Twenty minutes later Jonah had left for Brooch to see the Chief Constable about the missing jewels and arrange for the printing and distribution of an advertisement for Nobby. The rest of us, doing our utmost to garnish a forlorn hope with the seasoning of expectation, made diligent search for the necklace about the terrace, gardens and tennis-lawn. After a fruitless two hours we repaired to the house, where we probed the depths of sofas and chairs, emptied umbrella-stands, settles, flower-bowls and every other receptacle over which our guest might have leaned, and finally thrust an electric torch into the bowels of the piano and subjected that instrument to a thorough examination.
At length—
"I give it up," said Daphne, sinking into a chair. "I don't think it can be here."
"Nor I," said I. "I think we've looked everywhere."
"Yes," said Berry. "There's only the cesspool left. We can drag that before lunch, if you like, but I should prefer one more full meal before I die."
"Boy! Boy!"
Somewhere from behind closed doors a sweet excited voice was calling.
I sprang to the door.
"Yes, Adèle, yes?" I shouted.
A moment later my lady sped down a passage and into the hall.
"Get the car quick. I've found Nobby."
"Where?" we yelled.
"That man Bason's got him."
Her announcement momentarily deprived us of breath. Then we all started, and in the next two minutes sufficient was said about the retired music-hall proprietor to make that gentleman's pendulous ears burst into blue flame.
Again want of breath intervened, and Adèle besought us to make ready the car.
We explained vociferously that Jonah had taken the Rolls and would be back any minute. Whilst we were waiting, would she not tell us her tale?
Seating herself upon the arm of a chair, she complied forthwith.
"None of you seemed to suspect him, and, as I'm usually wrong, I decided to say nothing. But last night I asked a Boy Scout where he lived. Curiously enough, the boy had a brother who was a gardener in Bason's employ. That made me think. I asked him whether I could have a word with his brother, and he told me he lived at a cottage close to his work, and was almost always at home between nine and half-past in the morning.
"When he came home this morning, I was waiting for him. He seemed a nice man, so I told him the truth and asked him to help me. Thorn—that's his name—doesn't like Bason a bit, and at once agreed that he was quite capable of the dirtiest work, if any one got in his way. He hadn't, he said, seen Nobby, but that wasn't surprising. If the dog was there he'd probably be in the stables, and with those Thorn has nothing to do.
"Bason doesn't keep horses, but he uses one of the coach-houses as a garage. The chauffeur seems to be rather worse than his master. He's loathed by the rest of the staff, and, while he and Bason are as thick as thieves, neither trusts the other an inch.
"The first thing to do, obviously, was to find out if Nobby was there. Everything was always kept locked, so I determined to try the 'Blondel' stunt—yes, I know a lot of English History—and try and make Coeur de Lion speak for himself.
"First we synchronized our watches. Then Thorn showed me the house and told me exactly where the garage and stables were—close to the gates, happily. Then we arranged that in ten minutes' time he should try to get the chauffeur out of the way, while I took a look round. More than that we couldn't fix, but it was understood that, if there was a dog there and Thorn got an opening, he was to undo his collar and give him a chance to make good on his own. That wouldn't involve Thorn, for he could fasten the collar again and make it look as if Nobby had slipped it."
"But what a brain!" said Berry. "One short month of my society, and the girl——"
An avalanche of protest cut short the speaker.
Adèle continued, gurgling.
"At first everything went all right. At twenty minutes to ten I put my head round the corner to see the chauffeur and Thorn disappearing at the other end of the yard. I stepped out of my cover and had a look round. There were stables on one side, and a coachhouse and garage on the other, and the yard, which was open at both ends, lay in between. I was just going to try the loose-boxes—I was going to 'miaow' like a cat and see what answer I got—when I heard Bason's voice calling Banana....
"There was only one door open, and that was the garage. I dashed for it and looked round for somewhere to hide. The place was as bare as your hand. But there was nothing the matter with the limousine, so I got inside and sat down on the floor.
"I was only just in time.
"Bason came stamping into the yard, shouting for 'Arthur,' and the next moment Nobby gave tongue.
"I just had to look.
"There was Blue Banana with his nose to the door of the loose-box immediately opposite, snarling and showing his teeth, Bason was hammering on the door, yelling 'Shut up, you brute!' and Nobby, of course, was barking to beat the band."
As she spoke, a faint familiar cough from the drive announced the return of Jonah from Brooch.
In less time than it takes to record, I had flown to the front-door and put him wise. Two minutes later we were all in the Rolls, which was scudding at an unlawful speed along the Fallow Hill road.
"There's nothing much more to tell," said Adèle, as we clamoured for her to proceed. "I thought Bason would never go, and, when at last he did, the chauffeur took the opportunity of changing the two front tires.
"For over two hours I sat in that car. At last the man shut the place up and, I suppose, went to his dinner.
"I had meant to borrow the limousine, but he'd taken the key of the switch, so I couldn't do that. And I couldn't get at Nobby, for the stable was locked. So I just pelted back to Thorn's cottage, told his wife to tell him my news, picked up the bicycle and came right back."
For a moment no one said anything. Then—
"I shall recommend you," said Berry, "for the Most Excellent Order of the Beer Engine. A very coveted distinction. The membership is limited to seven million."
"Yes," said I, "for a most daring reconnaissance behind the enemy's lines. You know, this ranks with the penetration of the Kiel Canal. Seriously, Adèle, I'm terribly grateful."
My lady looked at me with a shy smile.
"What did the gipsy say?" she said. "After all I'm only obeying orders. And now——"
A cry from Jonah interrupted her, and the rest of us started inquiringly as he clapped on the brakes.
As the car came to a standstill—
"What's the matter?" I cried.
By way of answer my cousin took off his hat and, producing a silk handkerchief, deliberately wiped his forehead with the utmost care. Then he replaced his hat and looked up and over his right shoulder....
From the top of a mossy bank by the side of the road Nobby was regarding us wide-eyed. Apparently he had broken prison and was on his way home. Time was nothing to him, and the roots of a wayside beech upon an attractive rise cried aloud for inspection. Besides, there was a serious loss of liberty which had to be made good....
For a moment rescue-party and prize looked one another in the face. Then the latter hurled himself panting into the road and leapt into the arms which I stretched out of the car.
No prodigal ever received such an ovation. There was literally a fight for his person. Jill snatched him from me and pressed his nose to her face; Berry dragged him from her protesting arms and set him upon his knee; Daphne tore him away and hugged him close. Such of us as were temporarily disseized, stroked and fondled his limbs and cried endearing epithets. Only our fair American looked on with a wistful smile.
"So, you see," she said, "he's done without me, after all.'"
I took hold of her hand.
"My dear," I said, "your argument would be more forcible if he was wearing a collar."
There was a buzz of excitement as my statement was feverishly confirmed.
"I agree," said Berry. "What's more, he's brought us a souvenir."
As he spoke, he plucked something which was adhering to the terrier's beard.
It was a tuft of slate-grey hair.
The "All Comers" Event was won by Nobby, who beat a French bulldog by a short head.
Neither Blue Bandala nor his owner put in an appearance. For this a particularly curt note, bluntly requiring the return of the Sealyham's collar, may have been responsible.
The waggoner and the lad who found him received their rewards.
So also did Thorn. His letter of acknowledgment was addressed to Adèle.
Dear Madam,
Thank you kindly for the 5 lbs. I got to the dog by way of the ayloft which were in one of the stalls I undone is coller and here he run out the first dore as was open and appening on Blew Bandarlerer did not harf put it acrost him and Mr. Bason says I command you to seperate them dogs Arthur he says and Arthur fetches Blew B. one what he ment for your dog and Mr. Bason fetches him another what he ment for Arthur so the chough cort it proper.
Yours respecfully,
G. Thorn.
But for the loss of the pearls, we should have been jubilant.
Three days had elapsed since the dog show.
The whole of the morning and part of the afternoon I had spent in a bathroom, supervising the disconnection, severance and inspection of the waste-pipe which served the basin. When, hot and dejected, I made my report at half-past three, Adèle thanked me as prettily as if I had found the pearls.
I retired to wash and change into flannels.
It must have been two hours later when I looked up from the operation of combing Nobby and took my pipe from my mouth.
"Oh, Adèle," I said simply, "I do love you so."
Adèle put out a hand and touched my hair.
"I'm glad you do," she said gently.
As I got upon my feet, one end of her necklace hung trailing over the edge of my trousers where I had turned them up. They were the pair I had worn at tennis the day we had gone to the fair, and it must have fallen into the fold when we were finding the thorn.
Adèle saw it too, but, when I would have stooped, she shook her head.
Then I looked into her eyes, and there found such a light that I forgot the pearls and the rolling world with them.
As she slipped into my arms, she threw back her head.
"Once, at Port Said, you kissed me," she whispered. "And again at Rome." I nodded. "But this is your own home."
"Yes," I said steadily. "And here I plight thee my troth."
The brown eyes closed, and a glorious smile swept Into the beautiful face.
For a moment I gazed at her....
Then I kissed the red, red lips.
So we comforted one another.
The unexpected arrival of the laundry van at five minutes to eight, with, amongst other things, a month's table-linen, had pardonably dislocated the service of dinner.
Whilst the table was being relaid we spent the time in the library, gathered about the violet-tongued comfort of a chestnut-root fire.
"You know," said Jonah, looking up from an armchair, "if we don't——Good Heavens!" His exclamation was so violent that we all jumped. "Why," he cried, staring at Adèle, "you've found them!"
A common cry of amazement broke from Daphne, Berry and Jill, and our guest started guiltily and put a hand to her throat.
"O-o-oh, I "—she shot an appealing glance at me— "we quite forgot. Boy found them in the garden, whilst he was combing Nobby."
Berry looked round.
"You hear?" he said. "They quite forgot.... They stumble upon jewels worth a month of strike pay—baubles whose loss has stupefied the County, and forget to mention it. And I spent two hours this afternoon in a gas-mask studying the plan of the drains and calculating whether, if the second manhole was opened and a gorgonzola put down to draw the fire, Jonah could reach the grease-trap before he became unconscious." He raised his eyes to heaven and groaned. "The only possible excuse," he added, "is that you're both in...."
His voice tailed off, as he met Adèle's look, and he got suddenly upon his feet.
Jonah stood up, too.
Daphne took Adèle's hands in hers and turned to me a face radiant with expectation.
Jill caught at my sleeve and began to tremble. I put my arm about her and looked round.
"We plead that excuse," I said.
For a moment nobody moved.
Then Jonah limped to my dear and put her hand to his lips. Adèle stooped and kissed him.
"You beautiful darling," breathed my sister. "Sargent shall paint you, and you shall hang at the foot of the stairs."
The two kissed one another tenderly.
Then Adèle stretched out her white arms to grey-eyed Jill. My little cousin just clung to her.
"Oh, Adèle," she whispered, "I'm so glad. B-but you won't go away? He and you'll stay with us, won't you?"
"If you want me, darling."
Berry cleared his throat.
"Of course," he said, "as the head of the family—the overlord—I should have come first. However, I shall kiss her 'Good night' instead. Possibly I shall ker-rush her to me." He turned to me. "This will be the second time within my memory that a Pleydell has married above him."
"Very true," said I. "When was the first?"
"When I married your sister."
I nodded dreamily.
"I think," I said, "I think I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth."
Berry shook his head.
"Not a spoon," he said. "A soup-ladle."
THE END
Another baffling story by the great detective-story writer who is already becoming world-famous for his marvellously intricate and ingenious plots. This story is a jewel of many facets in brilliant setting. Here Mr. Keeler's genius for the mystery-plot comes into an amazing perfection.
Popular successes by this Author:
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All who love strong character and thrilling incident will revel in this essentially clever story.
Caleb, the sixteen-year-old son of a small farmer, ran away on his father's death and engaged himself as a farm labourer. What he discovers in the next few years makes a typical Hocking Cornish adventure romance.
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There are few better story-tellers than Mr. Joseph Hocking, especially when he is dealing with his beloved Cornwall. His stories are thrillingly interesting, and rivet the attention of the reader from beginning to end.
(Another"LEATHERMOUTH"Novel.)
Colonel Gantian ("Leathermouth") is called upon by his friend, a Commissioner of Scotland Yard, to help in elucidating the mysterious events behind the death of the late Governor of Bombay. With much hesitation and reluctance, having just got married, he accepts the mission. But it sends him walking into many dangers, and it is only with much trouble that finally he is triumphant.
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"For a certain crispness of dialogue, and deft arrangement of the events of a good plot, Mr. Carlton Dawe has very few rivals."—The Yorkshire Post.
This story deals with a foreign woman, who poses as a great philanthropist, but who, under cover of her social activities, is involved in very other matters. What these are must be left to Miss Moberly to tell, and she tells them in a story of great power, vividness and charm.
Some of Miss Moberly's previous successes:
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In the long list of successful novelists Miss Moberly takes a high place. Her novels are not merely thrillers, but a readable love story is invariably woven into the mystery.
A beautiful woman, destined to be England's most famous actress, born amid the glamour yet hardship of that picturesque and now almost obsolete institution of rural England, the travelling theatre. Against this coloured background and that of the West-end stage is the story of the men who craved her for her beauty alone. Here is no impossible heroine who survives her many ordeals unscathed—Sheila Fitzpatrick is but human after all—but the reader's sympathy will be with her to the end.
By the same Author:
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Mr. Edwards writes in a manner that holds one to his story. Characterisation comes easy to him. He has a facility for sustained suspense and he constructs with admirable economy.
Robin, when left alone in the world, with her great love for animals, finds her vocation in veterinary surgery. The a returning of a lost dog to its owner brings into her life a new interest, and through the episodes that follow Katharine Tynan brings to a satisfactory conclusion one of the most charming and characteristic of her romances.
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Clean, wholesome love stories, free from intrigue and sensationalism, and containing well-drawn characters and good dialogue.
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To all who like a powerful adventure story, written with a punch, this novel can be whole-heartedly recommended.
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"Mr. Binns gives us a story, clear-cut of pattern and compactly woven, and when it has been read, we turn to it again for the sake of the atmosphere of the wilds."—Yorkshire Observer.
A volume of great charm and wit, fully representing the author's varied talents, and vigorously written in the style that has made him famous.
Mr. Stephen McKenna's admirers, and their number is legion, will rejoice in this attractive volume.
A murder trial that becomes more complex as it proceeds, and (strange to say) less sordid; for under cross-examination there gradually emerges the story of a bygone romance so touching that the young squire, on his acquittal of the murder charge, yields the centre of the stage to his poor, foolish, fluttering mother.
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Mr. Templeton has reached distinct artistry in attractive dialogue, in clean and wholesome action and in presentation of exciting situations without undue strain on credulity.
Author of "The Missing Ace"
A diamond of incalculable value is stolen from an Indian Temple by Captain Berrington. Then, some twenty years afterwards, in an English country house, there are strange and bewildering happenings. The elucidation of the mystery involved makes an exceptionally thrilling and powerful story.
A story written in a light vein that will bring many a chuckle to you whilst its most absorbing problem is gradually unfolded.