Blind Policy

“Prompt business, Mr Smith, with approved customers, and to any amount.”

“That will do then. I’ll come. Private and confidential, eh?”

“Private and confidential, sir. Good-evening. – Jobson, shut up.”

“Yes, and I shut him up,” muttered Roach, as he went out with his Gladstone bag feeling weighty, and sought his cab, but not without looking back once or twice and choosing another way for his return.

But he saw nothing to excite his suspicions of being followed, for it was not likely that the homely-looking woman with a thickish umbrella had come from the pawnbroker’s. But somehow she had.

An hour later, Roach’s carefully-done-up parcel was denuded of its wrappings, and its golden glories were hidden in the iron plate-closet at the back of his pantry. And then he came upon Arthur, not long returned from setting down their people at Grosvenor Place.

“Hullo! Didn’t know you’d come back. Got it?” said the footman.

The butler nodded.

“Shut the door,” he said; and as soon as they were alone in the pantry, Roach unlocked the iron closet which contained the plate under his charge, and pointed to a handsome centre-piece standing on the shelf.

Then it was that the younger man so far forgot the respect due to his elder as to slap him on the back, an act not in the least resented, but responded to by a playful dig in the ribs.

“But I say, my boy,” whispered the butler, “it won’t do, you know. I’ve funked horribly for fear that they should ask for it.”

“Likely!” said the footman, scornfully. “It’s never been used but once.”

“More likely to be asked for to be put away with the rest in the vault. Jemmy’s safe to remember it some day.”

The footman was thoughtful as the butler locked up the iron closet.

“We ought to put away something not likely to be asked for, eh?”

“Yes,” said the butler, shaking his head sagely; “but what is there? We may have a dinner-party any day, and everything have to be shown.”

“Must be lots of things in the vault.”

“Course there is.”

“I say, ain’t it rum that they don’t send the things to their bankers?”

“Not a bit, when they’ve got a strong closet of their own, Orthur, my boy. I heard ’em talking about it one day at dinner, and Jemmy said something about their old bank breaking, and a lot of the family plate and jewels being lost. The rogues had been hard up for long enough and sold it.”

“Ah! there’s a sight o’ rogues in the world,” said Arthur, quietly.

“We’ve got some capital now.”

“Yes, but let’s think of a rainy day. Now, look here, there must be no end of things in the vault as they’re never like to ask for.”

“No end,” said the butler.

“Never been in it?”

“Never.”

“Well, couldn’t we have a look in, and pick out something small and handy? – say jools. They do lock them there when they go down to The Towers. I do know that.”

“Yes, my lad, they do; and I believe there’s a lot of old gold, family plate and diamonds as they never do want.”

“That’s the stuff for us – in case we want it, of course. Don’t hurt them to borrow it, and it finds us the capital to do us good.”

“Yes, but how are we to get at it?”

“Keys.”

“Where are they kept?”

“Oh, we could soon find out that.”

“Well, I can’t. I’ve been on the look-out this two years, and I believe Jemmy keeps ’em somewhere, but I never could find out where.”

“Then you had thought of that plan, old man?”

“Of course I had. Where you ain’t trusted it sets you thinking. They’re well-bred, but somehow the Clareboroughs ain’t real gentlemen. They trust me with some of the plate, and I’m supposed to be butler, but what about the wine? Do they ever let me have the key of the cellar?”

“No, that’s Bob’s job,” said the footman, thoughtfully.

“Yes, and a couple of paltry dozen at a time. How am I to know if the wine’s keeping sound or not? But there are ways, Orthur,” continued Roach, with a wink, and he rose slowly, went to a chest of drawers, unlocked it, took out a box, unlocked that, and drew forth a couple of new-looking keys.

“Hullo!” said the footman in a whisper; “cellar?”

“That one is,” replied the butler, as his companion turned over the big bright key he had taken up.

“Good. And what’s this?”

“One I got made to try the vault.”

“Phe-ew!” whistled Arthur, excitedly. “Then you have been in?”

“No, my lad; that only opens the wooden door at the end of the passage. Then you’re in a bit of a lobby, with a big iron door on one side.”

“Well, didn’t you get a key made for that?”

“No, my lad. I couldn’t. It’s a rum one. I don’t believe you could get one made by anybody but them as sold the safe.”

“Don’t believe it,” cried the footman, contemptuously, “Let me have a look.”

“Nay, nay, you’d better not.”

“Gammon. Where’s the old woman?”

“In her room, up atop.”