“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.