On the following evening, at the meeting of the Burglars' Club, the Secretary produced the Holbein miniature, and read a letter from Sir Rupert Ingletree which accompanied it. Then the President rose.
"My lords and gentlemen," he said, "we have just heard the singular adventure which has befallen one of our members. The Holbein miniature is here, but only owing to the goodwill of its owner. Sir Rupert Ingletree is at liberty owing to the forbearance of the same gentleman. Under the circumstances I think we have no option but to accept the resignation of Sir Rupert, who does not appear to have acted with the adroitness which is a necessary qualification of our members. It may well be that you or I would have done no better under similar circumstances, but I need hardly remind you that in this club we judge only by results, and the results in this instance are not satisfactory.
"There is a further matter to consider—a message from Mr. Meyer, which demands a reply. Colonel Altamont, as the doyen of our club, we look to your premature grey hairs for guidance."
Altamont rose amidst general applause.
"Your Grace, my lords and gentlemen," he began. "It is surely unnecessary to ask for my opinion on the situation. Our existence is now known to the outside world. Twice has this detective, Marvell, been within reach of us. Someone has betrayed us, and I for one do not intend to rest until I have traced that traitor. But this is not the matter before us now.
"Though Mr. Meyer objects to sport, he has behaved like a perfect sportsman. (Hear, hear.) For his courtesy we wish to express our hearty thanks and appreciation; but for his suggestion that we should disband we surely have one answer only, and that is: Never, never, never."
The words were re-echoed on all sides.
"Our club would indeed have fallen on degenerate days," continued Altamont, when quiet was restored, "if the fact of its existence being known were promptly to bring about its end. Surely the fact that we are watched should give an added zest to our proceedings, which have been all too monotonously serene. The knowledge that Scotland Yard is acting, and that we carry our personal liberty in our hands, should spur us on to the Homeric deeds for the perpetration of which we exist.
"Ingletree's postscript is pathetic, and vividly shows the present unbalanced state of his mind. He asks whether we consider that under Mr. Meyer's terms he is at liberty to fish. My own feeling is that I would have suffered a long period of incarceration rather than have surrendered my right to act as a free and independent Englishman; but Ingletree, having accepted his liberty on Mr. Meyer's stupendous terms, has surely forfeited his right to again take life in any form. If he so much as nets a minnow he has no option but to surrender himself forthwith at the Bournemouth Police Station.
"We all regret the loss of our once brilliant member, but it is obvious from Ingletree's behaviour during the last few days that he is not the man he was when he paid his entrance fee by the production of—what was it, Mr. Secretary?—the Mace of the House of Commons?"