Part 3

It was indeed most horrible to every one present. Miss Euphemia afterwards declared to Mrs John that she felt ready to sink through the floor, and fervently wished that she could have done so.

‘The drawer has certainly been rummaged by some one,’ the Squire said gravely.

‘Anything valuable missing?’ asked the detective, notebook in hand.

‘Yes—a considerable sum of money in notes and gold.’

‘Ah, I daresay our friend will be able to give us an account of the notes and gold,’ was the playful comment of Mr Kidman.

‘This indignity is insufferable,’ said the Major stiffly; ‘and I cannot understand, Elliott, why you should hesitate for a moment to release me from this degrading position. You know me; you know how easily my identity can be established. You know nothing of this man beyond his own assertion. How can you tell that he is not a confederate of the thieves, and his present action a ruse to give them time to escape?’

‘That’s not bad, captain,’ rejoined the detective with an admiring smile. ‘But these letters—which you will excuse me taking from your pocket—will show that one part of my statement is correct.—Do they belong to you, sir?’

He handed the three fatal letters to the Squire, who hastily glanced at them, whilst his wife stood on one side of him and Mrs John on the other.

‘Why, that is the letter which I received!’ observed Mrs Joseph with acerbity.

‘And that is mine; and the other is the one which has upset poor dear Nellie so much!’ cried Mrs John.

‘It was to ask you again to allow me to destroy those confounded letters, that I came to seek you, Squire, thinking that I might find you here alone after dinner,’ the Major explained. ‘I heard some one moving about the room, and, concluding that it was you, knocked two or three times. Getting no answer, I entered, but found nobody here. As the window was open, it occurred to me that you might have stepped out on the terrace, and I looked for you. Of course you were not there, but it must have been then that this man saw me.’

‘No doubt,’ answered the Squire slowly; ‘but he found you at my drawer.’

‘My anxiety to prevent a scandal to the family tempted me to take back my letters—for they are mine—and burn them without your leave. I knew that you would pardon me when you heard the explanation which you will have to-morrow.’

Whilst the Major spoke, the Squire was frowning.

‘According to your own statement, Major Dawkins, your conduct has not been creditable to you as an honourable man.’

‘I acted for the best, as you would see if you would give me leave to speak to you in private.’

They were interrupted and startled by the report of two pistol-shots in the grounds. Presently a footman rushed in with the information that they had caught a man who had jumped out of one of the windows, and he had fired upon them.

‘I see the whole thing,’ exclaimed the Major excitedly. ‘It was the thief who was in here when I knocked; and whilst you, sir, _you_, have been insulting me and making a fool of yourself—if you _are_ a detective—you have given him the opportunity to ransack the house!’

Mr Kidman looked puzzled, but he acted promptly. He removed the handcuffs, saying humbly: ‘I beg pardon, sir; but mistakes will happen. I must catch that man—he is a desperate card, and uses his revolver freely.’ He darted out to the terrace and disappeared.

The Squire and Maynard immediately followed. John Elliott was too timid, and the Major too indignant at the treatment to which he had been subjected, to take any part in the pursuit. After pulling himself and his ruffled garments together, he addressed his hostess, Mrs Joseph: ‘I presume, madam, I may now retire?’

The lady bowed a little awkwardly, feeling some compunction for his sufferings. She hoped that a good night’s rest would enable him to laugh at this painful incident, if not to forget it.

‘An affair of this sort does not readily become a subject of mirth to the victim. But thanks for your kind wishes.’

He was about to retire, when Squire Elliott and Maynard returned.

‘It’s all right, Major. They have got the scoundrel fast bound, and he has hurt no one but himself. There are my notes and gold, which we have just taken from his pocket.’

‘How did it all happen?’ was the eager exclamation of the ladies.

‘I offer you my cordial congratulations,’ added the Major drily.

‘It happened exactly as the Major surmised; and we have to thank Nellie’s headache, or whatever has kept her upstairs, for the timely discovery of the burglar. She was going into her dressing-room, and on opening the door, saw a man busy with her jewel-case. She knew what that meant—closed the door and locked it. She ran to the window and screamed out “Thieves!” The fellow took the alarm, and having the window open in readiness for such an emergency, he flung out a bundle which he had prepared. Then he slipped over the ledge, and let himself drop to the ground; but he had miscalculated the distance, and broke his leg in the fall. Two of our men, who had heard Nellie scream, were upon him before he could attempt to rise. He fired, but they had got his arms up in the air; so no harm was done; and he is safe for ten or fifteen years.’

‘And the bundle—what was in it?’ anxiously inquired the Squire’s wife.

‘A lot of trinkets and things, which are scattered all over the place, as the bundle in falling struck the branch of a hawthorn and was torn open. I have sent Parker to look after them; but we must go out ourselves.’

The ladies, whose looks of deep concern indicated how much they were interested in the search, eagerly proposed to accompany the gentlemen. Hats and shawls were quickly procured, and the whole party went forth. Nellie stole shyly down from her room and joined her friends—much to the delight of Maynard, although he endeavoured to appear cold and indifferent. She, too, wore a mask of indifference. But both were conscious that it was a mask, and that each was at heart earnestly wishing that the other would say something which would lead to an explanation. Without words, however, they somehow knew that the reconciliation would come in the morning.

The Major’s presence was taken as a matter of course; for, in the excitement of the moment, his banishment was forgotten by every one except himself. He silently took his place as the special attendant of Miss Euphemia, who received his attentions as graciously as if the incident of the morning had not occurred. He was peculiarly fortunate in being the finder of most of her stolen valuables, which won him additional favour. Nearly everything was found, and a further search was to be made in the morning. So, everybody retired to rest that night with feelings of thankfulness for having had such a singular escape from heavy loss.

* * * * *

In the morning, there were general inquiries for the Major. His misfortunes of the previous night had toned down the anger which had been felt regarding him, and the idea now was that they had been too hard upon the well-meaning little man. All—and especially the Squire—would have been pleased to see him in his usual place at table. But as he did not appear, the only inference that could be drawn was that he felt too much hurt to make any advances.

They were rising from the table and preparing for the unpleasant business of the day, when there was a sound of carriage-wheels, followed by a loud ring at the hall-bell.

‘That’s Willis,’ said the Squire, moving to the window and looking out, after casting a glance of satisfaction at his wife and at his sister-in-law.

His assertion was immediately confirmed by the entrance of Parker to announce the visitor, who, without ceremony, had closely followed the butler.

After hurried greetings were over, Willis said abruptly: ‘I want to get back to town to-night, and I have come down here in consequence of a telegram from Dawkins, who tells me that you have all got into a nonsensical squabble owing to his interference with the intention of setting you right.’

‘I thoroughly agree with you, Willis—it is a nonsensical squabble, but who the deuce is to blame for it?’ said the Squire with a good-natured laugh.

‘Glad to hear you ask the question,’ rejoined Willis, who, being a plain and practical person, came to the main point at once. ‘The first thing you have got to understand is that Dawkins is not to blame; the next thing you have got to understand is that I am the party you have got to blow up. But before you begin with me, you had better take my good-natured brother-in-law to task, and before you do that, I want to have a few words with you, John Elliott.’

‘You had better speak out whatever you have to say here,’ muttered Elliott of Arrowby with a painfully feeble assumption of haughtiness.

‘Would you like that, Sophy?’ said Willis, addressing his sister, Mrs John.

‘I think I understand the whole position, Matt,’ she replied. ‘Indeed, I think we all understand it now. The poor Major blundered about his letters; we all got the wrong ones, and misinterpreted their meaning. We need not go into the details, for, as you know, they would be painful to me as well as to John. Take Joe away with you, and get him to express to the Major the regret that we all feel for the annoyance we have caused him.’

‘Come along,’ said the Squire promptly. ‘We’ll pacify him somehow.’ As he was passing his wife, he whispered to her: ‘I hope you are satisfied now, Kitty;’ and she gave an approving nod. ‘But I wish he had been down with us to breakfast.’

The Squire and Matt Willis proceeded to the library; and there a very few additional words satisfied the former that the unfortunate friend of the family had been trying to discharge a disagreeable duty which he thought himself bound to undertake.

The Major was hurt enough by the awkward position in which he was placed; but that was not the reason why he kept to his chamber. He was not thinking of breakfast or the misunderstanding with his friends. Still, in his dressing-gown he was pacing the floor in a state of cruel distress. His hair was tossed about wildly and—it was of a ghastly gray-green colour! That wicked burglar had taken away the precious Russian leather case—no doubt thinking it contained jewelry—and it had not been amongst the articles found last night. Without it, the Major could not perform his toilet. This was the cruellest blow of all to the poor man. It was impossible for him to appear before any one in his present guise; and he even avoided the mirrors, lest he should catch sight of his own head. Hollis had been despatched to make diligent search in every spot where the case might have fallen; and his master was waiting in agony for the result. A knock at the door.—Ah, there he is at last! No, it was only Parker to say that Mr Willis had arrived, and was with the Squire in the library waiting for Major Dawkins.

‘Make my excuses, please, and say that I cannot go down yet, but will be with them as soon as possible.’

A quarter of an hour elapsed, and another message came; then another more urgent, and a fourth more urgent still. The Major wished he could shave his head; it would be more presentable then than as it was now. He was bemoaning the ill-luck or stupidity of Hollis, when the Squire himself arrived at the door.

‘What is the matter, Dawkins? We are all waiting for you. Are you ill?’

‘Yes, yes; I am ill; but I will be with you as soon as I can.’

‘Then open the door and let me shake hands with you.’

‘Not just now, not just now. I’ll come and shake hands with you as much as you like, in half an hour or so,’ was the agitated response.

‘Well, as you please; but I want to ask you to forget yesterday. Willis has explained everything, and your letters are correctly understood now. My wife is sorry that she did not take in the right meaning of the one which fell into her hands; Nellie appreciates your desire to forewarn her against any stupid gossip that fool Cousin John might spread; Mrs John thinks it was kind of you to wish to put her husband right, and he has got a lesson which he will not forget in a hurry. But she regards the whole affair as a good joke. You see, all is well; so come away at once and complete the party.’

‘I am delighted; but please do excuse me, Squire. I _can’t_ come at once,’ groaned the Major, passing his hand shudderingly through the besmirched hair.

‘Very well, then, as soon as you can; you will find us somewhere about the lawn.’ And the Squire, wondering what the Major’s curious malady could be, rejoined his friends.

At last Hollis did knock at the door, bringing the joyful tidings that he had found the case—sticking between two branches of the hawthorn which had wrecked the burglar’s bundle. He had been about to abandon the search, when, happening to look up, he saw it where he never would have thought of looking for it.

The Major dressed with more than usual care, gave Hollis orders to pack up, as they were to leave that day; and then, holding himself as erect as if on parade, he proceeded in the direction of the lawn with the firm determination to bid his host and hostess good-bye. But on his way he encountered Miss Euphemia, whose gold-rimmed _pince-nez_ glittered with pleasure at sight of him. ‘I _am_ so delighted to see you, Major. I—we were all afraid, that you were seriously ill.’

‘No; not seriously ill, but considerably bothered,’ he responded uncomfortably.

‘Of course you must have been; but thank goodness it is all over now. The Squire and all the others are most anxious to make amends to you for the vexation you have endured so nobly. He wants you to stay, and has sent me to persuade you not to say no.’

‘Stay!—It is impossible—quite impossible.’

‘Oh, but you really must not bear malice—they made a mistake, and everybody does so sometimes.’ She was smiling coaxingly, and looked a different being from the lady who had surveyed him through her glasses so severely yesterday.

‘I respect the family as much as ever; but I cannot remain.’

‘Oh, do—to please me.’

He looked at her and fancied he saw a blush. ‘To please _you_, I would stay for ever,’ he answered gallantly; ‘but’——

‘Then stay—for ever!’ she interrupted with emphasis.

He opened his eyes. Did he understand her? Could she be serious? Had the time come for him to speak?

‘Do you mean that it would be a particular pleasure to you if I remained—for _your_ sake?’

‘It would,’ she answered in a low voice.

‘Then I understand,’ he said, taking her hand, ‘_this_ is my consolation for all the afflictions of yesterday?’ She did not say no; and he, drawing her arm within his, continued: ‘I am a happy man, although again a captive.’

The announcement of their engagement added much to the happiness which everybody felt in the reconciliations effected that morning. There was a merry twinkle in the Squire’s eyes. He was a cunning fellow when prompted by his wife, and had guessed what would happen when he chose Miss Euphemia as his ambassador to the Major. The only person who felt in the least uncomfortable was John Elliott of Arrowby, who was now confessedly the originator of all the mischief. The only reproach he had to endure from his wife was the expression accompanied by a pitying smile, ‘Poor John!’

There were festivities on a grand scale at Todhurst when Nellie and Maynard were wedded; but the marriage of Euphemia Panton and Major Dawkins was a very quiet affair—as the lady thought. She had only three bridesmaids and about twenty other friends to witness the ceremony. The Major was content to be supported by an old companion in arms and Matthew Willis.

The happy couple disappeared for six months. On returning to England, their first visit was to Todhurst. For a moment the Squire and his wife found it difficult to recognise their old friends. The Major was now a quiet elderly-looking gentleman with gray hair and moustache; and Mrs Dawkins was a subdued-looking lady, whose hair suggested that she had certainly arrived at years of discretion. They had both come to accept with resignation the inevitable signs that time passes and old age draws on; and they were happy. They had not been so in the days when they vainly struggled to hide the progress of years. The Major could never forget that morning of agony when the Russian leather case could not be found. Probably his account of it, combined with the fact that it was no longer possible to hide from each other their dabblings in the fine arts, helped his wife to agree with him that it was best to make no attempt to improve upon nature. The Major had given up all his youthful ways, much to his own comfort; and he was firmly resolved never again to play the part of the officious friend of the family.

THE MONTH: SCIENCE AND ARTS.

One of the most important applications of photography is the production of printing-blocks, which, under various names, are in great request for book and newspaper illustration. It is not generally known that some of the finest illustrations which adorn high-class magazines are produced without the intervention of the engraver at any stage of the process. They are photographed direct from drawings, in some cases even from nature; and from the photograph a printing-block ready for the press is produced automatically. Oil-paintings and water-colour drawings can also be thus reproduced with the greatest fidelity. A few years back, this was impossible, for the photograph did not translate the colours in their true tone-relation to one another. Thus, yellow and red would be reproduced as black, while blue would photograph white. All this has been changed by the introduction of what is known as the isochromatic process, by which colours are rendered as a skilful artist working in Indian ink or blacklead pencil would render them.

As an outcome of this capacity of the photographic chemicals, the Royal Academy of Arts has made a new departure in the issue of an Illustrated Catalogue of the principal works exhibited at Burlington House. This is a handsome folio volume, containing one hundred and fifty fac-similes of pictures by Royal Academicians and outsiders. It is not only precious as a work of art, for every touch of the painter’s brush is recognised and reproduced, but it forms a valuable record for future reference. The particular system adopted is that known as the Goupil _photogravure_ process, which is worked by Messrs Boussod Valadon & Company of Paris and London. This firm have published in a similar manner selected pictures from the Paris Salons of the last two years; and we are glad that our Academy authorities have followed such a good example.

Four crematory furnaces are in course of erection at the far-famed Parisian cemetery, Père Lachaise, and will be ready for operation in a short time. These furnaces, which have the outward appearance of ornamental ovens, are built on the model of those in use at Rome and Milan. The cost of cremation will be fifteen francs only—to rich and poor alike. It is said that already sculptors and metal-workers are busy in designing and producing cinerary urns for the preservation of the ashes from these furnaces. These vessels will, at the option of the relatives of the dead, be removed to family vaults, or will be deposited in a building which is to be erected by the city of Paris for their reception.

The late discussion in the _Times_ as to the permanence of water-colour drawings has led the Lords of the Committee of Council on Education to appoint a Commission to inquire into the whole subject, under the efficient chairmanship of Sir F. Leighton, the President of the Royal Academy. With him will work several well-known artists. Captain Abney and Dr Russell, who for some time have been engaged in testing the action of light upon pigments, will act as scientific advisers to the Commission.

It is reported that the recent revival of archæological research in Italy is continually being hampered by the extortionate demands of proprietors on whose lands excavations are desirable. It is also alleged that a large trade has been organised in the manufacture of sham antiquities. Senator Fiorelli, the head of the Archæological Department, seeks to put a stop to these abuses by the passage of a law which will place excavations under state supervision and by official permission only. It is also suggested that the smaller antiquities should only be admitted to be genuine after due examination and the attachment of some form of official stamp or seal.

The London Chamber of Commerce have under their consideration the establishment in the metropolis of Commercial Museums, or, as they might be termed, permanent exhibitions, such as are found in Holland, Belgium, Germany, France, Switzerland, and other countries. With this view, they have deputed their secretary, Mr Kenrick Murray, to visit the Museums of the chief commercial centres on the Continent. They have instructed him to report to them upon the area of the buildings used for the purpose, their financial organisation and annual expenditure, the number of visitors they receive, and their presumed effect upon the trades of the country in which they are situated. Mr Murray will bear Foreign Office introductions to the Queen’s representatives in the different countries which he will visit, and will, therefore, have every facility for carrying out a most important commission.