Part 22 (2/2)

Basket's fish-pond. . . .

The Major went into Mr. Basket's fish-pond souse!--on all fours, precipitately, with hands wildly clawing the water amid the astonished goldfish.

The echo of the splash had hardly lost itself in the dark garden-alleys before he scrambled up, coughing and sputtering, and struggling to sh.o.r.e rubbed the water from his eyes. Now the basin had not been cleaned out for some months, and beneath the water, which did not exceed a foot and a half in depth, there lay a good two inches of slime and weed, some portion of which his knuckles were effectively transferring to his face. He had lost a shoe.

Worse than this, as he stood up, shook the water out of his breeches and turned to escape back to the house, it dawned on him that he had lost the latchkey!

He had been carrying it in his hand at the moment of the catastrophe.

. . . He sat down on the pebbled path beside the basin, flung himself upon his stomach and, leaning over the brink as far as he dared, began to grope in the mud. After some minutes he recovered his shoe, but by and by was forced to abandon the search for the key as hopeless. He had no lantern. . . .

He cast an appealing glance up at the light in his bedroom window.

His gaze travelled down to the fanlight over the front door. And with that the dreadful truth broke on him. Without the latchkey he could not possibly re-enter the house.

He unlaced and drew on his sodden shoe, and sat for a while considering. Should he wait here in this dreadful plight until his hosts returned? Or might he not run down to the theatre (which lay but two short streets away), explain the accident to a doorkeeper, and get a message conveyed to Mr. Basket? Yes, this was clearly the wiser course. The streets--thank Heaven!--were dark.

He crept to the front gate and peered forth. The roadway was deserted. Taking his courage in both hands, he stepped out upon the pavement and walked briskly downhill to the theatre. The distance was a matter of five or six hundred yards only, and he met n.o.body.

Coming in sight of the brightly-lit portico, he made a dash for it and up the steps, where he blundered full tilt into the arms of a tall doorkeeper at the gallery entrance.

”Hallo!” exclaimed the man, falling back. ”Get out of this!”

”One moment, my friend--”

”Damme!” The doorkeeper, blocking the entrance, surveyed him and whistled. ”Hi, Charley!” he called; ”come and take a look at this!”

A scrag-necked youth thrust his face forward from the aperture of the ticket-office.

”Well, I'm jiggered,” was his comment. ”Drunk, eh? Throw him out!”

”If you'll listen for a moment,” pleaded the Major, with dignity, and began to search in the pockets of his sodden breeches. ”I wish a message taken . . . but dear me, now I remember, I left my money upstairs!”

”_On_ the gilded dressing-table beside the diamond tiyara,” suggested the doorkeeper. ”Or maybe you cast it down, careless, on the moonlit sh.o.r.e afore taking your dip!”

”My good man, I a.s.sure you that I am the victim of an accident.

It so happens that, by a singular chain of mischance, I have not at this moment a penny about me. But if you will go to the reserved row of the pit and fetch out my friend Mr. Basket--”

At this point the Major felt a hand clapped on his shoulder, and turning, was aware of two sailors, belted and wearing cutla.s.ses, who, having lurched up the steps arm-in-arm, stood to gaze, surveying him with a frank interest.

”What's wrong, eh?” demanded the one who had saluted him, and turned to his comrade, a sallow-faced man with a Newgate fringe of a beard.

”Good Lord, Bill, what is it like?”

”It _looks_ like a wreck ash.o.r.e,” answered the sallow-faced sailor after a slow inspection.

”Talk about bein' fond of the theayter! He must have _swum_ for it,”

said the other, and stared at the Major round-eyed. ”You'll excuse me; Ben Jope, my name is, bos'n of the _Vesuvius_ bomb; and this here's my friend Bill Adams, bos'n's mate. _As_ I was sayin', you'll excuse me, but you must be fond of it--a man of your age--by the little you make of appearances.”

”I was just explaining,” stammered the Major, ”that although, most unfortunately, I have left my purse at home--”

But here he paused as Mr. Jope looked at Mr. Adams, and Mr. Adams answered with a slow and thoughtful wink.

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