made a rapid note on his cuff.
Everybody seemed to have something to say on. the subject. One young
lady gave it as her opinion that she would not like to find a
burglar under her bed. Somebody else had heard of a fellow whose
father had fired at the butler, under the impression that he was a
house-breaker, and had broken a valuable bust of Socrates. Lord
Dreever had known a man at college whose brother wrote lyrics for
musical comedy, and had done one about a burglar's best friend being
his mother.
'Life,' said Charteris, who had had time for reflection, 'is a house
which we all burgle. We enter it uninvited, take all that we can lay
hands on, and go out again.' He scribbled, 'Life--house--burgle,' on
his cuff, and replaced the pencil.
'This man's brother I was telling you about,' said Lord Dreever,
'says there's only one rhyme in the English language to 'burglar,'
and that's 'gurgler--' unless you count 'pergola'! He says--'
'Personally,' said Jimmy, with a glance at McEachern, 'I have rather
a sympathy for burglars. After all, they are one of the hardest-
working classes in existence. They toil while everybody else is
asleep. Besides, a burglar is only a practical socialist. People
talk a lot about the redistribution of wealth. The burglar goes out
and does it. I have found burglars some of the decentest criminals I
have ever met.'
'I despise burglars!' ejaculated Lady Julia, with a suddenness that
stopped Jimmy's eloquence as if a tap had been turned off. 'If I
found one coming after my jewels, and I had a pistol, I'd shoot
him.'
Jimmy met McEachern's eye, and smiled kindly at him. The ex-
policeman was looking at him with the gaze of a baffled, but
malignant basilisk.
'I take very good care no one gets a chance at your diamonds, my
dear,' said Sir Thomas, without a blush. 'I have had a steel box
made for me,' he added to the company in general, 'with a special
lock. A very ingenious arrangement. Quite unbreakable, I imagine.'
Jimmy, with Molly's story fresh in his mind, could not check a rapid
smile. Mr. McEachern, watching intently, saw it. To him, it was
fresh evidence, if any had been wanted, of Jimmy's intentions and of
his confidence of success. McEachern's brow darkened. During the
rest of the meal, tense thought rendered him even more silent than
was his wont at the dinner-table. The difficulty of his position
was, he saw, great. Jimmy, to be foiled, must be watched, and how
could he watch him?
It was not until the coffee arrived that he found an answer to the
question. With his first cigarette came the idea. That night, in his
room, before going to bed, he wrote a letter. It was an unusual
letter, but, singularly enough, almost identical with one Sir Thomas
Blunt had written that very morning.
It was addressed to the Manager of Dodson's Private Inquiry Agency,
of Bishopsgate Street, E. C., and ran as follows:
