“I’m sorry,” said Wimsey to Miss Murchison. “Can you bear it? I fancy this is the final outbreak.”
The harmonium, harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer and all kinds of music burst out with a blare which nearly burst the eardrum, the assembly lifted its combined voices, and Miss Murchison, to her amazement, found herself joining—at first self-consciously and then with a fine fervour in that stirring chant—
“Sweeping through the gates,
Sweeping through the gates of the New Jerusalem,
Washed in the Blood of the Lamb.”
Wimsey, who appeared to find it all very good fun, carolled away happily, without the slightest embarrassment; whether because he was accustomed to the exercise, or merely because he was one of those imperturbably self-satisfied people who cannot conceive of themselves as being out of place in any surroundings, Miss Murchison was unable to determine.
To her relief, the religious exercise came to an end with the hymn, and the company took their leave, with many hand shakings all round. The musicians emptied the condensed moisture from their wind instruments politely into the fireplace and the lady who played the harmonium drew the cover over the keys and came forward to welcome the guests. She was introduced simply as Bella and Miss Murchison concluded, rightly, that she was the wife of Mr. Bill Rumm and the mother of Esmeralda.
“Well, now,” said Bill, “it’s dry work preachin’ and singin’—you’ll take a cup of tea or coffee, now, won’t you?”
Wimsey explained that they had just had tea, but begged that the family might proceed with their own meal.
“It ain’t ’ardly suppertime yet,” said Mrs. Rumm. “P’raps if you was to do your business with the lady and gentleman, Bill, they might feel inclined to take a bite with us later. It’s trotters,” she added, hopefully.
“It’s very kind of you,” said Miss Murchison, hesitatingly.
“Trotters want a lot of beating,” said Wimsey, “and since our business may take a little time we’ll accept with pleasure—if you’re sure we’re not putting you out.”
“Not at all,” said Mrs. Rumm, heartily. “Eight beautiful trotters they is, and with a bit of cheese they’ll go round easy. Come along—’Meraldy, your Dad’s got business.”
“Mr. Peter’s going to sing,” said the child, fixing reproachful eyes on Wimsey.
“Now don’t you worrit his lordship,” rebuked Mrs. Rumm, “I declare I’m ashamed of you.”
“I’ll sing after supper, Esmeralda,” said Wimsey. “Hop along now like a good girl or I’ll make faces at you. Bill, I’ve brought you a new pupil.”
“Always ’appy to serve you, sir, knowing as it’s the Lord’s work. Glory be.”
“Thank you,” said Wimsey, modestly. “It’s a simple matter, Bill, but as the young lady is inexperienced with locks and so on, I’ve brought her along to be coached. You see, Miss Murchison, before Bill here saw the light—”
“Praise God!” put in Bill.
“He was the most accomplished burglar and safe breaker in the three kingdoms. He doesn’t mind my telling you this, because he’s taken his medicine and finished with it all and is now a very honest and excellent locksmith of the ordinary kind.”
“Thanks be to Him that giveth the victory!”
“But from time to time, when I need a little help in a righteous cause, Bill gives me the benefit of his great experience.”
“And oh! what ’appiness it is, miss, to turn them talents which I so wickedly abused to the service of the Lord. His ’oly Name be blessed that bringeth good out of evil.”
“That’s right,” said Wimsey, with a nod. “Now, Bill, I’ve got my eye on a solicitor’s deed box, which may or may not contain something which will help me to get an innocent person out of trouble. This young lady can get access to the box, Bill, if you can show her the way inside it.”
“If?” grunted Bill, with sovereign contempt. “ ’Course I can! Deed box, that’s nuffin’. That ain’t no field for a man’s skill. Robbin’ the kids’ money box, that’s what it is with they trumpery little locks. There ain’t a deed box in this ’ere city wot I couldn’t open blindfold in boxing gloves with a stick of boiled macaroni.”
“I know, Bill; but it isn’t you that’s got to do it. Can you teach the lady how to work it?”
“Sure I can. What kinder lock is it, lidy?”
“I don’t know,” said Miss Murchison. “An ordinary lock, I think. I mean, it has the usual sort of key—not a Bramah, or anything of that kind. Mr.—that is, the solicitor has one set of keys and Mr. Pond has another—just plain keys with barrels and wards.”
“Ho!” said Bill, “then ’arf an hour will teach you all you want, miss.” He went to a cupboard and brought out half a dozen lock plates and a bunch of curious, thin
