The Burglars' Club Part 20

"Good. I want you to let me take your place."

Parker opened his eyes very wide. "Beg pardon, sir," he said, feeling sure he had misunderstood the last remark.

"I want to take your place as footman in Denton House while the Persians are there. If you will help me to do so, Parker, there's ten pounds for you."

Parker scratched his head. "I should like the ten pounds, sir; but I don't see how I'm to get it. They'd never mistake you for me, sir, though we are about the same build. Mr. Bradshaw would spot the difference at once."

"Who is Mr. Bradshaw?"

"The butler, sir. He's pretty well left in charge of the house."

"Listen, Parker. The Prince comes the day after to-morrow. At eleven o'clock in the morning of that day you've got to be taken ill. Tell Bradshaw you can't work, and you think it's something infectious. Tell him that your cousin, James Finny, who is only staying on with me till he hears of a place, would jump at the job. Send me word, and I will turn up at once."

"Mr. Bradshaw might know you, sir."

"I don't think so. I've never been at the house. Besides, I shall shave off my moustache. Anyway, Parker, I'll take care you lose nothing by it, even if I should be found out."

John Parker left a quarter of an hour later, ten pounds richer than he came. In his pocket he carried a letter which eventually reached Mr.

Rivers by special messenger at noon on the 10th. It ran:

DEAR JAMES,--Come immediately. I am ill, and Mr.

Bradshaw says you can take my place.--Your loving cousin,

JOHN PARKER.

With his moustache shaved off, and attired in a painfully respectable ready-made suit, Rivers presented himself at Denton House at one o'clock. He found Mr. Bradshaw in a highly-wrought condition.

"So you're Parker's cousin? A pretty mess he's landed me in!"

"I hope he's not very bad, sir."

"I hope he is. I hope he'll die," said Mr. Bradshaw vengefully. "You've lived with Mr. Rivers?"

"Yes, sir."

"Can you announce visitors?"

"Yes, sir."

"Go to that door, and announce the Lord Mayor."

Rivers--or, rather, James Finny--flung open the door, and announced in stentorian accents, "His Wors.h.i.+p the Lord Mayor of London."

"You ha.s.s!" shouted Mr. Bradshaw. "You only wors.h.i.+p him when you're in the prisoners' box. I 'spect that's where you met him. Call him 'his Lords.h.i.+p' when he's a-wisitin'. Now again."

James obeyed.

"Bravo--that's better!" said another voice. It proceeded from a mite of a man who had approached noiselessly, and who now stood rubbing his hands approvingly. "But it's rather late for rehearsals, Mr. Bradshaw, isn't it?" he added.

"Parker's taken ill," said Mr. Bradshaw savagely. "He's sent this screw to take his place."

"So thoughtful of Parker," murmured the little man. "What's your name, and where do you come from?" addressing the candidate for office.

"James Finny, sir--from Mr. Birket Rivers."

"Mr. Birket Rivers," reflected the other. "Ah, to be sure--Mr. Birket Rivers, the young millionaire. Drives a team of spanking bays at the Four-in-Hand meets. Attache at Constantinople, or something. Came into money and left the Service. Wishes he'd stopped in it, I believe. A very active young gentleman. Oh, yes, I've heard of your master--your late master, James Finny."

The little man was studying him intently all the time. Then he fixed his eyes on Rivers' hands. He lifted the right one, looked at it, and pa.s.sed on.

There was a loud ring, and a footman entered with "Please, Mr. Bradshaw, there's the gentlemen come from the hemba.s.sy."

The butler bustled to the door. "Go up to Parker's room, and change into his things at once, and then come down to me in the 'all," he said to Rivers.

"Yes, sir," Rivers replied. "Beg pardon, Mr. Bradshaw, who was that small gentleman wot just left us?"

"That small gentleman," said Mr. Bradshaw, with swelling dignity, "is Mr. Marvell, from Scotland Yard; so you'd better be careful, Finny."

Prince Ali Azim, accompanied by the Vizier and a numerous suite, arrived that afternoon, and the whole household was thenceforth kept busy attending to the wants, numerous and peculiar, of the Persians. Rivers'

chief duties were to attend to the hall door, and to help to wait at meals. He did his work to the satisfaction of Mr. Bradshaw, and never a day pa.s.sed without Mr. Marvell, who was installed as the protecting angel of the establishment, staring fixedly at him, and then pa.s.sing some word of commendation in a tone that brought the blood to his face.

"A shocking habit you have of blus.h.i.+ng, James Finny," the little man would say as he toddled away.

And all the time the new footman was trying to find out where the Order of the Lion and the Sun was kept.

It was the 12th before he ascertained that it was in one of three despatch boxes kept in a bookcase in the library.

The Burglars' meeting took place on the 13th. He must purloin it before then--that very night, if possible.

At five o'clock the Vizier was taken ill.

"Some of Parker's leavin's, I'll be bound," said Mr. Bradshaw. "Same symtims. Looks all right, and talks despairin' of pains an' s.h.i.+vers.

Won't have a doctor, neither. If the Wizzer pipes out, Finny, your preshus cousin'll be responsible."

At 8 p.m. the Prince and his suite, with the exception of the invalid Vizier, set out for the Alhambra and supper at the Carlton. Mr.

Marvell, as usual, followed closely in their wake.

At nine o'clock James Finny was off duty. "Now or never," he thought. He watched his opportunity, and then, unperceived, entered the library, and there hid himself behind a curtain, intending to wait till the household was asleep, and then to open the despatch box from his bunch of skeleton keys. He had been there perhaps half an hour when the door opened, and, to his amazement, the Vizier entered. He was followed by a servant bringing coffee and cigarettes. There were cups for two.

The minutes pa.s.sed slowly. The Vizier looked impatiently at the clock, then strode up to one of the windows, pulled back the heavy curtain, raised the blind, and looked out. Rivers' pulses quickened. What if the Vizier were to come to his window?

"Ha!" exclaimed the Persian, replacing the curtain, and resuming his seat.

The door opened, and a bem.u.f.fled object made its appearance. The Vizier rose. The servant withdrew, and the object emerged from its wraps.

Rivers knew the man at once. He had met him at Constantinople. It was Count Moranoff.

The Vizier bowed.

The newcomer responded, and then gave a sigh of relief.