THE MOTOR-BURGLARA Development of the Age of Petrol
A Development of the Age of Petrol
“A QUITE remarkable case of coincidence, dear fellars—a parallel without precedent,� said Hambridge Ost to a select circle of listeners in the smoking-room of the Younger Sons’ Club, “is that the giant plate-burglary successfully accomplished at Lord Whysdale’s shooting-box in Deershire on Tuesday last by a party of three polite persons traveling in a large, roomy and handsomely-appointed pale blue ‘Flygoer’ automobile, was echoed, so to put it—on Friday by a colossal robbery at the seat of my cousin, Lord Pomphrey; the defrauding persons being also, in that case, a trio of civil-spoken and well-dressed strangers, occupying a light green ‘Runhard’ of twenty-eight horse-power with a limousine body and singularly brilliant nickel fittings. Themostremarkable point on one side, and one which has given cause for the noisy derision of theprofanum vulgus—do you foller me?—being that Lord Pomphrey—I regret to add—assisted and abetted by the humble individual now speaking, actually assisted the thieves to get clear off with his property, includin’ an Elizabethan beaker with a cover, out of which the Virgin Monarch graciously quaffed a nightcap of the cordial called ‘lambswool’ when staying at The Towers during a Royal progress in the year 1566, and a silver tea-kettle and punch-bowl presented by the tenants on the late Earl’s coming-of-age, with a cargo of other valuables, out of which I had themelancholy privilege of rescuing one Queen Anne Apostle spoon.
“My cousin Wosbric, between attacks of his hereditary gout, is an ardent golfer. Residing at his Club during the absence of Lady Pomphrey and the family in the Tyrol, he takes every feasible opportunity of cultivating his skill and renewing his enthusiasm for the game, the intricacies of which, dear fellars, I may own I have never been able to master. To me, when a large, cheerful, whiskered man, dressed in shaggy greenish clothes, with gaiters, announces, rubbing his hands, which are invariably encased in woolen mitts, that he hastaken his driver twice going to the twelfth hole; did not altogether mishit either shot, and yet was not up to the green, because the wind bore down like a Vanguard omnibus;—to me nothing wildly incredible or curious has been said. The large man in the shaggy clothes is talking a shibboleth I do not and never could understand, dear fellars, if I bent my whole intelligence—considered by some decent judges not altogether contemptible—to the task, until the final collapse of the present Social System. But, nevertheless, Lord Pomphrey is partial to the company of this humble individual upon his golfing days, and to me the Head of my House—d’ye foller me?—in mentioning a preference issues a mandate. Enveloped in a complete golfing costume of Jaeger material, surmounted by two fur-lined overcoats, the pockets of the under one containing two patent ‘keep-hot’ bottles of warm and comforting liquids—coffee and soup—which aid to maintain the temperature of the outer man at normal, before being transferred to the inner individual—I manage to defy the rigors of the English climate and support the exhaustion consequent upon indulgence in the national game of North Britain. My walking-stick is convertible into a camp-stool;the soles of my thick boots are protected by goloshes, a peaked cap with flaps for the ears crowns my panoply; and, place in the mouth of the individual thus attired one of Dunhill’s ‘Asorbal’ cigarettes, each of which is furnished with a patent hygienic mouthpiece-filter which absorbs the deleterious oil of nicotine, and catches the stray particles of tobacco—d’ye foller me, dear fellars?—which otherwise find their way into the system of the smoker—and the picture is complete.
“The run by road from the Club doorsteps to Cluckham Pomphrey, where the Fargey Common Golf-links equal any that our country can boast, faithful copies of the eighteen best holes in the world having been carefully made under the supervision of Lord Pomphrey—the run can be made within four hours. We started. I had received the Fiery Cross from my kinsman, so to put it, in a laconic note, running: ‘Golf to-morrow if the weather keeps up and the gout keeps down.—Yours, Pomphrey.’ We started in a mild drizzle, at six-thirty. Our car, a ‘Rusher,’ of twenty-six horse-power, with a detachable top and glass driving-screen, behaved excellently. Driving through Cluckham, our county town—it happened to be market-day!—we accidentally converted a lamb into cutlets; but the immolated creature, as it chanced, being the property of one of my cousin’s farmer-tenants, the casualty passed over with fewer comments than generally ensue. Bowing to several well-known yeomen and county land-holders, my cousin and myself alighted at the Pink Boar, kept by an old retainer of the family, took a light but nourishing ante-luncheon or snack of a couple of raw eggs beaten up with whisky, and proceeded on our way to the Fargey Common Links.
“A mile from The Towers, whose picturesque battlements could be descried, dear fellars, embosomed, as itwere, in surroundin’ trees, we encountered some motorists upon the road in quite a regrettable plight. Their car, a large, light green ‘Runhard’ of twenty-eight horse-power, was drawn up by the roadside;—quite an arsenal of tools glittered in the wintry rays of the sun, spread out upon an india-rubber sheet, and what had occurred was plain to the meanest automobiling capacity. A tire had exploded after a long, stiff climb of the steep hill, a notable feature in our county landscape—the descent of which we were about to negotiate. And the spare tire, after being attached, had proved to be leaky beyond repair.
“Fellar-feeling, dear fellars!—would have moved any fellar of you to foller our example. We raised our hats, the three strangers in the ‘Runhard’ car politely returning the salutation; we offered aid, and met with grateful acceptance. Larger than our own locomotive—the ‘Runhard’ wheels were of exactly the same diameter—the ‘Runhard’ tires were ‘Fridolines,’ like our own. We offered our spare tire, it fitted to a miracle. We were overwhelmed with the grateful acknowledgments of its three polite proprietors.
“‘You will at least permit me to pay for the tire!’ pleaded the gentleman who appeared to take the lead. As Lord Pomphrey refused, with the courtly wave of the hand that distinguishes this thirteenth wearer of the coronet, he continued: ‘For you do not know—you never can know!—how inestimable a service your lordship has rendered us!’
“Wosbric was known, then. He elevated his eyebrows in polite surprise. Not being able to discern the features of the strangers behind their cap-masks and goggles, he could not recall ever having met them before. Then the second polite stranger, who was even more polite than the first, explained in a slight American accent the reason ofhis companion’s recognition of Lord Pomphrey. ‘We have, like many other tourists,’ he said, ‘recently enjoyed the privilege of going over your lordship’s antique and noble family pile. In the hall, the feudal stateliness of which especially appealed to me as an American citizen, hangs a portrait of your lordship taken, in company with a gold-hilted sword and a red velvet curtain, as Lord-Lieutenant of the County.’
“Lord Pomphrey bowed. ‘As Lord-Lieutenant of the County,’ I put in. ‘Quite so. The likeness is agreed to be a striking one. And as you have viewed the other treasures of The Towers, I presume you did not miss the large oak cabinet of Jacobean silver plate—magnificent and unique as having belonged to Queen Anne of Denmark—which stands at the end of the smaller library behind the large Chinese screen?’
“The polite strangers looked at me and then at Lord Pomphrey and then at each other. A cloud passed over the bright intelligent eyes that shone through their motor-goggles as they sorrowfully shook their heads.
“‘We missed that cabinet!’ said the first polite stranger, with a sigh.
“‘I guess we did!’ said the second.
“‘Just like wot I calls our beastly, blooming luck!’ sighed the third stranger who was sitting in the car, and who, though polite, was not in the least a refined sort of person. As all three of them seemed unfeignedly depressed, Lord Pomphrey, who is the soul of hospitality, begged them to return to The Towers, accept refreshment, and examine under his personal superintendence, the magnificent contents of the oak cabinet in the second library.
“‘We thank your lordship profoundly!’ said the firstpolite stranger, bowing, ‘but we are unable to accept your invitation!’ He bowed again, and got into the car.
“‘And we shall never cease to regret, I guess,’ said the second, ‘that we have missed the most valuable item of your lordship’s collection of silver heirlooms. But we have garnered many precious momentos’—it struck me at that moment that there were a great many waterproof-covered bundles in the ‘Runhard’ car, and as he spoke he patted one of these affectionately—‘of our visit to this country which must serve to sweeten life for us when we are far away. And with these we must endeavor to be content!’
“He too bowed, dear fellars, and got into the car. The machinery began to splutter at a touch upon the lever.
“‘Let ’er rip, Cocky,’ advised the third stranger; ‘we ain’t got none too much of a start with this yere tire a-busting. So long!’ he said, and like an arrow from a bow, so to put it, dear fellars, the large, light green ‘Runhard’ leapt forward and was out of sight in an instant. We proceeded in the ‘Rusher’ toward our destination.
“Presently, dear fellars, we met two large, hot, county constables on bicycles. They did not recognize us, so great was their haste. Their large boots vigorously trod the pedals, their bulky, blue-uniformed figures were crouched over the handle-bars as they pounded up the hill from Cluckham Pomphrey. We wondered whither they might be going? We questioned what agricultural breach of the peace, what local felony, had spurred them to such an unusual display of energy. We found out.
“For at the next bend of the road, dear fellars, we encountered quite a little cavalcade of hot and red-faced, or pale and panting persons. The steward from Pomphrey Towers in his T-cart, the head-bailiff from Pomphrey Towers on his cob, the coachman driving a lightgig with two armed grooms on the back seat, an excited mob of stable-helpers and gardeners straggling along behind.... Even before they recognized us, those in the van of the pursuers shouted to us, asking if we had passed an automobile upon the road—a large, light green ‘Runhard’ containing three men?
“In a few gasped sentences, dear fellars, the ghastly truth stood revealed; the facts were laid bare to us. Pomphrey Towers had been, to employ the expression of the bailiff, ‘cracked and burgled,’ only an hour previously, of a quantity of silver articles and a mass of valuable plate. Lord Pomphrey and myself had met the burglars upon the road, had supplied them with the means of continuing their flight, had entered into conversation with them, and returned their polite farewells.
“We joined the pursuit, all thoughts of golf submerged in the bosom of Lord Pomphrey, beneath the boiling lava-flood of rage and indignation. To be robbed is bad; to be placed in the position of confederate to the robbers, unknowing aider and abettor of their nefarious flight, is maddening. The three polite individuals in the large, light green motor-car have not, up to the present, been traced. One small spoon of the Apostle-headed kind, found by the roadside where they replaced their own deflated tire, with that so generously bestowed upon them by Lord Pomphrey, is the only clue so far.
“A distressin’ experience, dear fellars!—confoundedly so in the estimation of this humble individual. Thanks, Iwilltake another of those long Dutch cigars and a Scotch, with Hebinaris’—the new mineral water, do you foller me?—with iridescent bubbles that snap at your nose. My love to you, dear fellars, and a Happy New Year!�