I suppose I looked very cheerful because Joyce said--
"Oh, yes," I said, "it's come off--er--quite well. How's yours?"
"Mine was quite successful, thank you, and I shall get a new frock for dinner on Saturday."
As I didn't want to give my scheme away just then, I didn't press Joyce to reveal hers, and we retired for the night with honours easy.
When I got home on Thursday from a day in town, Joyce met me at the gate. She looked scared.
"We've had a burglar," she said. "The silver's gone. Oh, why didn't I take the warning?"
This was my big scene, but I never believe in rushing a good climax, so I simply said--
"The silver gone? Dear, dear. A burglar, did you say? I told you they were about."
"Really, I'm not joking," said Joyce. "Both Jessie and I were out this afternoon and he must have got in by the scullery window, which I'm afraid was unlatched."
I was enjoying her consternation immensely.
"A burglar?" I repeated. "How very interesting!"
"Oh," said Joyce, stamping her foot, "can't you _do_ something?"
"My dear Joyce," I said, fixing her with my eleven-stone look, "let us stop this mummery. Behold the burglar!" and I struck the attitude that I thought would have done credit to Sir HERBERT.
"Yes," I said. "Alone I did it. Aren't you glad? Come, do look glad and ring down the curtain. The play is over."
"Yes," I said, "it was. On Wednesday, at ten o'clock of the forenoon."
"Well, on Wednesday after lunch, I wanted an envelope and at last found one in your writing-case. I also found a ticket."
"Listen," said Joyce. "Uncle Henry called----"
"Well, I borrowed £25 from him and took the silver out of pawn."
[_A housewife in a contemporary says_:--"If my guests have friends in the neighbourhood they can ask them in without consulting my convenience at all, take them up to the bedroom, light the gasfire and make them quite comfortable there."]
Dear Tom, when your neighbours invited me first, I made up mind to refuse, But that was before I was properly versed In the up-to-date hostess's views. If I (like ACHILLES) remain in my room, She'll never give vent to complaining. Though she misses my jests, she will kindly presume I am nevertheless entertaining.
And so, since I've many a friend on the spot, I've quitted the comforts of town In order to keep open house for the lot In a chamber provided by Brown. They shall come to my bedroom; I'll give them good cheer; I'll ring for a handmaid and tell her To serve us at once with a dinner up here, Including the pick of the cellar.