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Roy Glashan's Library
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The Blue Book Magazine, March 1926, with "The Fight For Peace"
"The Fight for Peace" describes one of the most daring of all the coups put over by two bland and blasé practitioners of that ancient profession: theft.
IT was during the dreamy cigar-scented hour following dinner one evening that the Honorable John Brass, his mind hovering with affectionate reminiscence upon the rather choice lunch they had enjoyed that day at the Astoritz Hotel, recalled the lady with the bright bay hair—none other than their old friend Mrs. Fay-Lacy—who had been lunching at the next table with a gentleman who might have passed anywhere for an old uncle of Sing, the Honorable John's valet.
He removed his cigar for a moment. "How did that Chink who was lunching at the Astoritz with Esme Fay-Lacy strike you, Squire?" he asked.
Colonel Clumber looked up rather quickly.
"I took him for a crook, but Henri, the head waiter, told me as we came out that, as a matter of fact, he was a prince—prince or mandarin, or both, if there's any difference. His name's Chi Hi or words to that effect. What about him? He hasn't got money."
Mr. Brass pondered. "How do you know?"
The Colonel smiled.
"Well, considering Esme is the society tout for Money-lender Lazenger, it doesn't look rich. When you see a man lunching with Mrs. Fay-Lacy you see a man who wouldn't much mind hanging a sandwich board on himself with 'Broke' printed on it—if he had the price of a board."
The Honorable John nodded.
"Well, there hasn't been much of a boom in the prince business in China lately. I suppose Chi is over here for what he can get and doesn't much care who knows it," he mused. "Republic over there, aint it?"
"So-called," agreed the Colonel tersely.
Sing entered with the whisky and soda with which the partners were in the habit of dispelling the cloying taste of their liqueurs, and Mr. Brass questioned him.
"Sing, my son, who is Prince Chi Hi when he's at home—if he's got a home?"
Sing's beady eyes gleamed a little.
"Velly noble plince, master, velly rich powerful before Lepublic come."
"Lost his job now, I take it, hey?"
"He lost job now allee samee loyal family."
"Moneyed man?"
"Not got now—Lepublic takee. He tlying bollow money for gettee Lepublic pullee down, cuttee up, killee Plesident. Bollow hundled thousan's evelywhere—millions p'laps, bollow all Melican cities, bollow all over Eulope. Now bollow money in London."
THE partners looked at each other, like a pair of old artillerymen that, seated outside some village inn, suddenly hear afar off an unexpected thudding of big guns.
"Pour out the whisky, Sing, carefully, mind—and give us the facts about this champion loan shark," instructed Mr. Brass.
Sing did so, not without a certain eagerness. He was, in his simple Chinese way, a thrifty man, and it rather depressed him to think of all the money which he knew Chi Hi would shortly be carting back to China. The interest his employers were suddenly exhibiting in the matter cheered him up considerably, for he knew them quite sufficiently well to be aware of the fact that they rarely if ever extended their interests to a man and his money without ultimately taking a tolerably large fistful of that man's principal as a sort of quid pro quo.
But Sing knew very little more than the plain fact that Chi Hi was on the point of winding up a borrowing tour, the object of which he believed, was the financing of an attempt to re-establish the monarchy in China.
The result of the inquiry was that the ever-ready Chink was abruptly fired down into the Chinese quarter with strict instructions to "get abreast" of the movements of Chi Hi without unnecessary and foolish delay.
For themselves the partners proposed to turn their kind attention to the bay-haired Mrs. Fay-Lacy, in the morning
From a casual and cursory survey—more especially cursory—of the announcements of the more prominent money-lenders one would be wholly justified in surmising that they are as plentiful as pebbles upon the seashore; indeed, one might very easily come to the conclusion that it is a matter of some little difficulty to wend one's weary way through life to the impartial grave without succumbing, sooner or later, to the philanthropic blandishments of one or more of the swarming multitude of would-be helpers of financial lame dogs over the stile—into the field where the bull, temporarily concealed from view, is carefully sharpening his horns to gore the last golden bezant out of the aforesaid lame dog.
But though they be many in name our money-lenders be few in person—few but effective.
The father of the chapel, as one might say, or to put it in good plain old-fashioned French, the doyen of the many-aliased tribe of money-lenders, undoubtedly was, just then, Mr. Craik Lazenger, that sharp-set old he-wolf whose domestic den consisted of a small, ordinary, raw-looking detached villa in funereally-shrubbed grounds, outside Woking. Few borrowers ever had the privilege of meeting Mr. Lazenger personally, for few possessed, or were willing to part with, sufficient security to merit the personal attention of the elderly bloodsucker. It was usually one or more of his deputies with whom the average loan-seeker dealt, while Mr. Lazenger occupied what leisure he could spare from his bigger investments in superintending the daily wool-harvest from afar off.
He was one of those steely-eyed elders, with short, stiff, gray-mixed whiskers and beard grown mainly for the purpose of ambushing a "beware" mouth and chin. His income was probably as much as a hundred thousand a year, and his personal expenses might have amounted to six pounds a week. He was not a person of extravagant personal tastes, and it was a curious fact that he lived in constant terror of poverty. Occasionally, however, a borrower would come within reach whom Mr. Lazenger considered worthy of his special attention.
SUCH a borrower was Prince Chi Hi—introduced by the most able of Mr. Lazenger's staff of agents or (as Colonel Clumber put it) touts, Mrs. Fay-Lacy.
For Chi Hi had behind him as security practically as much of China as he could pawn—providing always that lenders were willing to pay out cold cash on the chance of Chi Hi and Company uprooting the Republic.
It was a chance upon which Mr. Craik Lazenger did not propose, at first, to spread himself very recklessly, but nevertheless, he was willing to discuss matters—via Mrs. Fay-Lacy to begin with.
These facts represented the patiently acquired sum total of the Brass-Clumber combine's knowledge of affairs two days after they first glanced into the matter.
Most of it had been gleaned by Sing from certain obscure friends and compatriots of his, who appeared to reside in, or at any rate frequented, a weird old rat-ridden, many-roomed and mysterious Chinese lodging-house, club or what-not, near the docks.
Encouraged by this moderately fruitful preliminary canter of their saffron-hued satellite, Messrs. Brass and Clumber proceeded to invite Mrs. Fay-Lacy to an elaborate dinner at the Astoritz.
It is quite possible, nevertheless, that it would have been money wasted had not a curious incident occurred just at the liqueur stage of the meal.
A red-mustached, gaunt gentleman with extremely glittering eyes, and wearing a dress suit that obviously had not been built for him, suddenly came up to their table, and, without the least preliminary, remarked, staring hungrily at Mrs. Fay-Lacy:
"Esme, old girl, I'm up against it."
And promptly proceeded to prove his words by pitching, in a dead faint, face forward across the Honorable John's lap.
"Why—oh, Gerald!" gasped Mrs. Fay-Lacy, and sat where she was, utterly unable to stand, shocked into a bad trembling fit.
"Gerald, is it?" said Mr. Brass blankly, and, with the aid of the Colonel and a herd of startled waiters, got the red-mustached gentleman into a more natural position just as he opened his eyes.
A minute later he had disposed of nearly half a tumbler of costly cognac urged upon him by the partners, and was stiffening up somewhat. Mrs. Fay-Lacy, still white-lipped, introduced him to the partners.
The newcomer, it appeared, was Mr. Gerald Lazenger, son of Craik Lazenger, and it took the partners precisely thirty seconds to perceive that their presence was no longer in very urgent request. It was quite obvious that both Mr. Lazenger and Mrs. Fay-Lacy were keenly desirous of a private conversation.
And so Messrs. Brass and Clumber gracefully paid the bill, said farewell, and went.
THEY waited in the lounge to light their cigars, and as they waited saw Mrs. Fay-Lacy and Lazenger pass out, take a taxi, and depart to an address which, when they overheard it given to the driver, caused them to glance at each other a trifle uneasily.
For the address was that of Mrs. Fay-Lacy's flat—where at that moment the partners knew Sing should be actively employed in looking through her papers with a view to seeing how matters stood between Lazenger senior and Prince Chi Hi.
In the ordinary way the combine would never have taken an interest in the deal at all, but among the information that the invaluable Sing—in some way known only to himself—had corkscrewed from his Celestial friends in the house near the docks, was the point that one of Prince Chi Hi's gentle Chinese idiosyncrasies was to collect all loans in cash or its equivalent in bar-gold. Soldiers understand gold—not checks. And a person who plans shortly to embark upon the enterprise of abolishing even the most rickety of Republics, above all things should carry gold in preference to paper or promises, wherewith to pay his men their salaries.
At any rate that was Chi Hi's plan—and as he purposed doing by his future warriors, so he purposed being done by, when drawing from the money-lenders he patronized.
But gold in bulk is heavy stuff, not too easily handled, and much can happen to it in transit—a fact appreciated at its full value by Messrs. Brass and Clumber. Hence their anxiety to know as much as possible of the time when Chi Hi would be taking his cash boxes, safes, money bags and so forth to the residence of Mr. Craik Lazenger.
"The Chink'll be all right," said the Honorable John as they strolled away from the Astoritz. "The man or woman who can surprise him hasn't been born yet. He's got ears like a dog and the first click of the Fay-Lacy's key in her lock will send Sing under the bed or out of the window and down the ash-lift like a lamplighter. But at the same time, we might do worse than slip down to Victoria Street and have a look round about the flat, in case we can lend him a hand."
The Colonel agreed, and they took a taxi to the end of Victoria Street. Mrs. Fay-Lacy's flat was in a huge warren described as "residential mansions" in that neighborhood.
It was half-past ten when they arrived and they "looked round" until half-past eleven—concluding their look around with a look through the keyhole of Mrs. Fay-Lacy's door.
But, beyond the meager knowledge that somebody in the flat was talking busily, they learned nothing, and, becoming rather uncomfortably aware of the fact that they had not enjoyed their customary period of repose after a well-thought-out dinner, they took a taxi home, leaving it to Sing to adapt himself to circumstances in any way that seemed to him most suitable and called for.
"Sing'll be all right," they said, comfortably, took a nightcap or two, and went to bed without waiting for the arrival of the Chink—who, it may be said, was at that moment lying flat on his stomach under the luxurious Chesterfield in Mrs. Fay-Lacy's small drawing-room, listening attentively to the conversation of the red-mustached Gerald and his hostess.
IN justice to the Honorable John and his partner it should be explained that worry on behalf of their Chinaman would have been worry wasted. Sing had very little idea of how he was going to get out of the flat, and, at the moment, was giving the point very little consideration. Sufficient for the hour was the Chesterfield thereof, might have been the carefree Chink's motto. And anyway he was there because his idol, Mr. Brass, had instructed him to be there—and that was ample for Sing. He had a passion for doing his duty (when told to), and he was perfectly willing to risk the six months or two years or whatever the award of merit would be in the case of capture. As Mr. Brass would have said: "Sing always was a bit of a fatalist."
He was quite happy and tolerably comfortable where he was. It was improbable that the bay-haired lady or Lazenger junior would look under the Chesterfield, unless he sneezed inadvertently—and he would have been in Dartmoor prison long before, had that been a failing of his.
He merely lay there, listening, his ears spread, as it were, like the nets of the fowler.
At one o'clock Mr. Lazenger departed. Mrs. Fay-Lacy, friendly enough, went with him down to the main door. The flat was on the first floor and her two maids were long since in bed.
She met Sing coming down the stairs as she returned. He was smoking a cigarette from the open box on her table—but she did not know that. He stood aside, most politely, for her to pass. She caught a glimpse of his face and paused. The light was dim at that hour.
"Prince Chi Hi?" she said, doubtfully.
Sing grinned.
"Excuse, madam—not Plince Chi Hi. Another gentleman," he explained. "Chinamen allee samee look alike to English ladies."
"Oh, pardon," said Mrs. Fay-Lacy vaguely, and continued up the stairs.
It did not disturb the lady to find the door of her flat slightly ajar—she had left it so herself. Nor did she miss the cigarette—for, as Sing had so reasonably reflected, what was one cigarette among so many?
Nor did it occur to the Chink that he had effected his exit with rather considerable judgment and dexterity. Indeed, he thought no more of it as he slid swiftly homeward. He was too busy thinking out the details of the breakfast of his employers next morning. The knowledge he had gleaned concerning the Chi Hi affair was quietly tucked away in the back of his head to be left until called for by his master on the following day.
WHEN, after their morning repast had been soundly defeated, Messrs. Brass and Clumber cheerily faced their daily tasks, they began by receiving the report of Sing.
Despite the lengthy duration of the period of his retirement under the Fay-Lacy Chesterfield, Sing had all the salient points boiled down to the degree of concentration which he knew the partners looked for.
He spoke, and a few minutes later Mr. Brass summed up as follows:
"Let's get it right, now," he said, in extremely businesslike tones. "As far as we can judge from this yellow image's report, old Lazenger is going to lend Chi Hi twenty thousand bones—all in gold—and Chi is going down to his place to sign the deeds and fetch away the gold at six o'clock in the evening the day after tomorrow. Mrs. Fay-Lacy told Gerald Lazenger about it, and she and Gerald (who has just come out of jail, where he went for forging his father's name to a check) mean to have a dash at the gold for themselves—old Tooth-and-Claw Lazenger having treated her pretty harshly, too—and set up housekeeping on it. Well, now, where do we come in, Squire? We can't all have the stuff—somebody's got to stand aside!"
"That gold is for us," said the Colonel bluntly. "We must live."
The Honorable John nodded.
"We'll cross Chi Hi out, for a start," he said. "He only wants the money to start more bloodshed and war and foolery in China. I suppose they wanted a Republic over there or they wouldn't have had it. Live and let live—somebody over there put the ace on the king, and I don't see why we should be called upon to contribute twenty thousand toward the cost of a joker for Chi Hi to whang down on the ace. Cross Chi off. As for Gerald, and his red-headed Esme, cross them off too. It's only a blackguard who'll rob his father, anyway."
"True," nodded the Colonel. "But who do we get the stuff from, the old Lazenger, or Chi Hi, or young Lazenger after he's got it from Chi?"
"Well, we sha'n't get it off the old man—people have been trying that for years and never managed it. We might delay Chi an hour and let Sing impersonate him, but it's risky. And I doubt if the Chink could give what you might call a classy impersonation of a prince, in spite of their faces growing the same shape. Could you come the Prince well enough, Sing?"
Sing, admirably aware of his limitations, thought not.
His employers agreed with unflattering conviction.
"You're right," said the Honorable John. "Just pour me out another cognac, my son, and then get on with your work while we go into things."
And in accordance with their quaint custom of liqueuring after every meal, the two smooth old tigers took their cognacs to the big bay window which a late afternoon sun was considerately lighting up for them, and settled down seriously to discuss their plans for preventing China from being silly.
That night a forty h.p. khaki-colored touring car, driven by the able Sing and occupied by the partners, slid quietly up the drive of the comfortable house at Purdston.
Mr. Ferdinand Bloom, apprised by telephone, appeared at the door to receive them.
It was something past ten o'clock and Mr. Bloom was rather tired and a trifle overwrought, having undergone the unpleasant experience of subduing and recovering from a mild intoxication, which really required from six to eight hours of tranquil slumber for effective dispersal. His face, too, was slightly swollen on one side.
He silently took the heavy coats and sundries of his employers and, in reply to the Honorable John's friendly comment that he did not look very "flourishing," mentioned that he had neuralgia.
"That's all right, Bloom, my lad," Mr. Brass assured him kindly. "Don't you worry about us. You do your best for us and you'll be looked after. You stick to your work and force yourself to overlook the neuralgia. Don't think about it. It's a very painful thing, is neuralgia, and we understand. You just slip out and get the whisky and soda, like a good lad, and look alive. You want to hustle round a bit, Bloomy, and it's astonishing how you'll forget the neuralgia."
He held his hands out to the cheery glow of the fire that Mr. Bloom had lighted in readiness for them and turned to Colonel Clumber.
"Not the man Sing is," he said, referring to the unhappy Ferdinand. "Too gloomy, and fat, and self-conscious, not to say selfish. The man's always thinking about himself. He never laughs—and a fat, neuralgic man that never laughs gives me the creeps."
"Who? Bloom? He's got as much neuralgia as a motor tire and no more. May have a touch of toothache," grunted the Colonel. "He ought to shout 'Hurray' because it ain't gout."
They lighted cigars, and, pensively staring into the fire, waited for Mr. Bloom's return with the refreshment.
Duly this arrived and was dealt with. Bloom, looking as happy as a captured missionary cutting firewood for cannibals, was bidden to remain in the room.
A moment later Sing came in from the motor-house, and Mr. Brass began to announce the plan of campaign.
TWO evenings later, at seven o'clock precisely, Mr. Craik Lazenger, with well-concealed reluctance, duly separated himself from the two and three quarters hundred-weight or so of bar-gold for which Prince Chi Hi stipulated—a mode of payment which, though cumbersome, suited the money-lender admirably in that he had netted a moderate profit on the gold. It was not the sort of transaction that Mr. Lazenger cared for, as a general rule. It savored too much of the speculative. True, Chi Hi had been able to put up some nineteen thousand pounds' worth of fairly good French securities, but the remainder of the securities were worthless unless the coup d'état of the aspiring monarch served by Chi Hi was successful; in which case the modest Mr. Lazenger had something like two million pounds' worth of concessions in lands, docks, railways, mining, and a dozen other hefty things of that kind to keep for his very own—all duly approved, by cable, by an agent of the money-lender in Shanghai.
Blandly smiling, Prince Chi Hi supervised the carrying out of the gold—which had been weighed and packed—to the car he had brought. The work was done by two impassive Chinamen who accompanied the Prince, and the gold was checked off by Mrs. Fay-Lacy, who was in attendance upon Craik Lazenger. The metal being stowed away, Chi Hi bade Lazenger an affable farewell and proceeded to stow himself away with it.
Old Lazenger watched the car disappear.
"That's the first Chinese Prince I ever did business with," he said, adding musingly: "I wonder if he will get all that gold safely to China."
Mrs. Fay-Lacy could have told him, but she said nothing. She fondly hoped that within a few minutes there would be a Chinese Prince on the London Road twenty thousand short in his accounts, and a red-mustached gentleman named Gerald speeding it homewards right merrily in a fast car that carried about two and three-quarters hundredweight more cargo than it had left town with.
For, somewhere out there in the night, Lazenger junior, the disinherited son of Craik Lazenger, was waiting with a friend, to receive the Prince.
And—although she did not know this—not far from Lazenger junior there waited also a quartet of peace-seekers who were determined at all costs to prevent precisely twenty thousand pounds' worth of bloodshed in China.
The house of Lazenger senior was situated in a well-wooded lane which ran off from the main road, and it was when Chi Hi's big hired limousine had traveled about halfway along this lane that the glaring headlights discovered to the driver a yellow touring car half blocking the road. The limousine pulled up.
"Can't you get past?" called a man, who appeared to be working over the engine of the touring car. "Sorry. Lend me a hand with this valve-spring half a second, and I'll get out of the way."
The limousine driver got down, explaining briefly to Chi Hi, and went over to the touring car, going round to the far side of it, out of the zone of light from his own lamps. As he did so a sudden whistling hiss from the back of the limousine announced the fact that either a valve had gone wrong or a puncture had happened—two valves, in fact, for the hiss of escaping air was suddenly redoubled.
Chi Hi felt the big car settle down on the deflating tires and peered out. It was very dark in the lane and the man who had so swiftly unscrewed the valve-caps was not visible.
Then from the off side of the yellow car came a curious, dull little noise, as of a blow, and a sort of choked groan. The two Chinese servants of the Prince were out of the limousine like cats as Chi Hi, his eyes suddenly alive with suspicion, gave an order.
They were biggish, muscular men, but muscle availed one of them little against the spanner of Gerald Lazenger who, having finished with the tires, was awaiting whoever came out of the body of the big car.
THE Chinaman dropped heavily. His fellow, who had slid from the seat next to the driver's, leaped like a wolf for the dark figure of Lazenger. He went head-down like a man butting, and Lazenger, more by luck than correct judgment, met him with that artifice which, in certain circles, is described as "giving the knee." And he gave it as though he meant it. The unfortunate Chink reeled back into the ditch unconscious.
Then Prince Chi Hi became abruptly aware of a man at the door of the limousine, a man with eyes that gleamed coldly through the slits of a mask, who pressed a magazine pistol hard against the Prince's head and growled: "Get out quick!" At the same instant another man appeared at the other door, searching for the boxes under Chi Hi's feet.
The Prince was a strategist rather than a physical fighter. He could plan war on a large scale wonderfully well—but he was no practical exponent of the arts of attack or defense. He knew that these men wanted the gold and meant to have it, and he decided to let them have it. His life was more valuable than the money, which was a small amount in comparison with some of the sums he had borrowed. He got out nimbly, and swiftly amalgamated himself with the darkness further down the lane, a second or so before the military arrived. The military!
A long, low, powerfully-engined, khaki-colored car, with blinding headlights, shot silently up from the main road, stopped with a shudder two yards from the other cars, and four men in khaki—soldiers—jumped down. The dark steel barrels of their short rifles gave back a sullen reflection of the car lights as they moved. Three carried rifles—the fourth, an officer, had a big Browning pistol.
"Steady, men! Fire if they resist arrest!" barked the officer, in a voice which one would never have recognized as that of the Honorable John Brass.
BUT neither Mr. Lazenger nor his accomplice was in the least desirous of resisting arrest. All they desired to do was to quit that place. It is much easier to knock an unprepared Chinaman on the head with a spanner than it is to outface an officer, a sergeant, and two burly privates, all heavily armed.
There was something very cooling to the ardor of the two thugs in the fierce white light of the huge lamps on the military car, and in the sight of the business-like uniforms, brown belts, and drab puttees of the soldiers. A crook may have nerve and to spare to tackle an elderly Chinese prince, but when the quarry is suddenly transformed into a quartet of big and beefy gentlemen of the Army, that same crook requires to make out a fresh mental balance-sheet of his nerve resources.
At any rate that is what Mr. Gerald Lazenger and his friend did, and their figures worked out right first shot. The balance-sheet showed that "nerve in hand" was not enough by seventy-five per cent to balance with "nerve required." The whole sum took about one-eighteenth of a second to work out, and so, even as the "Tommies" began to rush them, Lazenger junior and partner gave up the gold and bolted with speed and precision beyond all praise or blame.
"Why the blazes didn't Esme drop a hint that the Chinese blackguard might have an escort arriving to see him home?" groaned Gerald, letting out another notch of speed as he fancied he heard footsteps behind him.
At the scene of the conflict the "escort" were working like demons. Sing had already turned the car, tearing down half a ton of bank to do it. The other "soldiers" were lugging the neat but heavy boxes from the limousine to their car.
The sergeant—Colonel Clumber, no less—ran round with an electric torch examining the stunned.
"None dead—they'll be all right," he panted.
"Where's the Prince?" asked Captain Brass.
"Climbed a tree, or something—he aint here," returned the sergeant, and got into the car. "Get in, Bloom—lively now!" Mr. Bloom scrambled in, and the car shot away down the lane, the "soldiers" hastily slipping on tweed caps and loud checked overcoats as they got out of range of the glaring lights behind.
"Wide open, Sing!" muttered the Honorable John, jamming a cap on the head of Sing, who was driving.
The Chink opened the throttle and the car leaped forward. In two minutes she was clear of the lane and was booming home to Purdston, her false number flickering whitely, like a rabbit's tail, for all who cared about such things to see and make a note of. They were in and out of Woking by the time Mr. Lazenger and partner, tearing down the lane, saw ahead of them the lights of the taxi in which Mrs. Fay-Lacy was returning to Woking station.
"Over the hedge," grunted Gerald, remembering the taxi-driver, and they left the highway for the woods, circled in the dark, and presently worked round to the main road, masks removed and cigars lighted, fondly hoping that they looked like two gentlemen who had merely been for a country stroll.
Without waiting for Mrs. Fay-Lacy they took the next train up to town.
"How about the car?" asked Lazenger*s fellow thug anxiously. They were alone in the carriage, and Lazenger took full advantage of the fact.
"Car! What car?" he bawled, his eyes bloodshot. "What do I care about the car? Let the man we hired it from look after his own car. All I'm worrying about is whether those damned military guys could identify us!"
WHEN Mrs. Fay-Lacy arrived at the battlefield she found Prince Chi Hi, who had screwed up nerve enough to return, rather feebly trying to resuscitate the driver of the limousine—sandbagged—and his two Chinese servants, spannered and knee-ed respectively.
The lady was surprised—more surprised than she cared to admit. The gold was gone, obviously, but it looked as though the thieves had forgotten their motor in their hurry. She couldn't understand it at all. But she did what she could because she had to, and when her taxi-driver had fetched the police, and the victims had more or less regained their senses, she kindly accompanied the still acutely confused Chi Hi to town in the limousine—leaving him at his hotel possessed mainly of a vague idea that if she had not been what she was, and if he had not been what he was, he could have loved her for her kindly aid, and positively determined that when the monarchy was re-established in China he would see that she received the greatly envied Chinese decoration of Three Brass Balls, the Plume of Feathers, or some other souvenir of that kind.
Then Mrs. Fay-Lacy went hurriedly to her flat.
Gerald was there—and his friend. She did not understand the sudden appearance of the military—and Gerald was unable to enlighten her.
"Something went wrong, that's all I know," growled Mr. Lazenger.
LATE that night, down at Purdston, the Honorable John handed Sing and Mr. Bloom their share of the plunder.
"There you are, my lads, there's a quid apiece for you to go on with. You've been good lads tonight and if we sell the gold, well, I don't say but what you might get another quid—later on. We'll see how you go on."
He lay back in the armchair with a sigh of content.
"I think I can promise it to you. I'm very pleased with the way you two and Mrs. Bloom knocked up that quick dinner after we got home—very pleased indeed. Now pour me out another drop of brandy, Sing. That's it. Put the uniforms away carefully, mind, and clean the rifles. Lord knows I hope we shall never use 'em—I'm anti-bloodshed myself—but cleanliness is next to godliness, so always keep your firearms clean, my lads. Now slip it."
They "slipped it" just as the Colonel came in—he had been locking up the specially constructed secret safe which they had had put in at Purdston.
"All right, Sergeant?" asked the Honorable John playfully.
The Colonel nodded.
"That's good." Then Mr. Brass pondered a while.
"Well," he said at last, "it was as neat a job as we ever pulled off. We did everybody a bit of good, too—the loss of that twenty thousand will save a lot of lives in China."
"Yes," the Colonel grinned. "We've done a bit of good to everybody except Mrs. Fay-Lacy and her Gerald."
"Them! Oh, they're a couple of thieves—deserve all they get," said the Honorable John. "And if the truth was known this was quite likely a little private swindle on Chi Hi's part. I guess we can count this a side-shot of Chi's. In which case he's a crook and deserves to lose the money, don't he?"
"Sure, sure!" crooned the Colonel, complacently.
"That's logic, aint it?" chuckled the Honorable John.
"Certainly," agreed his partner. "Certainly it is."
"Very well, then, Squire. Pass the brandy!"
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