Part 13 (1/2)

The tidings braced us mightily. But the tonic effect was brief. Hardly had Terry said, ”Thanks, Jones. You've been very quick,” when we remembered that to-morrow would be a blank day. The newspapers would publish T. B.'s advertis.e.m.e.nt to-morrow morning. It would then be read by the British public in the course of eggs and bacon. Those who responded at once, if any, would be so few that it seemed childish to think of calling for letters that same night.

”I suppose, if you go the rounds in the morning of day after to-morrow, it will be soon enough,” Terry remarked to the ex-soldier, with the restrained wistfulness of a child on Christmas Eve asking at what hour Santa Claus is due to start.

I also hung upon Jones' words; but still more eagerly upon Captain Burns' expression.

”Well, sir,” said the man, his eyes on the floor--I believe to hide a joyous twinkle!--”that might be right for letters. But what about the telegrams?”

”Telegrams!” we both echoed in the same breath.

”Yes, sir. When the managers or whatever they were had read the 'ad.,'

they were of opinion there might be telegrams. In answer to my question, the general advice was to look in and open the boxes any time after twelve noon to-morrow.”

Terry and I stared at each other. Our hearts beat. I knew what his was doing by the state of my own. He who would have sold his life for a song (a really worthwhile song) was eager to preserve it at any price till his eyes had seen the full results of our advertis.e.m.e.nt.

_Telegrams!_

Could it be possible that there would be telegrams?

CHAPTER III

THE LETTER WITH THE PURPLE SEAL

I invited Terry to breakfast with me at nine precisely next day, and each of us was solemnly pledged not to look at a newspaper until we could open them together.

We went to the theatre the night before (the first time Terry could endure the thought since his illness), and supped at the Savoy afterward, simply to mitigate the suffering of suspense. Nevertheless, I was up at seven-thirty A. M., and at eight-forty-eight was in the breakfast room gazing at six newspapers neatly folded on the flower-decked table.

At eight-fifty-one, my guest arrived, and by common consent we seized the papers. He opened three. I opened three. Yes, there it _was_! How perfect, how thrilling! How even better it appeared in print than we had expected! Anxiously we read the other advertis.e.m.e.nts of country houses to let or sell, and agreed that there was nothing whose attractions came within miles of our, in all senses of the word, priceless offer.

How we got through the next two and a half hours I don't know!

I say two and a half advisedly: because, as Jones had six visits to pay, we thought we might start him off at eleven-thirty. This we did; but his calmness had damped us. _He_ wasn't excited. Was it probable that any one else--except ourselves--could be?

Cold reaction set in. We prepared each other for the news that there were no telegrams or answers of any sort. Terry said it was no use concealing that this would be a bitter blow. I had not the energy to correct his rhetoric, or whatever it was, by explaining that a blow can't be bitter.

Twelve-thirty struck, and produced no Jones; twelve-forty-five; one; Jones still missing.

”I ought to have told him to come back at once after the sixth place, even if there wasn't a thing,” said Terry. ”Like a fool, I didn't: he may have thought he'd do some other errands on the way home, if he'd nothing to report. Donkey! a.s.s! Pig.”

”Captain Burns' man, your highness,” announced my maid. ”He wants to know----”

”Tell him to come in!” I shrieked.

”Yes, your highness. It was only, should he bring them all in here, or leave them in Mr. Carstairs' apartment below.”

”_All!_” gasped Terry.

”Here,” I commanded.

Jones staggered in.