can you? Suppose you suddenly make
a grab for some of the stuff. The keeper’ll be down on you like a
shot. He’ll yell for help; and you’ll be pinched for a cert. before
you could get away. There doesn’t seem to be anything in it, Foxy.”
“Hold on for a minute. I’ll see my way through it.”
Foxy took a cigarette, lighted it, and seemed to cogitate deeply over
the first few puffs.
“I’ve got it!” he announced. “It’s dead easy. Suppose one of us grabs
the keeper while the other helps himself to the till? We could easily
knock out the keeper between us and get off all right without an alarm
being raised.”
Cecil shook his head.
“No, I draw the line at using a sand-bag or a knuckle-duster on our
own keeper. That’s barred, Foxy. Think again.”
“There’s aye a way,” Foxy assured him sententiously. “Give me another
jiffy or two. This is how it goes. We mustn’t knock out the keeper. We
mustn’t be recognized. We’ve got to get away scot-free, or the joke
would be on us. These the conditions?”
Cecil nodded.
“This is where pure genius comes in,” Foxy announced with pride. “How
does one recognize any one? By looking at ’em. So if the keeper can’t
look at us, he won’t recognize us. That’s as sound as Euclid, if not
sounder.”
“Well?” asked Una, joining in the conversation.
“Well, he won’t recognize us if the place is dark, then,” explained
Foxy, triumphantly. “All we have to do is to get the light in the room
switched off, and the thing’s as good as done.”
“That seems to hit the mark,” Cecil agreed. “But that makes it a
three-handed job, you know: one to grab the keeper; one to snaffle the
stuff; and one to pull out the fuse of the museum light from the
fuse-box. Where’s our third man?”
Una leaned forward eagerly.
“I’ll do that part for you! I’d like to make Maurice sit up. He hasn’t
been very nice to me lately; and I want to pay him out just a little.”
“Nonsense, Una,” Cecil interrupted. “You can’t be mixed up in a joke
of this sort. There’s almost bound to be a row after it. It doesn’t
matter in my case; Maurice has his knife into me anyway, you know. But
there’s no need for you to be getting your fingers nipped.”
Una brushed the suggestion aside.
“What can Maurice do to me even if he does find out? I’ve nothing to
do with him. And, besides, how is he going to find out anything about
it? I suppose you’ll just keep the things for a day or two and then
return them by some way that he can’t trace. He’ll never know who did
it, unless we let it out ourselves. And we mustn’t let it out, of
course.”
Foxy nodded his agreement. Cecil was longer in his consideration; but
at last he seemed to fall in with the arrangement.
“Well, so long as Una’s name isn’t mixed up in it, Foxy, I’m your man.
It’s a silly caper; but I’m not above going into it for the sport of
vexing my good brother.”
“Right!” said Foxy, with relief. “Now the next article: What’s the
best thing to go for? It must be portable, of course.”
Cecil pondered for a moment; then, as a thought struck him, he
laughed.
“Here’s the game. It may be news to you, Foxy, but my good brother is
taking steps to sell off our collections.”
Foxy was quite plainly staggered by this news.
“All the stuff your father got together? Surely not! Well, that’s the
limit!”
“Quite,” confirmed Cecil. “I’d prevent it if I could; but he’s got the
whip-hand, and that’s all there is to it.”
Foxy seemed still slightly incredulous.
“Why, your Governor loved that stuff as it were a child! And Maurice
doesn’t need the money he’ll get for it. It’s . . . it’s shameful! My
word! If I were in your shoes, Cecil, I believe I’d really steal the
stuff instead of only pretending to grab it.”
“I’m sorely tempted,” said Cecil, half-grimly. “Now here’s the point.
It seems Maurice has got into touch with Kessock, the Yank
millionaire. Kessock wants to buy the Medusa Medallions—the very thing
my father set most store by in the whole lot. Kessock’s sent over an
agent of his—this fellow Foss who’s staying here just now—to settle up
the business, see to the genuineness of the things, and so forth. I’ve
nothing against Foss. He’s only doing his job and he seems all right.
I don’t like some of his American manners; but that’s neither here nor
there. The point is, the deal’s just going to be closed. Now if we
lift these medallions, won’t Maurice look an extra-sized ass?”
“Absoluto!” said Foxy. “I see what you’re after. We lift ’em. Foss
wants ’em at once. He can’t get ’em. P’raps the deal’s off—for the
time at least. And Maurice looks a prize ape.”
“Yes,” Cecil snapped, angrily. “That’ll perhaps teach him a lesson.”
Una Rainhill had been thinking while this last part of the
conversation had been going on.
“There’s one thing you haven’t provided against, Foxy,” she pointed
out. “Suppose you manage everything as you’ve arranged. Even if you
get clear away from the museum, there’s almost certain to be some one
in the passage outside who’ll see you rush out. And then the game
would be up. It’s not enough to dowse the light in the museum. You’ll
need to put all the house lights out as well.”
“That’s sound,” Foxy agreed at once. “That means that you’ll need to
pull out the main switch instead of just the fuse of the museum. It’s
an even easier job, with no chance of a mistake in it. And what a
spree it’ll be. The whole shop will be buzzing like an overturned
hive! It’ll be great sport. And, of course, there’ll be such a wild
confusion before they get the lights on again, that we’ll come out of
it absolutely O.K. All we have to do is to saunter quietly out of the
museum and help to restore order among the rabble in the dark. By the
time the lights go on again, we’ll be anywhere it suits us to be.
That’s a master-stroke of yours, Una. Couldn’t be bettered.”
Cecil glanced at his wrist-watch.
“Time’s getting on, Foxy. We’ve sketched the general idea, but we must
get this thing down to dots now. Everything will depend on
synchronizing things exactly. We can’t afford to leave affairs to the
last moment; for we mustn’t be seen together, you know, to-morrow
night.”
Foxy nodded assent and pulled out a notebook.
“Here it is, then,” he declared. “I’ll make three copies—one for each
of us—and we can burn ’em once we’ve memorized ’em later on. Now,
first of all, we can’t start our game too early. That’d be a mistake.
Let ’em all get well mixed up in dancing and so forth, before we begin
operations.”
Cecil and Una assented to this at once.
“Midnight’s the limit at the other end,” Foxy pointed out. “Can’t
afford to wait for the unmasking, for then the keeper would know us
and remember we’d been in the museum when the thing happened.”
His fellow-conspirators made no objection.
“In between those limits, I think this would be about right,” Foxy
proposed. “First of all, we set our three watches to the same time.
Better do it now, for fear of forgetting.”
When this had been done, he continued:
“At 11.40 Una goes to the main switch. You’ll have to show her where
it is, Cecil, either to-night or to-morrow morning. At 11.40, also,
Cecil and I wander independently into the museum. I remember quite
well where the medallions are kept.”
“Wait a moment,” interrupted Cecil. “Just remember that the three real
medallions and your three electrotypes are lying side by side in the
glass case. The real medallions are in the top row; your electros are
the bottom row.”
Foxy made a note of this and then went on:
“Your business, Cecil, will be to mark down the keeper. Get so near
him that you can jump on him for certain the very instant the lights
go out. Make sure you can get his hands or his wrists at the first
grab. You mustn’t fumble it or you’ll shipwreck the whole caboodle.”
“I’ll manage it all right,” Cecil assured him.
“In the meantime I’ll be stooping over the medallion case, looking at
the stuff, with something in my hand to break the glass. I’ll have a
thick glove, so as not to get cut with the edges when I put my hand
in.”
“That’s sound,” said Cecil, “I hadn’t thought of the splinters.”
“Blood would give us away at once,” Foxy pointed out. “Now comes the
real business. At a quarter to twelve precisely Una pulls out the
switch. As soon as the light goes, Cecil jumps on the keeper while I
smash the glass of the case and grab the top row of the medallions.
After that, we both cut for the door and mingle with the mob. And
remember, not a word said during the whole affair. Our voices would
give us away to the keeper.”
He scribbled two extra copies of his time-table and handed one of
these to each of the other conspirators.
“Now, for my sake, don’t botch this business,” he added. “I’ve played
a joke or two in my time, but this is the best I’ve ever done, and I
don’t want it spoiled by inattention to details. It’ll be worth all
the trouble to see Maurice’s face when he finds what’s happened.”