"In point of fact, sir," interposed the provost-marshal, "did you not recognize the messenger and have reason to know that his story was true? Did you not order him to the cells, refusing to listen?"
"P'r'aps I did, and just because I did know him to be a no-account little ragamuffin that used to be runnin' round with the firemen and such like——"
Sir Toby Belch listening from ambush to Malvolio's soliloquy at his expense could not have looked more amazed and wrathful than did Shorty at this. Beach, unable to repress a grin, suppressed him with a gesture.
"You may retire, Mr. Hoover. Remain at the guard-room. I may want you in a moment."
And then the party was summoned from its concealment, and then all eyes were on Desmond, and Winthrop propounded this question:
"Well, did you recognize any voice?"
"That young feller's—that was in here just now? I couldn't see him through the screen, but I never heard his voice before in all me life."
And this ended the first lesson. But there were others to come, for the Doctor and Beach had been in rapid correspondence, and when three days later still Major Stark, a celebrity now whom Gotham was eager to honor, arrived at the Cortlandt Street ferry, faithful Snipe still at his side, and Lieutenant Keating, furloughed that he, too, might be lionized, there accompanied them the little corporal of Zouaves, Desmond, late of "28's Engine."
Aunt Lawrence, with her carriage, was at the ferry, effusive in her regrets that Colonel Stark had to go on at once, but grateful that he could permit George to remain, for nothing would answer but that dear, brave George must spend a few days under her roof before reporting at the camp of his new regiment. And with Aunt Lawrence, obsequious, smug, assiduous in his attentions to Mahster George, loading up with Mahster George's light luggage, and bowing low in homage to Mahster George's distinguished commander, as that gallant officer was driven away, was Aunt Lawrence's most expensive household luxury, the English butler, and as that dignitary closed the door of the Lawrence carriage and lifted his hat and wiped his glowing face, and then waddled pompously off in quest of a horse-car, Desmond grabbed his officer by the arm. "There's the Shanghai that got the watch and jawed the pawnbroker and ran with that gang of young fellers," said he. And only another day and Aunt Lawrence's butler marched away in the grip of the law, and Aunt Lawrence's house-maid lay screaming in simulated hysterics.
A precious pair were these, as events and detectives speedily disclosed, and words can hardly describe the shame and horror with which Aunt Lawrence presently realized that, to divert suspicion from themselves, her own domestics had found means of attaching it to George. Their stealings had as yet been confined to old-fashioned trinkets and jewelry, which she seldom looked at and the loss of which would not soon be discovered. It was not the jewels, but the good name the servitor had stolen, that now arrayed all the household against him and his unhappy victim, the damsel who so neglected George's room and linen. Binny, the butler, went to the police station without a chance to caution her, so she went to the priest, and one confession led to another. The girl was Irish and had a conscience or compunctions, and returning to her mistress, threw herself at her feet, and sobbed out her story. Binny had her completely in his power, or made her think he had. It was he who compelled her to take the cameo and other jewelry from time to time, and who planned more extensive raids to follow. It was he to whom she surrendered Seymour's gold pencil-case, which she found on the floor of Mahster George's room, but stoutly she declared, when questioned by Mrs. Lawrence, that of Joy's beautiful watch she had never even heard.