The great feat of the evening was the last. Mr Tuppit advancing with a polite bow—an excessively polite bow—begged Mr Wrentham to be so good as to trust him for a few minutes with his hat, which should be returned uninjured. Wrentham stared at the man, as if privately confounding his impudence, and complied with the request. Another polite bow and a smile, and the conjurer returned to his rostrum. The glossy hat was placed on the table: flour, water, raisins, and all the ingredients for a plum-pudding were poured into it amidst the laughter and excited exclamations of the youngsters, who could scarcely retain their seats. The whole was stirred with the magic rod, then covered with a cloth, and when that was removed, there arose a column of steam as from a caldron. A waiter brought a huge plate, and the conjurer tumbled out on it a piping hot plum-pudding from the hat. The wonder was not over yet. The pudding was quickly cut into hunks, and two waiters were employed to serve it to the astounded audience. But how that pudding came to suffice for the supply of all those young folk and their parents was a mystery which only the conjurer, Mr Beecham, and the hotel cook could properly explain.
The hat was restored to its owner in perfect condition. Wrentham said ‘Thank you,’ and again stared at the man, who again bowed politely, and retired after saying good-night to the children, whose cheers were not stifled even by mouthfuls of plum-pudding.
‘There is another of my sources of happiness,’ said Mr Beecham as Wrentham was going away; ‘doing something to make others happy.’
Wrentham had not gained the particular information he had been seeking as to Beecham’s antecedents, but he had learned several things.
‘Bob is becoming troublesome. I must arrange with him either to sail in the same boat or not to run foul of me in this way.’
His report to Mr Hadleigh was brief and decisive. ‘I can make nothing of Beecham except that he is a harmless, good-natured chap, who likes to spend his money in standing treat to all the youngsters in the parish. There is no sham about his philanthropy either: never a bit of fuss. Take last night, for instance. Nobody knew anything about it barring those who were invited. I can’t make him out; but Miss Heathcote may be able to help you. He corresponds with her.’
‘Corresponds with her?’
‘Yes; I saw a letter addressed to her on his desk. They seem to be great chums, too, as I hear—and he is not too old to be a lover.’
‘That is curious,’ said Mr Hadleigh thoughtfully, but not heeding the jest with which Wrentham concluded his remarks.