McAllister and His Double

by Edward P. Hendrick

  The Governor-General's Trunk

  I

  McAllister was in the tank. His puffing and blowing as he dove andtumbled like a contented, rubicund porpoise, reverberated loudly amongthe marble pillars of the bath at the club. It was all part of acarefully adjusted and as rigorously followed regimen, for McAllisterwas a thorough believer in exercise (provided it was moderate), and tookit regularly, averring that a fellow couldn't expect to eat and drink asmuch as he naturally wanted to unless he kept in some sort of condition,and if he didn't he would simply get off his peck, that was all. Hence"Chubby" arose regularly at nine-thirty, and wrapping himself in apadded Japanese silk dressing-gown, descended to the tank, where he dovesix times and swam around twice, after which he weighed himself and hadTim rub him down. Tim felt a high degree of solicitude for all thisprocedure, since he was a personal discovery of McAllister's, and owedhis present exalted position entirely to the clubman's interest, forthe latter had found him at Coney Island earning his daily bread bydiving, in the presence of countless multitudes, into a six-foot glasstank, where he seated himself upon the bottom and nonchalantly consumeda banana. McAllister's delight and enthusiasm at this elevatingspectacle had been boundless.

  "Wish I could do any one thing as well as that feller dives down andeats that banana!" he had confided to his friend Wainwright. "SometimesI feel as if my life had been wasted!" The upshot of the whole matterwas that Tim had been forthwith engaged as rubber and swimming teacherat the club.

  McAllister had just taken his fifth plunge, and was floating lazilytoward the steps, when Tim appeared at the door leading into thedressing-rooms and announced that a party wanted to speak to him on the'phone, the Lady somebody, evidently a very cantankerous old person, whowas in the devil of a hurry, and wouldn't stand no waitin'.

  The clubman turned over, sputtered, touched bottom, and arose drippingto his feet. The "old person" on the wire was clearly his aunt, LadyLyndhurst, and he knew very much better than to irritate her when shewas in one of her tantrums. Still, he couldn't imagine what she wantedwith him at that hour of the morning. She'd been placid enough theevening before when he'd left her after the opera. But ever since shehad married Lord Lyndhurst for her second husband ten years before she'dbeen getting more and more dictatorial.

  "Tell her I'm in this beastly tank; awful sorry I can't speak with hermyself, don'cher know, and find out what she wants. And _Tim_--handleher gently--it's my aunt."

  Tim grinned and winked a comprehending eye. As McAllister hurried intohis bath-robe and slippers he wondered more and more why she had runghim up so early. He had intended calling on her after breakfast, anyway, but "after breakfast" to McAllister meant in the neighborhood oftwelve o'clock, for the meal was always carefully ordered the eveningbefore for half-past ten the next morning, after which came the paperand a long, light Casadora, crop of '97, which McAllister had bought upentire. Something must be up--that was certain. He could imagine her inher wrapper and curl-papers holding converse with Tim over the wire. Thelanguage of his _protege_ might well assist in the process for which thecurl-papers were required. There was nobody in the world, inMcAllister's opinion, so queer as his aunt, except his aunt's husband.The latter was a stout, beefy nobleman of sixty-five, with awalrus-like countenance, an implicit faith in the perfection of Britishinstitutions, and about enough intelligence to drive a watering-cart. Hehad been rewarded for his unswerving fidelity to party with the post ofGovernor-General at a small group of islands somewhere near the equator,and had assumed his duties solemnly and ponderously, establishing theBertillon system of measurements for the seven criminals which hisislands supported, and producing quarterly monographs on the flora,fauna, and conchology of his dominion. Just now they were _en route_ forEngland (via Quebec, of course), and were stopping at the Waldorf.

  Tim presently reappeared.

  "She says you've got to hike right down to the hotel as fast as you can.She's terrible upset. My, ain't she a tiger?"

  "But what's the bloomin' row?" exclaimed McAllister.

  Tim looked round cautiously and lowered his voice.

  "The Lyndhurst Jewels has been stole!" said he.

  II

  The Lyndhurst Jewels stolen! No wonder Aunt Sophia had seemed peevish,for they were the treasured heirlooms of her husband's family,cherished and guarded by her with anxious eye. McAllister had alwayssaid the old man was an ass to go lugging 'em off down among the mangoesand land-crabs, but the Governor-General liked to have his lady appearin style at Government House, and took much innocent pleasure inastonishing the natives by the splendor of her adornment. The jewelry,however, was the source of unending annoyance to himself, Sophia, andeverybody else, for it was always getting lost, and burglar scaresoccurred with regularity at the islands. It had been still intact,however, on their arrival in New York.

  The clubman found his uncle and aunt sitting dejectedly at thebreakfast-table in the Diplomatic Suite.

  The atmosphere of gloom struck a cold chill to our friend's centre ofvivacity. There were also evidences of a domestic misunderstanding. Hisaunt fidgeted nervously, and his uncle evaded McAllister's eye as theyresponded half-heartedly to his cheerful salutation. That the matter wasserious was obvious. Clearly this time the jewels must be really gone.In addition, both the Governor-General and his lady kept looking overtheir shoulders fearfully, as if dreading the momentary assault of someassassin. McAllister inquired what the jolly mess was, incidentallysuggesting that their hurry-call had deprived him of any attempt atbreakfast. His hint, however, fell on barren ground.

  "That fool Morton has packed all the jewelry in the big Vuitton!"exclaimed his uncle, nervously jabbing his spoon into a grape-fruit. "Tosay the least, it was excessively careless of him, for he knowsperfectly well that we always carry it in the morocco hand-bag, andnever allow it out of our sight." The Governor-General paused, and tooka sip of coffee.

  "Well," said McAllister, rather impatiently, "why don't you have himunpack it, then?" He couldn't for the life of him see why they made sucha row about a thing of that sort. It was clear enough that they wereboth more than half mad.

  "Ah, that's the point! It was sent to the station with the rest of theluggage last evening. Heaven knows it may all have been stolen by thistime! Think of it, McAllister! The Lyndhurst Jewels, secured merely by amiserable brass check with a number on it--and the railroad liable byexpress contract only to the extent of one hundred dollars!" BeforeUncle Basil had attained his present eminence he had been called to thebar, and his book on "Flotsam and Jetsam" is still an authority in thoseregions to which later works have not penetrated. "You see we'releaving at three this afternoon, but why send it all so early unless_for a purpose_?" Lord Lyndhurst nodded conclusively. He had the air ofone who had divined something.

  Still Chubby failed to see the connection. Someone, a valet evidently,had packed the jewelry in the wrong place, and then sent the load off alittle ahead of time. What of it? He recalled vividly an occasion whenthe jewels had been stuffed by mistake into the soiled-clothes basket,but had turned up safe enough at the end of the trip.

  "If that is all," replied McAllister, "all you have to do is to sendyour man over to the station and have the trunk brought back. Send thefellow who packed the trunk--this Morton--whoever he is."

  "No," said his uncle, studiously knocking in the end of a boiled egg."There are reasons. I wish you would go, instead. The fact is I don'twish Morton to leave the rooms this morning; I--I need him." LordLyndhurst again evaded the clubman's inquiring glance, and eyed the eggin an embarrassed fashion.

  McAllister laughed. "I guess your jewelry's all right," said hecheerfully. "Certainly I'll go. Don't worry. I'll have the trunk and thejewels back here inside of fifty minutes. Who's Morton, anyhow?"

  "My valet," replied Lord Lyndhurst, lowering his voice, and looking overhis shoulder. "You wouldn't recall him. I engaged the man at Kingston onthe way out. As a servant I have had absolutely no fault to find at all.You know it's very hard to get a
good man to go to the Tropics, butMorton has seemed perfectly contented. Up to the present time I haven'thad the slightest reason to suspect his honesty!"

  "Well, I don't see that you have any now," said McAllister. "I guessI'll start along. I haven't had anythin' to eat yet. Have you thecheck?"

  Uncle Basil gingerly handed him the bit of brass.

  "I secured it from Morton," he remarked, attacking the egg viciously.

  "Secured it?" exclaimed McAllister.

  The Governor-General nodded ambiguously.

  Aunt Sophia during the course of the recital had become almosthysterical, and now sat wringing her hands in the greatest agitation.Suddenly she broke forth:

  "I told Basil he had been too hasty! But he would have it that there wasnothing else to do! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Why don't you tell him whatyou've done?"

  "What in thunder _have_ you done?" asked McAllister, now convincedbeyond peradventure that his uncle was a candidate for the nearestinsane asylum.

  Lord Lyndhurst became very red, stammered, and jerked his thumb over hisshoulder.

  "Yes, secured it! Morton, if you must know it, is locked in theclothes-closet. I locked him!"

  "He's in _there_!" suddenly wailed Aunt Sophia. "Basil put him in! Andnow the jewelry's no one knows where, and there's a man in the room, andI'm afraid to stay and Basil's afraid to go for fear he may get out,and----"

  She was interrupted by a smothered voice that came from within thecloset. McAllister was startled, for there was something faintly,vaguely familiar about it.

  "It's a bloomin' houtrage, it is! Look 'ere, sir, I'll 'ave you tohunderstand that I gives notice at once, sir, 'ere and now, sir! It's agreat hindignity you are a-puttin' me to, sir! Won't you let me hout,sir?" The voice ceased momentarily.

  "Isn't it awful!" exclaimed Aunt Sophia. "He's been like that for overan hour!"

  "Yes!" added Uncle Basil. "At times he's been actually abusive." ButMcAllister was lost in an effort to recall the hazy past. Where had heheard that voice before?

  "'Ang it, sir! Won't you let me hout, sir," continued Morton. "I'mstiflin' in 'ere, an' I thinks there's a rat, sir. O Lawd! Let me hout!"

  McAllister jumped to his feet. Of course he recognized the voice! Couldhe ever forget it? Had anyone ever said "O Lawd!" in quite the same wayas the majestic Wilkins? It could be no other! By George, the old manwasn't such a fool _after_ all! And the jewels! He smote his fist uponthe table, while his uncle and aunt gazed at him apprehensively. Therewas no use exciting their fears, however. It was all plain to him, now.The clever dog! Well, the first thing was to see what had become of thejewels.

  "Damn!" came in vigorous tones from the closet, as Wilkins endeavored toassert himself. "It's a bloomin' houtrage, it is! I'll 'ave you arrestedfor hassault an' bat'ry, I will, if you _are_ a guv'nor! Let me _hout_,I say!"

  III

  McAllister lost no time in getting to the Grand Central Station. He waslooking for a big Vuitton trunk, and he wanted to find it quick. Forthis purpose he enlisted the services of a burly young porter, who, forthe consideration of a half-dollar, piloted the clubman through thecrowded alleys of the outgoing baggage-room, until they came upon thefamiliar collection of Lord Lyndhurst's paraphernalia of travel. Eagerlyhe recognized the luggage of his uncle's official household. There werehis boot-boxes, his hat-boxes, his portable desk, his dumb-bells, hisbath-tub, his medicine chest, the secretary's trunk, the typewriter inits case; there were his aunt's basket trunks, and--yes--there was thebig Vuitton. McAllister heaved a sigh of relief. The next thing was toget it back to the hotel as fast as possible.

  "That's it," said he to the porter. "Heave it out!" They were standingin a little open space some distance from the entrance. The big Vuittonlay at one side, and about it a row of other trunks roughly in asemicircle. The porter made but one step in the desired direction, thenjumped as if he had seen a ghost, for a big basket trunk, standing aloneupon its end apart, suddenly shook violently, its lock clicked, thecover swung open, and out jumped a slender, sharp-featured young manwith a black mustache. It was Barney Conville, although at firstMcAllister failed to recognize him.

  "Look here you! Don't touch that trunk!" he exclaimed. Then he perceivedMcAllister, and a look of intense disgust overspread his face.

  "It's the Baron!" ejaculated McAllister. "Now what the devil do yousuppose he's been doin' in that trunk? Howd'y', Baron," he addedpleasantly, holding out his hand. "Hardly expected to see you here. Doyou take your rest that way?" pointing to the trunk from which Convillehad emerged.

  The detective eyed him with disapproval.

  "Say," he remarked, disdainfully, "you give me a pain--always buttin' inan' spoilin' everythin'! This here is a _plant_. I'm waitin' fer athief--Jerry, the Oyster. They're goin' to try an' lift that big stripedtrunk over there. It belongs to an old party up to the Waldorf. He's adiplomatico."

  "He's my uncle!" cried McAllister.

  "Your _aunt_!" snorted Barney.

  "But I want to take that trunk back with me."

  "On the level?"

  "Sure!"

  "Can't help it! This is an important job. The Oyster's the cleverestthief in the business. Works in with all the butlers and valets. Whyhe's got away with more'n three thousand pieces of baggage. He'sthe----"

  Barney did not finish the sentence. Suddenly he ducked, and grabbingMcAllister by the shoulder, pulled him down with him.

  "There he is now! Into the trunk! There's no other way! Plenty of room!"He shoved his fat companion inside and stepped after him. McAllister,utterly bewildered, tried to convince himself that he was not dreaming.He was quite sure he had taken only one Scotch that morning, but hepinched himself, and was relieved to get the proper reaction. When hebecame used to the dim light he discovered that he was ensconced in adress-box of immense proportions, made of basket work, and covered withwaterproofing. Placed on end, with a seat across the middle, it affordeda very comfortable place of concealment. Conville turned the key andlocked the cover. Then he poked McAllister in the ribs.

  "Great joint, ain't it? Idee of the cap's. Makes a fine plant," hewhispered, affixing his eye to a narrow slit near the top.

  "Sh-h!" he added; "he's here. There's another peeper over on your side."

  McAllister followed his example, gluing his eye to the improvisedwindow, and discovered that they commanded the approach to the bigVuitton. And inside that innocent piece of luggage reposed the glory ofhis uncle's family, the heirlooms of four centuries! He made aninvoluntary movement.

  "Keep still!" hissed Conville, and McAllister sank back obediently.

  A young Anglican clergyman in shovel-hat and gaiters, carrying a daintysilver-headed umbrella in one hand and a copy of _The Churchman_ in theother, had approached the counter. He seemed somewhat at a loss, gazedvaguely about him for a moment, and then stepping up to the headbaggage-man, an oldish man with white whiskers, addressed him anxiously.

  "I say, my man, I'm really in an awful mess, don't you know! I don't seemy box anywhere. I sent it over from the hotel early this morning, andI'm leavin' for Montreal at three. The luggage-man says it was left hereby ten o'clock. Do you keep all the boxes in this room?"

  The head baggage-man nodded.

  "Sorry you've lost your trunk," said he. "If it ain't here we haven'tgot it, but like as not it's mixed up in one of them piles. If you'llwait for about ten minutes I'll see if I can find it for yourReverence."

  The Anglican looked shocked.

  "Thanks, I'm sure," he murmured stiffly. He was a slight young man witha monocle and mutton-chops.

  "It's very good of you," he added after a pause, with morecondescension. "Awfully awkward to be without one's luggage, for I havea service in Montreal to-morrow, and all my vestments are in my box. Ifear I shall miss my train."

  "Oh, I guess not!" replied the baggage-man encouragingly. "I'll be withyou presently. You come in and look around yourself, and if you don'tsee it I'll help you. This way, sir," and he lifted a section of thecounter an
d allowed the clergyman to pass in.

  "My! Ain't he _clever_!" whispered Barney delightedly.

  The clergyman now began a rather dilatory investigation of the contentsof the baggage-room, bending over and examining every trunk in sight,and even tapping the one in which they were ensconced with the silverhead of his umbrella, but after a few moments, in apparent despair, hetook his stand beside the big trunk marked "B. C. L.," and gazeddespondently about him. There was nothing in his appearance to suggestthat he was other than he seemed, but Barney directed McAllister'sattention to the copy of _The Churchman_, from the leaves of whichprotruded two diminutive pieces of string, put there, as it mightappear, for a book-mark. And now as the Anglican shifted from one footto the other, ostensibly waiting for the porter, he placed his handsbehind him and took a step or two backward toward the big trunk. Chubbywas by this time all agog. What would the fellow do? He certainlycouldn't be goin' to shoulder the trunk and try to walk off with it!

  Suddenly McAllister saw the daintily gloved hands slip a penknife fromamong the leaves of the magazine and quickly sever the check from thehandle of the trunk. The Anglican altered his position and waited untilthe baggage-man was once more engaged at the other end of the counter.Again this amiable representative of the cloth shuffled backward untilthe handle was within easy reach, and with a dexterity which must havebeen born of long practice deftly tied the two ends of string around it.With a quick motion he stepped away in the direction of the counter, andout from the leaves of _The Churchman_ fell and dangled a new checkstamped "Waistcoat's Express, No. 1467."

  "My good fellow," impatiently drawled the clergyman, approaching thebaggage-man, "I really can't wait, don'cher know. I've lookedeverywhere, and my box isn't here. I don't know whether to blame thatbeastly luggage-man, or whether it's the fault of this disgustin'American railroad. It's evident someone's at fault, and as I assume thatyou are in charge I shall report you immediately."

  Deftly tied the two ends of string around it.]

  The elderly baggage-man regarded the robust champion of religion beforehim with scorn.

  "Well, son, you can report all you like. I've worked in thisbaggage-room eighteen years, and you're not the first English crank whothought he owned the hull Central Railroad," and he turned on his heel,while the clergyman, with an expression of horror, ambled quickly out ofthe side door.

  McAllister had watched this remarkable proceeding with enthusiasticinterest, his round face shining with the excitement of a child.

  "Jiminy, but this is great!" he exclaimed, slapping Barney upon theback. "And to think of your doin' it for a livin'! Why I'd sit here allday for nothin'! What happens next? And what becomes of the fellerthat's just gone out?"

  "Oh, you ain't seen half the show yet!" responded Conville, pleased. "Itis pretty good fun at times. But, o' course, this is a star performance,and we're sure of our man. Oh, it beats the theayter, all right, allright! Truth's stranger than fiction every time, you bet. Now take thisOyster--why he's a regular cracker-jack! Got sense enough to be analderman, or president, or anythin', but he keeps right at his ownlittle job of liftin' trunks, an' he ain't never been caught yet. Hispal'll be along now any minute."

  "How's that?" inquired Chubby with eagerness.

  "Why, don'cher see? Jerry's cut off the reg'lar tag, and now the otherfeller'll present a duplicate of the one Jerry's just hitched on. Greatgame, 'Foxy Quiller,' eh?"

  McAllister admitted delightedly that it was a great game. By George, itbeat playin' the horses! At the same time he shivered as he realized hownearly the famous jewels had actually been lost. Wilkins must be anawful bad egg to go and tie up to a gang of that sort!

  The baggage-man, serenely unconscious of all that had been taking placebehind his back, and apparently not soured by his little set-to with theEnglishman, was genially assisting the great American public to find itseffects, and beaming on all about him. People streamed in and out,engines coughed and wheezed; from outside came the roar and rattle ofthe city.

  Presently there bounced in a stout person in a yellow and black suit,with white waistcoat and green tie, who mopped his red face with a largesilk handkerchief. Rushing up to a porter who seemed to be unoccupied,he threw down a pasteboard check, together with a shining half-dollar,and shouted, "Here, my good feller, that trunk, will you? Quick! The bigone with the red letters on it--'B. C. L.' They sent it here from theAstoria instead of to the steamboat dock, and my ship sails at twelve.Now, get a move on!"

  The porter grabbed the check and the half-dollar, and falling upon thebig Vuitton, rolled it end over end out into the street, followed by itsperspiring claimant.

  "That's right, that's right," shouted the bounder. "Chuck it on behind.Mus'n't miss the boat!" and throwing the porter another half-dollar, thesportive traveller jumped into the hack, yelling, "Now drive like thedevil!" The door closed with a bang, and the vehicle quickly disappearedamong the tracks and wagons of Forty-second Street.

  McAllister for the first time felt distinctly uneasy.

  "Look here," he whispered feverishly, "is it right to let him walk offlike that? Hurry! Open the trunk, or he'll get away!"

  "Sit still, and don't get excited!" commanded Barney. "It's all right,"he added condescendingly, remembering that McAllister was unfamiliarwith such mysteries. "We've got him covered. He couldn't get away tosave his neck. An' as for follerin' him, why he'll carry that trunk halfover New York before he lands it where it's goin'!"

  "All right!" sighed the clubman; "you're the doctor. But it seems to meyou're takin' a lot of risk. Your brother officer might lose track ofhim, or he might drop the trunk somehow, and _then_ where would thejewels be?"

  "Right exactly where they are _now_," replied Barney with a grin. "Inthe office safe at the Waldorf. They ain't never left the hotel. Therewasn't any need of it, and if I hadn't taken 'em out I'd 've had towatch 'em here all night. Now everythin's all right.

  "And say," he added, chuckling at the joke of it, "I forgot to tell you.Who do you suppose is workin' with Jerry? Fatty Welch! 'Wilkins,' you'dcall him. He's turned up again an' hooked on, somehow, to the Gov'nor.Me and my side-partner's been trailin' 'em both ever since your unclehit New York. I had the room opposite him at the Waldorf. Yesterdaymornin' I saw Welch pack the jewelry. I was togged out as a bell-boy,and was cleanin' the winders. The Gov'nor's kind of figgity you know,and I thought we'd better not mention anythin' to _him_. Of course Ididn't have any idea _you'd_ come waltzin' along this way."

  McAllister solemnly held out his hand to the detective. He was asdemonstrative as his narrow quarters rendered possible.

  "Baron," said he, "you're a corker! I've learned a heap this morning."

  "There's lots of things you never dream of, Horace," replied Barneypolitely.

  "Do you remember, Baron, the last time we met asking me to help you nabWilkins?" continued McAllister. "Well, I'm goin' to make good. I've gothim safely locked in a closet at the hotel. He promised not to comeback, and now I'm done with him. What do you say to that?"

  "Good work!" ejaculated Barney. "Keep it up! In time you might make apretty good detective."

  From Barney such a concession was high praise, and showed intenseappreciation. On their way back to the Waldorf he explained that the"Oyster" was one of a very few "guns" able effectively to make use of adisguise, this being in part due to the fact that he was the son of aclergyman, and educated for the stage.

  They were met at the door of the apartment by Lady Lyndhurst.

  "Basil has disappeared!" she gasped. "And that awful man in the closethas become so blasphemous that I can't remain with decency in the room."

  McAllister partially pacified her by stating that the jewelry wasentirely safe. He wondered what on earth had become of the Governor.Once inside the suite conversation became practically impossible, owingto the sounds of inarticulate rage which proceeded from the closet.

  Barney decided to place the valet immediately under arrest and take himto Police Headquarters. The
sooner they did so the more likely he wouldbe to "squeal." He requested McAllister to arm himself with awalking-stick, and to stand ready to come to his assistance if, onopening the door, he should find himself unable to cope with theprisoner alone. Aunt Sophia was relegated to her bedroom, the doorleading to the corridor was closed and locked, and the two prepared forthe conflict. The detective, of course, had his pistol, which he cockedand held ready.

  "Don't fire 'till you see the whites of his eyes!" murmured McAllister.

  "Fire--nothin'!" muttered Barney, throwing open the closet door.

  "Hands up, or I'll shoot!" yelled the detective, as a fat, wild-eyedindividual sprung from within and burst upon their astonished gaze. TheGovernor-General stood before them.

  "Hands up, or I'll shoot!" yelled the detective, as afat, wild-eyed individual sprung from within.]

  Speechless with rage, he glowered from one to the other--then inresponse to their surprised inquiries broke into incoherent explanation.He had waited on guard some ten minutes after McAllister's departure,and Sophia had gone to her bedroom to finish dressing, when suddenly theexpostulations of Morton had seemed to grow fainter. Finally they haddied entirely away, and in their place had come terrible gasps andgurgles. He had remembered that there was no means of renewing the airsupply in the closet, and had become alarmed. Presently all sounds hadceased. He was convinced that Morton was being suffocated. Opening thedoor, he had found the valet apparently lying there unconscious, and haddragged him forth, whereupon Morton had suddenly returned to life, andbefore he knew it had jammed him into the closet and locked the door.

  "He was most impertinent, too, when he got on the outside, I can assureyou," concluded Lord Lyndhurst indignantly. "Gave me a lot of gratuitousadvice!"

  McAllister and the detective endeavored to calm his troubled spirit, andsoothe his ruffled dignity, informing him that the jewels had been inthe hotel safe all the time. The Governor, however, refused to take anystock whatever in their explanation. Nothing of the sort could possiblyhave happened in England. It took them an hour to persuade him that theywere not lying. The only things that appeared to convince him at allwere the disappearance of Morton, a large bump on his own forehead, andthe actual presence of the jewelry in the safe downstairs. Even then hesent to Tiffany's for a man to examine it.

  Barney he regarded with unconcealed suspicion, subjecting him to anexhaustive cross-examination upon his antecedents and occupation. TheGovernor declared he was astounded at his impudence. The idea of openinghis private luggage! He would address a communication to theauthorities! It was little better than grand larceny. It _was_ grandlarceny, by Jupiter! Hadn't Conville abstracted the jewels _vi etarmis_? Of _course_ he had! Damme, he would see if the sacred rights ofan English official should be trampled on! It was _trespass_anyway--_Trespass ab initio_! Did Conville know that? It was grandlarceny _and_ trespass. He would lock him up.

  Barney grinned, and the Governor again became almost apoplectic.

  He snorted scornfully at the detective's explanation about this Jerry"What-do-you-call-him--the Clam." Pooh! Did they expect him to believe_that_? Conville was a confounded, hair-brained busybody--He dwindledoff, exhausted.

  At that moment there came a sharp rap upon the door, and an officer inroundsman's uniform entered.

  "Gentleman called at the precinct house and reported a jewelry theft inthis suite. Said the thief had been caught and locked up in a closet, soI thought I'd drop over and see how things stood."

  He looked inquiringly at McAllister, significantly at theGovernor-General, and then caught sight of Barney.

  "Hello, Conville!" he exclaimed. "You on the case? Well, then I'll dropout. Got your man, I see!" He glanced again at the dishevelled scion ofnobility before him.

  "Everythin's all right," answered the detective with a chuckle. "I guessthey was fakin' you round at the house. By the way, I want you to meet afriend of mine--Roundsman McCarthy, let me present you to his Nibs--theGovernor-General."

  The Governor glared immobile, his stony eyes shifting from the now redand stammering roundsman to Conville's beaming countenance, and backagain.

  "Gentlemen," he remarked sternly, "do you prefer Scotch or rye? You willfind cigars on the sideboard. The drinks, as you Yankees say, are upon_me_!"

  "By the way," he added to McCarthy, as McAllister filled the glasses,"would you be so obliging as to describe the individual who sothoughtfully notified you in regard to the loss of the jewelry?"

  "Rather stout, well-dressed man, fat face, gray eyes," answeredMcCarthy, lighting a cigar. "Looked somethin' like this gentleman here,"indicating the clubman. "Spoke with a kind of English accent. Niceappearin' feller, all right."

  "By George! Wilkins!" ejaculated McAllister.

  "Damn!" exploded Uncle Basil.

  "The nerve of him!" muttered Barney.