Mr. Richard Hilton contemplated his notes with disgust. "I never could rely on books," he said. "There's nothing for it but to find out for myself. The present man probably keeps it where any other common-sense fellow would. He'll have a library, so it may be there. He's a good liver, so it may be in a secret bin in his wine cellar; he's a sportsman, so it may be in a gun-case under his bed. I shall have to look round and find out. Where does he live?"

His lordship's town residence was Shipley House, Kensington Gore. Hilton took a walk in that direction. The house looked as unpromising and unsympathetic a subject for robbery as a metropolitan magistrate could have wished. The spiked railings in front and the high wall at the back would have suggested to most people the impossibility of the enterprise; but Mr. Hilton simply noted these items with interest, and then adjourned to a light lunch at his club to think the matter out.

It was one o'clock in the morning when Mr. Hilton scaled the wall at the rear of the Lord Chancellor's house. Though it was nine feet high, it presented no difficulties to an ex-lieutenant in the navy; but he got over carefully, for he was in evening dress, believing that to be the safest disguise for a general burglar. He dropped lightly on the turf, and then made his way across to the house and commenced a careful inspection of the bas.e.m.e.nt windows. To his intense surprise, he found the lower sash of one of them to be open. This astonishing piece of good luck meant the saving of at least an hour. With a cheerful heart he entered the house, finding his way by the electric flashlight which he carried.

His pa.s.sage to the great hall upstairs was easy. Here he halted to take his bearings. He was at the foot of the marble stairs for which Shipley House was famous. Once they had stood in front of Nero's villa at Antium; but, oblivious of his historic surroundings, Mr. Richard Hilton stood wondering which of the four doors on his left led to the library.

One after another he cautiously opened them, only to find living or reception rooms. He crossed the hall, and got into the billiard-room.

Where on earth was the Lord Chancellor's den? Ah! those heavy curtains under the staircase. He pa.s.sed through them. There was a short pa.s.sage, with a door at the end. Hush! what was that? He listened intently. It was nothing--merely nervous fancy. He turned the handle of the door, and entered.

He was in the Lord Chancellor's library. But, Heavens! he was not there alone.

For a moment he drew back in dismay; but the singularity of the other man's occupation arrested him.

He was kneeling on the floor before the wall at the far end of the room.

He had a lamp or candle by his side. What on earth was he doing? Had he surprised the Lord High Chancellor, the keeper of the King of England's conscience, worshipping by stealth at some pagan shrine?

What were the rites he was performing? Curiosity impelled Mr. Hilton forward. As he drew nearer, the situation unfolded itself. He had done the Lord Chancellor an injustice. It was not he.

A man was kneeling before a safe built into the wall. He was drilling holes into the door by the light of a lamp.

He was a real burglar!

The humour of the situation struck Mr. Hilton so keenly that he nearly laughed. For some time he watched the operation, expecting each moment to be discovered. Then, as the man continued absorbed in his work, Mr.

Hilton sank noiselessly into an easy chair behind him. To prepare for contingencies, his hand had stolen to his coat pocket, and now held a small revolver.

For half an hour longer he continued to admire the businesslike methods of the burglar. The door of the safe had now been pierced through all round the lock. The man turned to reach another tool. In so doing his eye caught sight of a patent leather boot and a trouser leg, where before there had been empty s.p.a.ce. The phenomenon fascinated him. He slowly turned his head, following the clue upward until his eyes were level with the barrel of Mr. Hilton's revolver. His jaw fell, and he stiffened.

"Please keep as you are for a minute," said a low voice from behind the weapon. "I wish you to understand the situation. There is no immediate cause for anxiety. I am--er--a friend in disguise. You may go on with your most interesting work. I shall give no alarm. Do you understand?"

"Who the blazes are you?" asked the burglar.

"Your curiosity is natural. I am in your own n.o.ble profession--a top-sawyer or a swell mobsman, I forget which; but I have the certificate at home."

"None of yer gammon," said the burglar. "Can't you put that thing down an' say wot yer game is."

"William," Mr. Hilton replied, "I wish you clearly to understand that you have nothing at all to do with my game. You go on drilling those nice little holes. When you've got that door open we'll discuss matters further. Please proceed."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'YOU MAY GO ON WITH YOUR MOST INTERESTING WORK.'"

(_p. 141._)]

"D'you take me for a mug?" asked the burglar defiantly.

"I shall, if you don't go on with your work. This instrument goes off on the slightest provocation, and the wound it makes is very painful."

The burglar turned, and resumed his work; but he did not seem to have much heart in it, nor to derive much encouragement from Mr. Hilton's occasional promptings. Every now and then he looked round suspiciously.

Another half-hour pa.s.sed before he had prized the bolts back, and the door was open.

For the moment the two men forgot everything but their curiosity, and both looked anxiously inside. Every shelf and pigeon-hole was rummaged, but there was nothing but letters and doc.u.ments. There were two drawers below. The locks of these had to be picked. In the last one the burglar pounced on a bag of money and some notes.

"Got 'im!" he cried triumphantly.

"What?"

"Two 'underd an' fifty quid. 'E gets it on the fust of ev'ry month to pay 'is washin' bill."

"How did you know that?"

"From a pal at the bank. I've 'ad this in my eye for a year or more, but I've mos'ly been a-doin' time since I----" He stopped short suddenly, evidently regretting his outburst of confidence.

"Now put that money back," said Mr. Hilton.

"Wot for?"

"Because I tell you."

"Arfter all the trouble I've 'ad? No bloomin' fear."

"Put it back. You shan't lose by it."

"Wot d'ye mean?"

"I'm looking for something myself. It isn't in the safe, but it may be in some other drawer in the room. If I find it I'll give you 250 myself."

"Name o'Morgan, or am I speakin' to Lord Rothschild?" said the burglar sarcastically. "You don't 'appen to 'ave the c.h.i.n.k on you?"

"I haven't; but see, you can have this watch and chain, and my sovereign purse, and these links, and I think--yes, here's a tenner. You can have this lot till I give you the money."

The burglar was impressed.

"Cap'n," he said, "you've a free an' easy way in 'andlin' walubles wot soots me down to the ground. I wish we could 'ave met sooner. It would 'ave saved my ole woman many a weary six months. But wot's the need to leave the c.h.i.n.k? S'pose we takes the bag, an' leaves the notes?"

"You've got to leave the lot, William," said Mr. Hilton decisively.

The burglar turned thoughtfully away from the safe. "Wot is it you're lookin' for?" he asked. "'As the guv'n'r cut you orf with a bob, an' are you a-goin' to alter the ole bloke's will?"

"I'm looking for a seal."

"Stuffed?" asked William, with a sportsman's interest.

"No. A seal for stamping wax. It's a big one, made of silver, and about six inches across. Let's try these drawers in the desk."

There were six of them. Four were open, the other two locked. It took some time to open these. They were full of legal matter. Then they turned their attention to a set below some bookshelves. While the burglar was busy with the locks Hilton turned over the papers on the desk. The first was headed, "House of Lords: Gibbins _v._ Gibbins.

Judgment of Lord Ravy." Another read, "Gibbins _v._ Gibbins. Judgment of Lord McTaughtun." Beside them was the half-written judgment of the Lord Chancellor himself.

Mr. Richard Hilton looked at these legal feats without interest.

Mechanically he lifted the lid of the desk. A large leather case fitted exactly into the compartment below. He pulled it out. It was stamped with the royal arms.

"Here. Cut this, please."