Chapter V: Part 5

"Most extraordinary! Don't you think so? Here are three persons, all ladies, all in my house, two even in the same room, each successively robbed of a piece of jewellery, each from a dressing-table, and a used match left behind in every case. All in the most difficult--one would say impossible--circumstances for a thief, and yet there is no clue!"

"Well, we won't say that just yet, Sir James; we must see. And we must guard against any undue predisposition to consider the robberies in a lump. Here we are at the lodge gate again. Is that your gardener--the man who left the ladder by the lawn on the first occasion you spoke of?" Mr. Hewitt nodded in the direction of a man who was clipping a box border.

"Yes; will you ask him anything?"

"No, no: at any rate, not now. Remember the building alterations. I think, if there is no objection, I will look first at the room that the lady--Mrs.----?" Hewitt looked up inquiringly.

"My sister-in-law? Mrs. Cazenove. Oh, yes, you shall come to her room at once."

"Thank you. And I think Mrs. Cazenove had better be there."

They alighted: and a boy from the lodge led the horse and dog-cart away.

Mrs. Cazenove was a thin and faded, but quick and energetic, lady of middle age. She bent her head very slightly on learning Martin Hewitt's name, and said: "I must thank you, Mr. Hewitt, for your very prompt attention. I need scarcely say that any help you can afford in tracing the thief who has my property--whoever it may be--will make me most grateful. My room is quite ready for you to examine."

The room was on the second floor--the top floor at that part of the building. Some slight confusion of small articles of dress was observable in parts of the room.

"This, I take it," inquired Hewitt, "is exactly as it was at the time the brooch was missed?"

"Precisely," Mrs. Cazenove answered. "I have used another room, and put myself to some other inconveniences, to avoid any disturbance."

Hewitt stood before the dressing-table. "Then this is the used match," he observed, "exactly where it was found?"

"Yes."

"Where was the brooch?"

"I should say almost on the very same spot. Certainly no more than a very few inches away."

Hewitt examined the match closely. "It is burnt very little," he remarked. "It would appear to have gone out at once. Could you hear it struck?"

"I heard nothing whatever; absolutely nothing."

"If you will step into Miss Norris's room now for a moment," Hewitt suggested, "we will try an experiment. Tell me if you hear matches struck, and how many. Where is the match-stand?"

The match-stand proved to be empty, but matches were found in Miss Norris's room, and the test was made. Each striking could be heard distinctly, even with one of the doors pushed to.

"Both your own door and Miss Norris's were open, I understand; the window shut and fastened inside as it is now, and nothing but the brooch was disturbed?"

"Yes, that was so."

"Thank you, Mrs. Cazenove. I don't think I need trouble you any further just at present. I think, Sir James," Hewitt added, turning to the baronet, who was standing by the door--"I think we will see the other room and take a walk outside the house, if you please. I suppose, by-the-bye, that there is no getting at the matches left behind on the first and second occasions?"

"No," Sir James answered. "Certainly not here. The Scotland Yard man may have kept his."

The room that Mrs. Armitage had occupied presented no peculiar feature. A few feet below the window the roof of the billiard-room was visible, consisting largely of skylight. Hewitt glanced casually about the walls, ascertained that the furniture and hangings had not been materially changed since the second robbery, and expressed his desire to see the windows from the outside. Before leaving the room, however, he wished to know the names of any persons who were known to have been about the house on the occasions of all three robberies.

"Just carry your mind back, Sir James," he said. "Begin with yourself, for instance. Where were you at these times?"

"When Mrs. Heath lost her bracelet I was in Tagley Wood all the afternoon. When Mrs. Armitage was robbed, I believe I was somewhere about the place most of the time she was out. Yesterday I was down at the farm." Sir James's face broadened. "I don't know whether you call those suspicious movements?" he added, and laughed.

"Not at all; I only asked you so that, remembering your own movements, you might the better recall those of the rest of the household. Was anybody, to your knowledge--_anybody_, mind--in the house on all three occasions?"

"Well, you know, it's quite impossible to answer for all the servants. You'll only get that by direct questioning--I can't possibly remember things of that sort. As to the family and visitors--why, you don't suspect any of them, do you?"

"I don't suspect a soul, Sir James," Hewitt answered, beaming genially, "not a soul. You see, I _can't_ suspect people till I know something about where they were. It's quite possible there will be independent evidence enough as it is, but you must help me if you can. The visitors, now. Was there any visitor here each time--or even on the first and last occasions only?"

"No--not one. And my own sister, perhaps you will be pleased to know, was only there at the time of the first robbery."

"Just so. And your daughter, as I have gathered, was clearly absent from the spot each time--indeed, was in company with the party robbed. Your niece, now?"

"Why, hang it all, Mr. Hewitt, I can't talk of my niece as a suspected criminal. The poor girl's under my protection, and I really can't allow--"

Hewitt raised his hand and shook his head deprecatingly.

"My dear sir, haven't I said that I don't suspect a soul? _Do_ let me know how the people were distributed, as nearly as possible. Let me see. It was your niece, I think, who found that Mrs. Armitage's door was locked--this door in fact--on the day she lost her brooch?"

"Yes, it was."

"Just so--at the time when Mrs. Armitage, herself, had forgotten whether she locked it or not. And yesterday--was she out then?"

"No, I think not. Indeed, she goes out very little--her health is usually bad. She was indoors, too, at the time of the Heath robbery, since you ask. But come, now, I don't like this. It's ridiculous to suppose that _she_ knows anything of it."

"I don't suppose it, as I have said. I am only asking for information. That is all your resident family, I take it, and you know nothing of anybody else's movements--except, perhaps, Mr. Lloyd's?"

"Lloyd? Well, you know yourself that he was out with the ladies when the first robbery took place. As to the others, I don't remember. Yesterday he was probably in his room, writing. I think that acquits _him_, eh?" Sir James looked quizzically into the broad face of the affable detective, who smiled and replied:--

"Oh, of course, nobody can be in two places at once, else what would become of the _alibi_ as an institution? But as I have said, I am only setting my facts in order. Now, you see, we get down to the servants--unless some stranger is the party wanted. Shall we go outside now?"

Lenton Croft was a large, desultory sort of house, nowhere more than three floors high, and mostly only two. It had been added to bit by bit till it zig-zagged about its site, as Sir James Norris expressed it, "like a game of dominoes." Hewitt scrutinized its external features carefully as they strolled round, and stopped some little while before the windows of the two bedrooms he had just seen from the inside. Presently they approached the stables and coach-house, where a groom was washing the wheels of the dog-cart.

"Do you mind my smoking?" Hewitt asked Sir James. "Perhaps you will take a cigar yourself--they are not so bad, I think. I will ask your man for a light."

Sir James felt for his own match-box, but Hewitt had gone, and was lighting his cigar with a match from a box handed him by the groom. A smart little terrier was trotting about by the coach-house, and Hewitt stooped to rub its head. Then he made some observation about the dog, which enlisted the groom's interest, and was soon absorbed in a chat with the man. Sir James, waiting a little way off, tapped the stones rather impatiently with his foot, and presently moved away.

For full a quarter of an hour Hewitt chatted with the groom, and when at last he came away and overtook Sir James, that gentleman was about re-entering the house.

"I beg your pardon, Sir James," Hewitt said, "for leaving you in that unceremonious fashion to talk to your groom, but a dog, Sir James--a good dog--will draw me anywhere."

"Oh," replied Sir James, shortly.

"There is one other thing," Hewitt went on, disregarding the other's curtness, "that I should like to know: There are two windows directly below that of the room occupied yesterday by Mrs. Cazenove--one on each floor. What rooms do they light?"

"That on the ground floor is the morning-room; the other is Mr. Lloyd's--my secretary. A sort of study or sitting-room."

"Now, you will see at once, Sir James," Hewitt pursued, with an affable determination to win the baronet back to good humour, "you will see at once that if a ladder had been used in Mrs. Heath's case, anybody looking from either of these rooms would have seen it."

"Of course. The Scotland Yard man questioned everybody as to that, but nobody seemed to have been in either of the rooms when the thing occurred; at any rate, nobody saw anything."

"Still, I think I should like to look out of those windows myself; it will, at least, give me an idea of what _was_ in view and what was not, if anybody had been there."

Sir James Norris led the way to the morning-room. As they reached the door, a young lady, carrying a book and walking very languidly, came out. Hewitt stepped aside to let her pass, and afterwards said, interrogatively: "Miss Norris--your daughter, Sir John?"

"No, my niece. Do you want to ask her anything? Dora, my dear," Sir James added, following her in the corridor, "this is Mr. Hewitt, who is investigating these wretched robberies for me. I think he would like to hear if you remember anything happening at any of the three times."

The lady bowed slightly, and said in a plaintive drawl: "I, uncle? Really, I don't remember anything; nothing at all."

"You found Mrs. Armitage's door locked, I believe," asked Hewitt, "when you tried it, on the afternoon when she lost her brooch?"

"Oh, yes; I believe it was locked. Yes, it was."

"Had the key been left in?"

"The key? Oh, no! I think not; no."

"Do you remember anything out of the common happening--anything whatever, no matter how trivial--on the day Mrs. Heath lost her bracelet?"

"No, really I don't. I can't remember at all."

"Nor yesterday?"

"No, nothing. I don't remember anything."

"Thank you," said Hewitt, hastily; "thank you. Now the morning-room, Sir James."

In the morning-room Hewitt stayed but a few seconds, doing little more than casually glance out of the windows. In the room above he took a little longer time. It was a comfortable room, but with rather effeminate indications about its contents. Little pieces of draped silk-work hung about the furniture, and Japanese silk fans decorated the mantelpiece. Near the window was a cage containing a grey parrot, and the writing-table was decorated with two vases of flowers.

"Lloyd makes himself pretty comfortable, eh?" Sir James observed. "But it isn't likely anybody would be here while he was out, at the time that bracelet went."

"No," replied Hewitt, meditatively. "No, I suppose not."

He stared thoughtfully out of the window, and then, still deep in thought, rattled at the wires of the cage with a quill tooth-pick and played a moment with the parrot. Then looking up at the window again, he said: "That is Mr. Lloyd, isn't it, coming back in a fly?"

"Yes, I think so. Is there anything else you would care to see here?"

"No, thank you," Hewitt replied; "I don't think there is."

They went down to the smoking-room, and Sir James went away to speak to his secretary. When he returned, Hewitt said, quietly, "I think, Sir James--I _think_ that I shall be able to give you your thief presently."

"What! Have you a clue? Who do you think? I began to believe you were hopelessly stumped."

"Well, yes. I have rather a good clue, although I can't tell you much about it just yet. But it is so good a clue that I should like to know now whether you are determined to prosecute, when you have the criminal?"

"Why, bless me, of course," Sir James replied, with surprise. "It doesn't rest with me, you know--the property belongs to my friends. And even if _they_ were disposed to let the thing slide, I shouldn't allow it--I couldn't, after they had been robbed in my house."

"Of course, of course. Then, if I can, I should like to send a message to Twyford by somebody perfectly trustworthy--not a servant. Could anybody go?"

"Well, there's Lloyd, although he's only just back from his journey. But if it's important, he'll go."

"It is important. The fact is, we must have a policeman or two here this evening, and I'd like Mr. Lloyd to fetch them without telling anybody else."

Sir James rang, and, in response to his message, Mr. Lloyd appeared. While Sir James gave his secretary his instructions, Hewitt strolled to the door of the smoking-room, and intercepted the latter as he came out.

"I'm sorry to give you this trouble, Mr. Lloyd," he said, "but I must stay here myself for a little, and somebody who can be trusted must go. Will you just bring back a police-constable with you?--or rather two--two would be better. That is all that is wanted. You won't let the servants know, will you? Of course, there will be a female searcher at the Twyford police-station? Ah--of course. Well, you needn't bring her, you know. That sort of thing is done at the station." And chatting thus confidentially, Martin Hewitt saw him off.

When Hewitt returned to the smoking-room Sir James said, suddenly, "Why, bless my soul, Mr. Hewitt, we haven't fed you! I'm awfully sorry. We came in rather late for lunch, you know, and this business has bothered me so, I clean forgot everything else. There's no dinner till seven, so you'd better let me give you something now. I'm really sorry. Come along."

"Thank you, Sir James," Hewitt replied; "I won't take much. A few biscuits, perhaps, or something of that sort. And, by-the-bye, if you don't mind, I rather think I should like to take it alone. The fact is, I want to go over this case thoroughly by myself. Can you put me in a room?"

"Any room you like. Where will you go? The dining-room's rather large, but there's my study, that's pretty snug, or--"

"Perhaps I can go into Mr. Lloyd's room for half an hour or so--I don't think he'll mind, and it's pretty comfortable."

"Certainly, if you'd like. I'll tell them to send you whatever they've got."

"Thank you very much. Perhaps they'll also send me a lump of sugar and a walnut--it's--it's just a little fad of mine."

"A--what? A lump of sugar and a walnut?" Sir James stopped for a moment, with his hand on the bell-rope. "Oh, certainly, if you'd like it; certainly," he added, and stared after this detective of curious tastes as he left the room.

When the vehicle, bringing back the secretary and the policemen, drew up on the drive, Martin Hewitt left the room on the first floor and proceeded downstairs. On the landing he met Sir James Norris and Mrs. Cazenove, who stared with astonishment on perceiving that the detective carried in his hand the parrot-cage.

"I think our business is about brought to a head now," Hewitt remarked, on the stairs. "Here are the police-officers from Twyford." The men were standing in the hall with Mr. Lloyd, who, on catching sight of the cage in Hewitt's hand, paled suddenly.

"This is the person who will be charged, I think," Hewitt pursued, addressing the officers, and indicating Lloyd with his finger.

"What, Lloyd?" gasped Sir James, aghast. "No--not Lloyd--nonsense!"

"He doesn't seem to think it nonsense himself, does he?" Hewitt placidly observed. Lloyd had sunk on a chair, and, grey of face, was staring blindly at the man he had run against at the office door that morning. His lips moved in spasms, but there was no sound. The wilted flower fell from his button-hole to the floor, but he did not move.

"This is his accomplice," Hewitt went on, placing the parrot and cage on the hall table, "though I doubt whether there will be any use in charging _him_. Eh, Polly?"

The parrot put its head aside and chuckled. "Hullo, Polly!" it quietly gurgled. "Come along!"

Sir James Norris was hopelessly bewildered. "Lloyd--Lloyd--" he said, under his breath, "Lloyd--and that!"

"This was his little messenger, his useful Mercury," Hewitt explained, tapping the cage complacently; "in fact, the actual lifter. Hold him up."

The last remark referred to the wretched Lloyd, who had fallen forward with something between a sob and a loud sigh. The policemen took him by the arms and propped him in his chair.

* * * * *

"System?" said Hewitt, with a shrug of the shoulders an hour or two after, in Sir James's study. "I can't say I have a system. I call it nothing but common-sense and a sharp pair of eyes. Nobody using these could help taking the right road in this case. I began at the match, just as the Scotland Yard man did, but I had the advantage of taking a line through three cases. To begin with, it was plain that that match, being left there in daylight, in Mrs. Cazenove's room, could not have been used to light the table-top, in the full glare of the window; therefore it had been used for some other purpose--_what_ purpose I could not, at the moment, guess. Habitual thieves, you know, often have curious superstitions, and some will never take anything without leaving something behind--a pebble or a piece of coal, or something like that--in the premises they have been robbing. It seemed at first extremely likely that this was a case of that kind. The match had clearly been _brought in_--because when I asked for matches there were none in the stand--not even an empty box; and the room had not been disturbed. Also the match probably had not been struck there, nothing having been heard, although, of course, a mistake in this matter was just possible. This match then, it was fair to assume, had been lit somewhere else and blown out immediately--I remarked at the time that it was very little burnt. Plainly it could not have been treated thus for nothing, and the only possible object would have been to prevent it igniting accidentally. Following on this it became obvious that the match was used, for whatever purpose, not _as_ a match, but merely as a convenient splinter of wood.

"So far so good. But on examining the match very closely I observed--as you can see for yourself--certain rather sharp indentations in the wood. They are very small, you see, and scarcely visible, except upon narrow inspection; but there they are, and their positions are regular. See--there are two on each side, each opposite the corresponding mark of the other pair. The match, in fact, would seem to have been gripped in some fairly sharp instrument, holding it at two points above, and two below--an instrument, as it may at once strike you, not unlike the beak of a bird.

"Now, here was an idea. What living creature but a bird could possibly have entered Mrs. Heath's window without a ladder--supposing no ladder to have been used--or could have got into Mrs. Armitage's window without lifting the sash higher than the eight or ten inches it was already open? Plainly, nothing. Further, it is significant that only _one_ article was stolen at a time, although others were about. A human being could have carried any reasonable number, but a bird could only take one at a time. But why should a bird carry a match in its beak? Certainly it must have been trained to do that for a purpose, and a little consideration made that purpose pretty clear. A noisy, chattering bird would probably betray itself at once. Therefore it must be trained to keep quiet both while going for and coming away with its plunder. What readier or more probably effectual way than, while teaching it to carry without dropping, to teach it also to keep quiet while carrying? The one thing would practically cover the other.

"I thought at once, of course, of a jackdaw or a magpie--these birds' thievish reputations made the guess natural. But the marks on the match were much too wide apart to have been made by the beak of either. I conjectured, therefore, that it must be a raven. So that when we arrived near the coach-house I seized the opportunity of a little chat with your groom on the subject of dogs and pets in general, and ascertained that there was no tame raven in the place. I also, incidentally, by getting a light from the coach-house box of matches, ascertained that the match found was of the sort generally used about the establishment--the large, thick, red-topped English match. But I further found that Mr. Lloyd had a parrot which was a most intelligent pet, and had been trained into comparative quietness--for a parrot. Also, I learnt that more than once the groom had met Mr. Lloyd carrying his parrot under his coat--it having, as its owner explained, learnt the trick of opening its cage-door, and escaping.

"I said nothing, of course, to you of all this, because I had as yet nothing but a train of argument and no results. I got to Lloyd's room as soon as possible. My chief object in going there was achieved when I played with the parrot, and induced it to bite a quill tooth-pick.

"When you left me in the smoking-room I compared the quill and the match very carefully, and found that the marks corresponded exactly. After this I felt very little doubt indeed. The fact of Lloyd having met the ladies walking before dark on the day of the first robbery proved nothing, because, since it was clear that the match had _not_ been used to procure a light, the robbery might as easily have taken place in daylight as not--must have so taken place, in fact, if my conjectures were right. That they were right I felt no doubt. There could be no other explanation.

"When Mrs. Heath left her window open and her door shut, anybody climbing upon the open sash of Lloyd's high window could have put the bird upon the sill above. The match placed in the bird's beak for the purpose I have indicated and struck first, in case by accident it should ignite by rubbing against something and startle the bird--this match would, of course, be dropped just where the object to be removed was taken up; as you know, in every case the match was found almost upon the spot where the missing article had been left--scarcely a likely triple coincidence, had the match been used by a human thief. This would have been done as soon after the ladies had left as possible, and there would then have been plenty of time for Lloyd to hurry out and meet them before dark--especially plenty of time to meet them _coming back_, as they must have been, since they were carrying their ferns. The match was an article well chosen for its purpose, as being a not altogether unlikely thing to find on a dressing-table, and, if noticed, likely to lead to the wrong conclusions adopted by the official detective.

"In Mrs. Armitage's case, the taking of an inferior brooch and the leaving of a more valuable ring pointed clearly either to the operator being a fool or unable to distinguish values, and certainly, from other indications, the thief seemed no fool. The door was locked, and the gasfitter, so to speak, on guard, and the window was only eight or ten inches open and propped with a brush. A human thief entering the window would have disturbed this arrangement, and would scarcely risk discovery by attempting to replace it, especially a thief in so great a hurry as to snatch the brooch up without unfastening the pin. The bird could pass through the opening as it was, and _would have_ to tear the pincushion to pull the brooch off--probably holding the cushion down with its claw the while.

"Now, in yesterday's case we had an alteration of conditions. The window was shut and fastened, but the door was open--but only left for a few minutes, during which time no sound was heard either of coming or going. Was it not possible, then, that the thief was _already_ in the room, in hiding, while Mrs. Cazenove was there, and seized its first opportunity on her temporary absence? The room is full of draperies, hangings, and what-not, allowing of plenty of concealment for a bird, and a bird could leave the place noiselessly and quickly. That the whole scheme was strange mattered not at all. Robberies presenting such unaccountable features must have been effected by strange means of one sort or another. There was no improbability--consider how many hundreds of examples of infinitely higher degrees of bird-training are exhibited in the London streets every week for coppers.

"So that, on the whole, I felt pretty sure of my ground. But before taking any definite steps, I resolved to see if Polly could not be persuaded to exhibit his accomplishments to an indulgent stranger. For that purpose I contrived to send Lloyd away again and have a quiet hour alone with his bird. A piece of sugar, as everybody knows, is a good parrot bribe; but a walnut, split in half, is a better--especially if the bird be used to it; so I got you to furnish me with both. Polly was shy at first, but I generally get along very well with pets, and a little perseverance soon led to a complete private performance for my benefit. Polly would take the match, mute as wax, jump on the table, pick up the brightest thing he could see, in a great hurry, leave the match behind, and scuttle away round the room; but at first wouldn't give up the plunder to _me_. It was enough. I also took the liberty, as you know, of a general look round, and discovered that little collection of Brummagem rings and trinkets that you have just seen--used in Polly's education, no doubt. When we sent Lloyd away it struck me that he might as well be usefully employed as not, so I got him to fetch the police--deluding him a little, I fear, by talking about the servants and a female searcher. There will be no trouble about evidence--he'll confess; of that I'm sure. I know the sort of man. But I doubt if you'll get Mrs. Cazenove's brooch back. You see, he has been to London to-day, and by this the swag is probably broken up."

Sir James listened to Hewitt's explanation with many expressions of assent and some of surprise. When it was over he smoked a few whiffs and then said: "But Mrs. Armitage's brooch was pawned; and by a woman."

"Exactly. I expect our friend Lloyd was rather disgusted at his small luck--probably gave the brooch to some female connection in London, and she realized on it. Such persons don't always trouble to give a correct address."

The two smoked in silence for a few minutes, and then Hewitt continued: "I don't expect our friend has had an easy job altogether with that bird. His successes at most have only been three, and I suspect he had many failures and not a few anxious moments that we know nothing of. I should judge as much merely from what the groom told me of frequently meeting Lloyd with his parrot. But the plan was not a bad one--not at all. Even if the bird had been caught in the act, it would only have been 'That mischievous parrot!' you see. And his master would only have been looking for him."

THE PALACE OF VANITY]

FROM THE FRENCH OF MADAME ÉMILE DE GIRARDIN.

It was a magnificent palace, built on the side of a broad highway, along which a great number of travellers passed every day.

This palace had an elegant façade on each of its four sides; a colonnade supported by admirable columns surrounded it. It is true that this colonnade prevented the entrance of any light into the palace; but the exterior view of it was so beautiful that nobody ventured to criticise it objectively; besides, what need of daylight has anybody in a palace? Have they not lustres and candelabra? Why trouble themselves about the sun, then? Every portion of the dome of this palace was gilded, and produced a most dazzling effect.

The queen who lived in this dwelling-place was a tall and handsome woman, who, instead of a heart, had in her bosom a large diamond cut in the form of a heart; it was believed to be on that account that she had never loved.

On the front of her palace were written these words in ruby letters:

"HERE YOU MAY OBTAIN WHATEVER YOU
MAY WISH FOR."

A young man passing along the road stopped to look at this superb monument, and having perceived this sign--for it bore a strong resemblance to a sign--he suddenly exclaimed:--

"Faith, I'd like to go inside! I'm tired of being in the condition I'm in, and should not be sorry to be something else."

As he went towards one of the porticos, he noticed a beggar seated near it on a stone and laughing.

"You are laughing at me, old fellow," said the young wayfarer; "but I give you back your laugh; for you must be a fool to remain in rags at the door of a palace where you have only to wish for a new coat to be dressed like a prince. Perhaps you don't know how to read?"

"Oh, yes!--I know how to read--even writing in rubies," replied the old man.

"Well, then, have you nothing to desire, that you do not enter this palace?"

"Truly, yes. I desire more things than one; but not any such as they give away here."

The old man had such an air of cunning as he said this, that the young man mistrusted him.

"He is laying some kind of trap for me," he thought, and was about passing on his way.

"Don't be afraid; no harm will come to you in this palace," the old man went on. "Troubles exist there only for those who ask for them: take my word for it, you may go in fearlessly."

"Yes; but may I come out again?"

"Certainly you may," replied the beggar, "if you find nothing there you wish for."

The young man hesitated. He saw a number of people pass along the road, and not one of them seemed to have an idea of entering this palace. That struck him as being suspicious, and he took alarm.

"Is this palace shunned by travellers? How comes it that not one enters it?"

"It is because they have heard about it; they know that people are bored there, and, in his home, everybody likes to amuse himself." Seeing that the young man was curious to visit this monument, the old beggar said to him: "I'll tell you what I'll do; if you'll give me the price of a bottle of good wine, I'll sacrifice myself and go in with you--and we'll laugh together at the imbeciles who live there."

"Agreed!" cried the young man.

He gave the old beggar a piece of money, and they went up to the door. It was made of crystal, and afforded a view of the interior and of the bell which had to be rung to obtain admission.

On examining it carefully, the young traveller observed that this bell was made of gold, and had for its clapper a fine pear-shaped pearl, of such beauty that it dazzled his sight.

He stood motionless, gazing at it.

"Ring!" cried the old beggar, becoming impatient at length.

"Really, I dare not," replied the young man; "I am afraid of injuring this beautiful pearl by ringing the bell. It would be such a pity; it is so admirable!"

"Bah!" cried the beggar, who knew very little about jewels, "let me do it--I'm not afraid."

"No, no; let us rather knock at the door----"

But he stopped himself; for it occurred to him that, as this handsome door was made of crystal, a blow with the knocker would at least crack it.

Tired by these hesitations, the old beggar seized the knocker and struck so heavy a blow with it that the door was shivered into fragments.

They entered freely.

There was nobody in the vestibule; in the Palace of Vanity nobody would remain in the ante-chamber. And yet this ante-chamber surpassed in luxury many drawing rooms. It was adorned with statues representing gods and goddesses, and pictures representing kings and queens, princes and princesses.

It was paved with jasper and porphyry; but this pavement was so highly polished, so slippery, that the young man, whose shoes were studded with hobnails, was near falling several times within the space of three minutes. He was obliged to cling to the walls, and would rather have walked upon ice, as then he might have had on a pair of skates.

The old man also slipped a little, but his beggar's staff supported him.

After much difficulty they at length reached a vast room, in which a number of persons were assembled. Their costumes were magnificent; the women were covered with jewellery. They had jewels even on their rich Court mantles, which trailed along the carpet; their bracelets, their necklaces, their diadems were dazzling. The young traveller, whom we shall henceforth call Alméric, was delighted by the sight.

The men were not much less splendidly decorated than the women in this drawing-room: they wore coats of velvet embroidered with diamonds, and on their heads caps, each ornamented with four ostrich feathers worthy to adorn the hat of a queen.

"Who are these great personages?" Alméric asked the beggar.

"These are the domestics of the house," he replied.

Indeed, as soon as these _princes_ saw the two travellers enter, they came to them to take their orders, and to ask whether they desired to visit the palace.

"Phew!" said Alméric to himself, "here are indeed some well-kept people!" But fear of being indiscreet made him say aloud: "Perhaps we should be incommoding the inhabitants of this palace, by visiting them at this hour; perhaps----"

"Incommode the inhabitants of the Palace of Vanity!" cried the beggar, ironically; "I defy you to do it, young man!--they are here only to show themselves, and they are never troubled by people coming to admire them: you might as well be afraid of incommoding actors by going to the theatre to see them."

The young man could not refrain from laughing at this reflection.

"Show us the wonders of the palace," the old man said to the attendants. "Here is a traveller who desires to live here; but, before expressing his wishes, he wants to know something about you. Go before and conduct us."

The young traveller was greatly surprised at the old beggar's off-hand treatment of these superb valets, and at their readiness to obey him; he did not know that the philosopher's vanity takes the _pas_ of all others. So many things astonished him that he dare not ask any more questions.

A fat woman of ripe age, who filled the functions of housekeeper, at once stepped forward and handed the keys of the house to the valet who was to conduct the two guests. Alméric saw behind her two little pages who were bearing her mantle, and whom the enormity of her bulk had at first entirely hidden from his sight.

These two pages no more quitted her than her shadow. It was a prerogative of her rank not to be able to take a single step, or perform a single act, without the attendance of these two babe-kins.

Her eagerness to obey the beggar made her forget her two little gendarmes, and she advanced so quickly, without warning them, that they did not think of following her, and held on so firmly to her mantle that, in hurrying forward, she pulled them both down upon their noses, while she herself was jerked upon her back. As she was very heavy, she hurt herself considerably, and the other servants hastened to her assistance.

"A Court mantle," said the beggar, "does not appear to me very commodious for housework."

And the young traveller could not refrain from laughing at this reflection.

One of the lackeys having taken up a candelabrum, conducted the strangers through the vast apartments of the palace. They reached the dining-room.

"Do you wish to sup, gentlemen?"

"By all means," said the beggar; "there is nothing but a good meal which is not a vanity."

He seated himself at table. But he had hardly tasted any of the dishes set before him, than he found them so fanciful, so salted, peppered, sugared, truffled, and mixed, that he would not partake of one of them; impossible to recognise the meat of a single animal, so highly was it seasoned.

"What is this?" asked the old man--"rabbit?"

"No, monsieur--they are lamb cutlets."

"And this: lentil soup?"

"No, monsieur; hare soup."

It was a confusion, past all understanding. And yet more: everything served was cold, for the hot-water plates were all of malachite, and nobody dare pour hot water into them.

"Faith," said the beggar, "I'd rather have an omelette on a pewter platter," and he handed to a servant in waiting his gilded plate. The servant in bowing to take it took no heed of the candles burning on the table, and forgot all about the plumes which adorned his head. They approached too near the flame, and a strong odour of burnt feathers announced that the plume was grilling.

"A white _panaché_ does not appear to me to be convenient for waiting at table," said the beggar again; and again the young stranger could not refrain from laughing at this reflection.

"The queen of this mansion, the Princess Vanita, is not here at present, is she?" asked the beggar.

"No, monsieur," replied one of the lackeys; "she is, at this moment, with her favourite adorers, in a country the name of which I forget, but which is highly renowned for its wines."

"Ah! I guess she is in France," said the beggar: "she will not soon be back."

Perched on a rich rod, a handsome paroquet was screeching at some distance from the table: "Fly quickly! fly quickly! Don't stop in this palace!"

Alméric went over to her.

"Why should we fly?" he asked: "are you not happy here?"

"Alas!--look at me," replied the paroquet; "I wished to be beautiful: I desired claws of gold, ruby wings; and now I am condemned to rest here all my life, motionless, as you see; for it is impossible to fly with wings made of rubies or to walk with feet made of gold."

Near the window they observed a large cat. It did not stir from where it lay, and appeared to be very discontented.

"What is the matter with you, puss?" inquired Alméric.

"Excuse me," replied the cat, "is it a horse, a serpent, a donkey, a man, or a woman to whom I have the honour of speaking? I can't see; pray excuse me."

"You are blind?" said Alméric, compassionately.

"Alas! yes, monsieur--and by my own fault. I had so long heard emerald eyes praised that I wished for them, and ever since that time have lost my sight. I do not even know whether my eyes are as pretty as they have been said to be. Will you be so kind as to tell me what is your impression on the subject? Look at me. Do you think that emerald eyes go well with my face?"

Alméric wished to say that he thought her eyes beautiful, to console her for having lost her sight, but the old beggar was inexorable.

"Your eyes are abominably ugly!" he said, roughly.

"Impossible!" replied the cat. "They _must_ shine?"

"No!" cried the old man; "nothing shines out of its place! Take my advice--hide them, put on spectacles; and if ever you have any more emeralds, make them into rings and not into eyes."

And, once more, the young man could not refrain from laughing at this reflection.

On quitting the dining-room, they entered a superb court paved in mosaic and surrounded by elegant columns.

They there perceived a bird which, by its plumage, might have been taken for a vulture, but whose timid bearing had nothing of the bird of prey in it.

"There is a vulture that, to me, has a very stupid look," observed the beggar. "Who are you, old fellow?" he added, addressing the vulture.

"I am a vulture, a bird of prey; formerly a turkey, a farmyard bird. I wished to mount in rank and quit the sphere in which I won nothing but disrespect; but I repent--repent the change--for I cannot bring myself to devour them."

"Devour whom?" cried Alméric.

"Alas! those good turkeys who have always been so kind to me."

"Ninny!" exclaimed the old beggar, "why did you get yourself turned into a vulture? Better to be a turkey and liked, than a vulture--and timid."

And again the young man could not refrain from laughing at this reflection.

In one corner of the court there was a bear seated on a bench, his head bowed down upon his chest and plunged in profound meditation.

"There's a fellow, too, who does not seem to know much about the business of a bear," remarked the beggar. "How did he come to be in this palace? What vanity has pushed him into the bear profession? I'd lay a wager he once had a better."

The beggar approached the melancholy animal.

"Bear," he asked, "what were you before you got yourself transformed into your present shape?"

"I was a doctor's assistant."

"A doctor's assistant!" repeated Alméric and the beggar in the same breath.

"Yes, a doctor's assistant," replied the bear; "but everybody made fun of my position. Men pursued me with their irony, made songs about me, burlesqued me on the stage. I wished to escape them, and had myself turned into a bear; but I am tired of my condition. I was not born for solitude."

"You old fool!" cried the beggar, angrily, "why did you leave the calling you were in? You might have avenged yourself on the men you detest; for you do not appear to me to be very learned, and you might have poisoned the universe with your drugs and your blunders."

The beggar was still speaking, when his attention was attracted by a gigantic elephant in an adjoining court.

"An elephant!" he cried. "Who can have asked to be turned into an elephant? an ant, I'll wager."

However, the old man was mistaken; it was not an ant that had desired to be turned into an elephant: it was a rabbit. He had only recently obtained that signal favour, and was still puffed up with pride at his metamorphosis.

He was walking about heavily, and with an air of importance, and received condescendingly all the compliments addressed to him on his new promotion.

The beggar, having learned his history, advanced towards him familiarly.

"Good-day, bunny!" he said. "Well, how do you like your big skin?"

The elephant was greatly shocked at this disrespectful tone; but the small practice he had had in the use of his trunk prevented him from seeking to avenge himself.

"Thoroughly--as you see," he replied, strutting.

"Is it long since you asked this favour?" inquired the beggar, maliciously.

"No," replied the elephant; "a few days ago only; as an old rabbit, I had incontestable claims. I have really only changed in form: my colour remains the same; my ears, instead of standing up, now fall down--that is the only difference."

"The idiot!" thought the beggar; "he does not even believe himself to have been changed!"

"Tell me, my dear fellow," said Alméric, who was greatly amused by the rabbit's stupidity, "don't you find your ordinary habits somewhat deranged?"

"You remind me," replied the rabbit, as if suddenly struck by an idea: "I am afraid I _shall_ find my increased bulk inconvenient, on returning to my burrow this evening."

This time the young man could not possibly refrain from laughing at that reflection.

"Would you like to see the beautiful woman, gentlemen?" asked the lackey who was conducting them.

"Yes, yes," replied Alméric, eagerly. "I should like to see the 'beautiful woman.' Where is she?"

"This way, gentlemen. Be good enough to enter this boudoir."

They passed into a charming room, formed entirely of looking-glasses--the ceiling, the wainscotting, all was of looking-glass, in which one could admire oneself from every point of view.

The beautiful woman was lying upon a sofa. On beholding her, the beggar and Alméric fell back in horror. This beautiful woman was a monstrosity, but believed herself to be a _chef d'oeuvre_.

Every part of her was beautiful, and yet she appeared horrible; because the exaggeration of beauties makes a hideous ensemble; because it is harmony which gives grace to things we admire, movement which gives life; and this beautiful woman had neither grace nor movement.

She had been born very pretty, but the excess of her vanity, and her coquetry, had made her lose all her advantages. She was beautiful as Nature had created her; she wished to be beautiful as beauty is painted: she exaggerated all her graces and changed them into deformities.

She asked for silken hair--she had long locks of silk, without life or colour; she desired to have teeth of pearl, and her teeth appeared horrible: she wished for a wasp-waist, and her body, drawn in by a tight belt, was without grace or suppleness, and looked as if it might snap in two at any moment; she asked for hands of alabaster, and her hands became dull and cold; she desired to have the feet of a child, and these deformed feet were not strong enough to sustain the weight of her body or to permit her to walk. Nothing more hideous was ever seen: it was ideal ugliness.

"Thousand centimes!" exclaimed the beggar; "how horrible this 'beautiful woman' is!--the sight of her makes me in love again with my old wife!"

Evening being come, a sleeping apartment was offered the strangers for the night.

"A room here will be better than any I can get at an inn," thought Alméric, following the valet, who conducted him to a magnificent bedroom prepared for travellers.

Exhausted by the fatigues of the day, he lost no time in undressing and getting into bed. But he had scarcely stretched himself before beginning to utter loud cries of distress.

"Horror! my skin is being torn from my body! I am in torture! What is the meaning of it? A perfidy! An abominable piece of cruelty!" and a thousand like complaints: and yet all he complained of arose from nothing but the admirable care which had been taken with his bed.

The sheets which covered it were of the finest Indian muslin, embroidered with gold spangles, charming to look upon, but inappreciable by a person used to lie upon sheets of coarse Holland. It takes time to get accustomed to inconveniences of this sort.

Poor Alméric's feet were scratched all over. Every movement he made in getting out of this terrible bed tore his skin; his arms were covered with blood.

"Vanity of vanities!" he cried. "Old man, beggar, let us fly from this place; there is no sleeping in this palace, and I am dying for want of sleep."

"What do you think of sheets embroidered with gold spangles?" asked the old man, laughing. "Could you have a more superb bed to sleep in?"

"Let us get out of this place," cried the young traveller, who was in no jesting mood; "I'll not remain here another hour. The men here are all stupid, the women frightful; one can neither eat here nor sleep. Let us be off, old man--let us be off instantly!"

Alméric, who had hastily redressed himself, roughly pushed the beggar out of the room, the old man laughing heartily all the while, and they quitted the palace together, taking the way to the beggar's hovel.

"Sleep here," said the old man, pointing to his truckle bed; "this mattress is favourable to sleep, and your rest will not be disturbed by spangled sheets--because there are no sheets of any kind. But what does that matter?--it is sleep that makes good beds, as it is appetite that makes good meals."

Alméric threw himself on to the beggar's bed and was soon sound asleep; and the old man heard him cry out in his dreams:--

"It is all over! I wished to obtain the embassy to Constantinople; but I will remain a simple notary at Saint-Quentin."

And the beggar, in his turn, could not refrain from laughing at this reflection.

_The Queer Side of Things._

THE MASTER OF GRANGE.

There was a rushing, whirling agitation in the air--the dust rose from every ledge and revolved wildly as a something passed down the intricacies of the old back staircase--passed too rapidly for recognition. It was the page, pale and breathless, hurling himself from the top floor toward the servants' hall.

"There's that ghost agen!" he gasped. "It's up there a-furridgin among the lumber in the loft! It _is_--I 'eard it myself, I tell yer! Yer may say 'pooh' if yer like. Yer'd better go an' see!"

The housekeeper, being the bravest of those who heard, went up to see. There certainly were unusual sounds in the vast and lonely lofts under the roof. Cautiously she peeped in; and there was the Squire with a candle ferreting about among the dusty heaps of lumber.

"Mrs. Wriggs," said the Squire, "there are a great many useless things here which we shall never want. I've been thinking that we might as well----"

"Yes, sir; no doubt there are many poor people who could turn them to some use," said Mrs. Wriggs. "And we might do worse than give them----"

"_Give_ them!" said the Squire. "Doesn't it seem rather like bad taste to give away things which Providence has presented to us? Wouldn't it be taken as a sort of slight? I was thinking that we might _sell_ them, now--for the good of the House, of course." The Squire represented the house: he did a great many things for the good of it--the temporal good, of course.

"Eh? Who would buy?" said the Squire. "If a thing is good enough to accept, Mrs. Wriggs, it has some value; what has a value is worth buying. Let us collect all the articles we have no further use for, and obtain the highest price for them, by way of showing to that Providence which has bestowed them upon us that they have a value in our eyes. I will accompany you downstairs, and see what broken saucepans and other utensils there may be there. Every little helps, in a good cause."

So the articles were looked out--saucepans with holes in them, handles of flat-irons, chairs without legs, old packing-cases, book covers, old advertisement sheets of old newspapers, and so forth; and a "rummage sale" was held at the Big House. The whole village attended, and, as a compliment to the Squire, bought up the articles in lots, at a few pence per lot. The Squire had never held aloof from his dependents; it being a belief that we should, to a certain extent, share our good things with our poorer brethren.

But next day the Squire was rummaging and ferreting harder than ever; all over the house, from the lofts to the cellars; peering in every corner, opening every drawer, feeling in all his pockets; looking behind things, on top of things, under things, in old hat-boxes, and glove-boxes, and collar-boxes.

To help at this game gave the greatest delight to his little son and heir, Master Rupert, a curly-haired, brown-eyed little person of seven years. To all offers of assistance, the Squire replied that it was not a matter of importance: he had merely mislaid his handkerchief. Such a search for a handkerchief has never been made before or since.