But breakfast under such circumstances was a sorry farce; every gulp of tea appeared to choke me, and in every waiter who approached I recognised a constable on the track of the burglar. Flesh and blood could not long stand this strain, and my pent-up feelings received a still greater shock by the waiter thrusting a card into my hand. “Ask him in,” I replied, and Harry Turner, with a face a yard long, hurriedly shuffled towards me.
“An awful thing has occurred,” began the unhappy mummer, “and I’ve come to you in the hope that you’ll be able to explain it. Look at this,” he continued, as he proceeded to untie a bundle. “When I was putting on my coat just now I found two watches, a cheque-book, a ring, and a packet of papers. Can you recollect what we did? By Gad, I’m half disposed to go and give myself up. One would get off lighter then, perhaps.”
Whilst we were discussing ways and means, a second card was brought to me, and again the waiter was requested to “show him in,” and then Polly Amherst came upon the scene, the ghost of his former self, pale and haggard, but otherwise externally irreproachable as regards white tie and High Church clerical attire. “Billy,” he began, “a terrible thing has occurred, and I’ve come here in the hopes that you will be able to set my mind at rest. Conceive my horror, when opening my eyes this afternoon, to see at my bedside a watch, a pile of sovereigns, and a valuable ring. What silly jokes did we indulge in last night, old man? ’Pon my word as I came here I shuddered as I passed a policeman. The matter can’t rest here. I’ve locked the accursed things in my portmanteau, and now what’s to be done?”
But the consolation he received from his dismal companions in no way tended to allay his anxiety. “We have neither of us the smallest conception of how we became possessed of these things,” replied Turner, “and it seems to me our only course is to walk round to Bow Street and voluntarily give ourselves up.”
Our teeth had now begun to chatter, and, hoping against hope, we agreed it would be best to await George Hay’s return, and act as he should advise.
Three weary hours later, George Hay, Oliver Montagu, the irrepressible Jack Coney, and Harry Ashley (afterwards of Pink Dominoes fame), returned from the fight, and it having been arranged that the three latter should be permitted to depart before the culprits broke the news to George, a magnum was called for by way of a stirrup cup.
“By the way, Polly,” remarked Montagu, “I may as well relieve you of my gimcracks, and, by Gad, it’s as well we didn’t take them. Did you ever see a rougher lot?” he added, turning to George.
And then a cloud rose from off the countenances of Polly, Harry Turner, and myself; the magnum that had hitherto tasted like jalap appeared as nectar to our lips, and we began to recollect that prior to leaving the “Kitchen” our comrades had entrusted their valuables to us.
We never told our terrible experience.