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 off-hand
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." 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 first place let himself in, in any way, for
this ridiculous amateur detective business. But Harry drank his seltzer standing by the side table, with no brandy,
either; that was a good thing, no brandy. If he'd taken brandy, too, in
his present excited condition, when he'd already certainly had quite as
much as was at all good for him, Sir Thomas would have been justly and
seriously angry. But, after all, Harry was a good boy at bottom, and
knew how to avoid such ugly habits. He took his seltzer and his bedroom
candle. Wilkins turned out the light in the room, and Harry went
upstairs by himself immediately. Then Wilkins turned the key in the library door, and the old gentleman
began to reflect that this was really a most uncomfortable position for
him to be left in. Suppose they locked him in there till to-morrow
morning! Ah! happy thought; if the worst came to the worst he could get
out of the library window and let himself in at the front door by means
of his latch-key. The servants all filed upstairs, one by one, in an irregular procession;
their feet died away gradually upon the upper landings, and a solemn
silence came at last over the whole household. Sir Thomas's heart began
to beat faster: the excitement of plot interest was growing stronger
upon him. This was the time the thief would surely choose to open the
devonport. He should know now within twenty minutes which it was of all
his people, whom he trusted so implicitly, that was really robbing him. And he treated them all so kindly, too. Ha, the rascal! he should catch
it well, that he should, whoever he was, as soon as ever Sir Thomas
discovered him. Not if it were Wilkins, though; not if it were Wilkins. Sir Thomas hoped
it wasn't really that excellent fellow Wilkins. A good old tried and
trusty servant. If any unexpected financial difficulties----

Hush, hush! Quietly now. A step upon the landing. Coming down noiselessly, noiselessly, noiselessly. Not Wilkins; not
heavy enough for him, surely; no, no, a woman's step, so very light, so
light and noiseless. Sir Thomas really hoped in his heart it wasn't that
pretty delicate-looking girl, the new housemaid. If it was, by Jove,
yes, he'd give her a good lecture then and there, that very minute,
about it, offer to pay her passage quietly out to Canada, and--recommend
her to get married decently, to some good young fellow, on the earliest
possible opportunity. The key turned once more in the lock, and then the door opened
stealthily. Somebody glided like a ghost into the middle of the room. Sir Thomas, gazing intently through the slit in the curtains, murmured
to himself that now at last he should fairly discover the confounded
rascal. Ha! How absurd! He could hardly help laughing once more at the
ridiculous collapse to his high-wrought expectations. And yet he
restrained himself. It was only Harry! Harry come down, candle in hand,
no doubt to get another glass of seltzer. The Colonel hoped not with
brandy. No; not with brandy. He put the glass up to his dry lips--Sir
Thomas could see they were dry and feverish even from that distance;
horrid thing, this gambling!--and he drained it off at a gulp, like a
thirsty man who has tasted no liquor since early morning. Then he took up his candle again, and turned--not to the door. Oh, no. The old gentleman watched him now with singular curiosity, for he was
walking not to the door, but over in the direction of the suspected
devonport. Sir Thomas could hardly even then guess at the truth. It
wasn't, no it wasn't, it couldn't be Harry! not Harry that ... that
borrowed the money! The young man took a piece of stout wire from his pocket with a terrible
look of despair and agony. Sir Thomas's heart melted within him as he
beheld it. He twisted the wire about in the lock with a dexterous
pressure, and it opened easily. Sir Thomas looked on, and the tears rose
into his eyes slowly by instinct; but he said never a word, and watched
intently.