At half-past nine Sir Thomas drove down to the club, and, when he reached the door, dismissed the coachman. "I shall walk back, Morton," he said. "I shan\'t want you again this evening. Don\'t let them sit up for me. I mayn\'t be home till two in the morning."
But as soon as the coachman had had full time to get back again in perfect safety, Sir Thomas walked straight down the club steps once more, and up the Promenade, and all the way to Futteypoor Lodge. When he got there, he opened the door silently with his latch-key, shut it again without the slightest noise, and walked on tip-toe into the library. It was an awkward sort of thing to do, certainly, but Sir Thomas was convinced in his own mind[Pg 324] that he ought to do it. He wheeled an easy chair into the recess by the window, in front of which the curtains were drawn, arranged the folds so that he could see easily into the room by the slit between them, and sat down patiently to explore this mystery to the very bottom.
Sir Thomas was extremely loth in his own mind to suspect anybody; and yet it was quite clear that some one or other must have taken the missing sovereigns. Twice over money had been extracted. It couldn\'t have been cook, of that he felt certain; nor Wilkins either. Very respectable woman, cook—very respectable butler, Wilkins. Not Morton; oh dear no, quite impossible, certainly not Morton. Not the housemaid, or the boy: obviously neither; well-conducted young people, every one of them. But who the dickens could it be then? for certainly somebody had taken the money. The good old Colonel felt in his heart that for the sake of everybody\'s peace of mind it was his bounden duty to discover the real culprit before saying a single word to anybody about it.
There was something very ridiculous, of course, not to say undignified and absurd, in the idea of an elderly field officer, late in Her Majesty\'s service, sitting thus for hour after hour stealthily behind his own curtains, in the dark, as if he were a thief or a burglar, waiting to see whether anybody came to open his devonport. Sir Thomas grew decidedly wearied as he watched and waited, and but for his strong sense of the duty imposed upon him of tracking the guilty person, he would once or twice in the course of the evening have given up the quest from sheer disgust and annoyance at the absurdity of the position. But no; he must find out who had done it: so there he sat, as motionless as a cat watching a mouse-hole, with his eye turned always in the direction of the devonport, through the slight slit between the folded curtains.
Ten o\'clock struck upon the clock on the mantelpiece—half-past ten—eleven. Sir Thomas stretched his legs,[Pg 325] yawned, and muttered audibly, "Confounded slow, really." Half-past eleven. Sir Thomas went over noiselessly to the side table, where the decanters were standing, and helped himself to a brandy and seltzer, squeezing down the cork of the bottle carefully with his thumb, to prevent its popping, till all the gas had escaped piecemeal. Then he crept back, still noiselessly, feeling more like a convicted thief himself than a Knight Commander of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath, and wondering when the deuce this pilfering lock-breaker was going to begin his nightly depredations. Not till after Harry came back most likely. The thief, whoever he or she was, would probably be afraid to venture into the library while there was still a chance of Harry returning unexpectedly and disturbing the whole procedure. But when once Harry had gone to bed, they would all have heard from Morton that Sir Thomas was going to be out late, and the thief would then doubtless seize so good an opportunity of helping himself unperceived to the counted sovereigns.
About half past eleven, there was a sound of steps upon the garden-walk, and Harry\'s voice could be heard audibly through the half-open window. The colonel caught the very words against his will. Harry was talking with Tom Whitmarsh, who had walked round to see him home; his voice was a little thick, as if with wine, and he seemed terribly excited (to judge by his accent) about something or other that had just happened.
"Good night, Tom," the young man was saying, with an outward show of carelessness barely concealing a great deal of underlying irritation. "I\'ll pay you up what I lost to-morrow or the next day. You shall have your money, don\'t be afraid about it."
"Oh, it\'s all right," Tom Whitmarsh\'s voice answered in an offhand fashion. "Pay me whenever you like, you know, Woolrych. It doesn\'t matter to me when you pay me, this year or next year, so long as I get it sooner or later."[Pg 326]
Sir Thomas listened with a sinking heart. "Play," he thought to himself. "Play, play, play, already! It was his father\'s curse, poor fellow, and I hope it won\'t be Harry\'s. It\'s some comfort to think, anyhow, that it\'s only billiards."
"Well, good night, Tom," Harry went on, ringing the bell as he spoke.
"Good night, Harry. I hope next time the cards won\'t go so persistently against you."
The cards! Phew! That was bad indeed. Sir Thomas started. He didn\'t object to a quiet after-dinner rubber on his own account, naturally: but this wasn\'t whist; oh, no; nothing of the sort. This was evidently serious playing. He drew a long breath, and felt he must talk very decidedly about the matter to Harry to-morrow morning.
"Is my uncle home yet, Wilkins?"
"No, sir; he said he wouldn\'t be back probably till two o\'clock, and we wasn\'t to sit up for him."
"All right then. Give me a light for a minute in the library. I\'ll take a seltzer before I go upstairs, just to steady me."
Sir Thomas almost laughed outright. This was really too ridiculous. Suppose, after all the waiting, Harry was to come over and discover him sitting there in the darkness by the window, what a pretty figure he would cut before him. And besides, the whole thing would have to come out then, and after all the thief would never be discovered and punished. The Colonel grew hot and red in the face, and began to wish to goodness he hadn\'t in the firs............