May 15, 2025 • 31 mins
Step into the world of Victorian London, filled with humor, crime, and adventure. Follow a unique group of men who, having exhausted lifes pleasures, form a Burglars Club for some much-needed excitement. Here, membership comes with a price - a city burglary as an entrance fee, set by their president. Every other year, each member needs to maintain his subscription through a provincial line. This gripping tale skillfully intertwines the thrill of crime with the charm of camaraderie.
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Speaker 1 (00:01):
Chapter six of The Burglars Club, a romance in twelve chronicles.
This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in
the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please
visit LibriVox dot org. Read by Jim Pearson Perry The
(00:22):
Burglars Club by Henry Augustus Herring, Chapter six the Bunyan Manuscript.
Anstruther sat down. Amidst vociferous applause. Gentlemen, said the Duke.
I think we may heartily congratulate Major Anstruther on the
foresight in ingenuity displayed in renewing his subscription. I am sorry.
(00:45):
We cannot keep the radium as a memento, but according
to our rule, it has to be returned to Professor
blythe at once. This particular burglary has been so satisfactory
that I think we may with it vantage again. Turned
to the Daily Press for our next item I read yesterday.
(01:07):
Let me see where is it? I cut out the ah.
Here it is, yet another priceless possession is leaving the
Eastern Hemisphere. Thirty pages of the Pilgrim's Progress all that
is left of that immortal work in the handwriting of
John Bunyan. Has been waiting for offers at Messrs Christie's
room since November last. The highest bid from the United
(01:30):
Kingdom was forty five pounds ten shillings, at which price
the precious manuscript did not change hands. We now hear
that two thousand pounds has been offered and accepted. The
purchaser is mister John Pilgrim, the Logwood King of New York.
At the present rate of denudation, it seems likely that
(01:52):
fifty years hence the original of the Magna Charta will
be the only historical manuscript left in the country. Shame
shame greeted the reading of that paragraph. I'm glad you
agree with the newspaper, said the Duke Blandly. I read
that paragraph at breakfast yesterday, and since then I have
(02:12):
learnt that Lord Roker's subscription is due. It seems to
me more than a coincidence that these two matters should
come together. It is a national disgrace that the manuscript
of that remarkable, I believe unparalleled effort of mister Bunyan
should leave the country for one night longer. At any rate,
it must remain in the possession of Englishmen. My Lord Roker,
(02:36):
you will kindly produce the Bunyan manuscript at our next
meeting on the twenty third inst in settlement of your subscription.
At five p m. On Monday, April eighteenth, the last
a new arrival registered himself in the Visitor's book at
the Oakley Hydropathic Establishment as James Roker, Jermyn Street, Southwest.
(02:58):
He was a good looking, straight built man of thirty
or thereabouts. He was of an unobtrusive disposition, but was
obviously well informed, for in the smoke room after dinner,
when in a discussion on the internal resources of Japan,
the date of Queen Anne's death came up, the new
arrival gave it authoritatively as seventeen forty five, and so
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settled the matter. The next morning brought letters addressed to
Lord Roker. Five minutes after the arrival of the post.
The news spread, and at breakfast he was the sinoshore
of all eyes. It was the first time that a
nobleman had stayed at the hydro excepting the doubtful instance
of Count Spiegalizon in eighteen ninety three. But to provide
(03:45):
for possible emergencies, the management had thoughtfully placed a peerage
on the bookshelves. This volume was now thoroughly investigated, and
it was learnt that James Lord Roker was heir to
the Earldom of Chalonar, and that he was born on
April twenty fifth, eighteen seventy. His birthday obviously would occur
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the following week, and an enterprising lady suggested the propriety
of arranging for a concert and a representation of Missus
Jarley's waxworks in honor of the occasion. The only person
in the place who seemed annoyed by his arrival was
mister John Pilgrim, a gentleman from New York. That's why
he was so darned civil to me last night. He
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thought he knows how fond Fifth Avenue girls are of
the British peerage, and he thinks he's only got to
drop his handkerchief from Marying to pick it up. HI
call it a bit thick of him. I'm glad she's
away for the day. I asked him to look round
this evening, so I reckon I'll have to be civil,
but I'll stand no nonsense. If he tries his sortyer
(04:50):
on me during the day, I'll let him know there
was no occasion or indeed opportunity to let Lord Roker
know anything during the day, for he went to Rylestone
the first thing after breakfast and only reappeared at dinner time.
The toilets of at least eighteen ladies were more elaborate
than usual that evening, but they were lost on Lord Roker, who,
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after half an hour in the smoke room, tapped on
mister Pilgrim's door at eight thirty. Good evening, my Lord,
said mister Pilgrim, with studied politeness. Will you sit there,
cigar sir, I can recommend these. I hope you had
a pleasant day. How do you like the hydro? Thank you?
Said Lord Roker, as he took the box and settled
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himself on the chair. Indicated, I've been away in the
country all days. I haven't seen much of the hydro
yet it seems all right. At any rate, you've got
pretty snug quarters, yes, said mister Pilgrim, with some complacency.
You say, I'm sampling the British Isles, getting the best
I can lay hands on, and am storing my purchases here.
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This room is furnished with Heppendale and Chipple White's masterpieces
collected by my daughter paintings by Jones and Rosetti in
the next cabin I've got those historical sundrys I mentioned,
but before we look at them, I want you to
give me some information, and I shall be delighted to
do so. If I have it, you have it, sir,
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I may as well explain what I want. I've come
over to see Europe for the first time, but I
want to know more about it than Americans do. As
a general rule, I'm not content to visit Shakespeare's tomb
and see Windsor Castle and then think I've done the
old country. I want to know the people who inhabit
her today, and you can't get to know them aboard trains.
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That's why I've come to this hydro. I get here
what my secretary calls a symposium of the whole nation.
So I'm studying people here with the idea of writing
a book on my return. What are your views on
things in general, my Lord, my dear sir. That's a
big order, but I may say I'm pretty well satisfied
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with things in general. You are a hereditary legislator, I believe,
said mister Pilgrim. I may be some day, replied Lord Roker,
But at present I am not. Well. Then what is
your particular line in life? If you mean business or profession,
I have none. I am a drone. A drone, sir,
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I am delighted, exclaimed mister Pilgrim with marked interest. Then hello, Marian.
Back again. Roker turned, and there, framed in the doorway
was a living Romney picture, a radiant girl. She came forward,
the light playing on her red brown hair. Lord Roker,
my daughter, said mister Pilgrim. The girl smiled and shook hands.
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I hope I'm not interrupting a very serious deliberation, she said,
half hesitatingly. Indeed not, Lord Roker hastened to assure her, fearful,
lest this delectable vision should vanish. She took the chair.
He offered, well, what have you gotten at yorke, inquired
mister Pilgrim. You'll neither of you guess. Three grandfather's clocks three,
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exclaimed mister Pilgrim. Sheridan. He added, no, just grandfather's clocks,
and the dearest ones you ever saw. I can bet
on that, said her father. Are they genuine? They're all dated,
and mister Tullitt got pedigrees with each of them. One
of them tells the moon, and one the day of
(08:32):
the month. We shall have to hire an astrologer to
regulate them and start them fair. Mister Tullet says he
works best on board your railroad car, as noise suits him.
So I shall fix up the three clocks in his
den here to keep him happy. I reckon, he'll know
when it's lunch time anyway, But what have you been
doing dead? Makin a few notes at present? I'm gettin
(08:54):
some valuable information. Lord Roker says he's a drone. Well,
then I'm sure that Lord Roker does himself an injustice,
she said, turning her smiling eyes upon him. Roker shook
his head. I toil, not neither do I spin. What
do you do all the time, she asked? I shoot
and fish and hunt. And uh, once a year I
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see the Eaton and harrow cricket match. Gosh, exclaimed mister Pilgrim.
He shoots and fishes and hunts, and once a year
he goes to a cricket match, I said, the Eaton
and harrow match. Oh, certainly they must give it some name.
I reckon, And what do you do when you can't
shoot and fish and hunt? I add up my list
of kills and catches, and this is downright interestin', said
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mister Pilgrim. What do you shoot and hunt birds and foxes?
You seem to fancy small fry, sir. Did you never
hanker after elephants? Never? If I had a maxim or
a gatling gun, I might turn my attention to elephants,
but I'm not going to buy one for the purpose.
Mister Pilgrim looked hard at his guest, but Lord Roker
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bore the scrutiny impassibly. May I ask how you get
your dollars, the American continued, I have an income from
my father. I don't mind telling you the amount, three
thousand a year dollars no pounds sterling. Well that's a
tidy figure. But did you never want to make three
thousand into thirty thousand? I have suggested an increase to
(10:28):
my father, but not such a big one as that.
I asked him to make it five, but he would not.
Someday perhaps he may, but thirty thousand is out of
the question. I should suppose it was. I didn't mean
an increase in your allowance. Did you never think of
dipping into trade and increasing it? That way, never doesn't
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fancy elephants or trade. Mister Pilgrim soliloquized, Well, I reckon,
it takes all kinds of swallows to make a summer.
Your father must have been in a good way of business,
not a bit of it. He inherited all he has
from his ancestors. Oh, how did the original ancestor make
his pile in war? In the time of Edward the third,
(11:12):
he had the good fortune to capture a royal prince
to dukes and a marshal of France who is still
living on the ransoms he got. I should have liked
to known the original ancestor, said mister Pilgrim. Reckon, he'd
have tackled elephants if he'd only got a pea shooter.
Father broke in, Miss Pilgrim. I'm sure Lord Roker is
tired of answering questions. Don't you think it's our turn
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to do something now? Ah, that's so, said mister Pilgrim,
who had long since forgotten his unkind suspicions of his
visitor's intentions. I hope I haven't worried you too much,
my lord. It isn't every day I get the chance
of interviewing a future hereditary legislator. I promised last night
to show you some historical curiosities. We'll just go in
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and write out my secretary Tullett, who has the key,
and of them. They adjourned to the next room and
found mister Tullet busy at his desk. He opened various
cabinets and drawers for them. This, said mister Pilgrim, as
the original warrant signed by Henry the Eighth consigning his
sixth wife to the Tower of London for beheading purposes.
(12:17):
He had it penned in Latin to frighten her more.
The writ was never served, as Henry changed his mind
and decided to keep her on the throne. And here, sir,
is my latest purchased thirty pages of The Pilgrim's Progress,
written by John Bunyan in Bedford Jail. I paid ten
thousand dollars for that, and I'd have paid twenty before
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missing it. You see, my name is John Pilgrim, and
it seemed to me that I have sort of a
claim on that book, a kind of relationship. Anyway, there's
my two names on the title page. Moreover, I've gone
on so well since I started life in a Chicago's stockyard,
that Pilgrim's progress would best describe my record. If it was,
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dear Reverend, I would have called the autobiography I'm writing
by the name of that book. But as I can't
do so, I've bought the original manuscript. You'll handle it carefully.
It's not in the first rate repair. Mister Pilgrim showed
his guest other historical treasures, and would have gone on
indefinitely had not his daughter compassionately intervened. The rest of
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the evening was spent in conversation and in listening to
coon songs witchingly sung by Miss Pilgrim to her accompaniment
on a harpsichord once the property of missus Thrale of Stretham,
a friend of the immortal doctor Johnson. Good Night, my lord,
said mister Pilgrim, at eleven o'clock. Perhaps you'll be kind
enough to look round in the morning. I'll shall make
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a few notes of the information you've given me, and
my secretary will lick them into shape. Right, said Lord Roger,
with his eyes beyond mister Pilgrim fixed on an enchanting
vision of brown and gold seated in the basket chair
before the fire. On the following morning, Lord Roker found
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mister Pilgrim's secretary before a typewriter, which he seemed to
be working against time. A pile of correspondence lay around him.
He finished the sheet on which he was engaged, and
then with a sigh of relief, he turned to his visitor. Morning,
my Lord, I have this ready for you. He handed
a typewritten sheet to Lord Roker, who sat down and read.
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Some day I may be a hereditary legislator. At present,
I am a drone. I fish, shoot birds, and hunt foxes,
and once a year I attend a cricket match. Birds
are more suited to the bore of my gun than elephants.
If I had a maxim, I might tackle elephants. I
am in receipt of an income of three thousand pounds
sterling a year from my father, who refuses to increase
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the amount. I am otherwise well satisfied with the universe.
My record last year was birds blah blah, fishes blah blah,
foxes blah blah. I have left space for the mortality
returns in any note you may wish to add, said
the secretary, courteously kindly fell in the figures and initial
the sheet. If you find it correct, your name will
(15:07):
not appear if mister Pilgrim makes use of the information.
Lord Roker referred to his pocket book for statistics and
then inserted the figures required. The note he added was
de mortuis nil nissa bonum. Good kills all of them,
he explained. The secretary took the sheet and placed it
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methodically in a folio labeled Britisher's. Is mister Pilgrim anywhere about?
Lord Roker asked, or Miss Pilgrim? I believe that Miss
Pilgrim is on the grounds. But mister Pilgrim has gone
across the moors in his motor to shed a tear
at the residence of the late Charlotte Bronte. A wonderful man,
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is my boss, my lord. It takes me all my
time to file the information he gathers. It will be
midnight before I have fixed Charlotte up. Your hours are long,
said Lord Roker sympathetically. They are, and they are getting longer.
Here country is just waking up to the fact that
John Pilgrim is here. We had a big mail today
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outside proper business. There were twenty begging letters from tramps
and prodigals, eighteen asking for subscriptions, and two which we
could not decipher. Four town councils mixed us up with
Andrew Carnegie and wrote, demanding free libraries. I reply to
all of them. Then I won't trespass any longer. On
your time, Mister Tullock pulled out his watch snakes. He exclaimed,
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I always have fifteen minutes dumbbell exercise now to keep
me inform. Good morning, my lord. His visitor left him
standing in position with his dumbbells. Now. When Lord Roker
turned in his chair and first saw Miss Marian Pilgrim,
he was confounded when she spoke, and to her beauty
there was added an infinite charm of frankness and joy
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of life. He fell hopelessly in love only once before
this happened to him, and singularly enough. She also was
an American, a dark eyed Boston girl he met in Rome.
He had been refused because his position and his prospects
rendered the match an impossibility to her father, for he
was not at that time heir to an earldom. Since
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then he had gone unscathed through the perils of many
seasons in many capitals, only to be finally routed while
in pursuit of the commonplace profession of a burglar. That
he had aroused any interest in her heart, he did
not for a moment suppose, but perhaps there might be
a remote chance of winning her. If there were, how
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could he imperil his hope of success by running the
risks attended on the burglary. If she could give him
the slightest hope, he would resign his membership of the
Burglars forthwith. It was ridiculous to have to rush matters,
but he had to know his fate at once. He
could not even put it off till tomorrow, for he
knew she was going to Naresborough for the day with
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her father. He met her on the golf links. They
played in a foursome in the morning. In the afternoon
they had a round together. She was in capital form.
Her splendid health and energy were a delight to the eye.
Perhaps it was owing to this distraction that he foozled
some of his drives and twice got badly bunkered. His
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play went steadily from bad to worse, and she won
by three up and two to play. I don't think
you were playing your best game, she said, as they returned,
It strikes me that you were thinking about something else
the whole time. You're quite right, I've never played worse,
and I was thinking about something else, something very serious,
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I reckon. Oh very Is it anything I could help
you in? You are very kind, Miss Pilgrim. All day
and most of last night, I have been deliberating on
an important step, what sort of step, whether or not
I ought to resign my membership of a certain club?
Is that all? Well? You see, I was one of
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the original founders, and I like it. But sometimes the
conditions of membership seem impossible at any rate. I have
felt them so since last evening. What are the conditions?
I can't tell you them all, but one is that
you have to be a bachelor, A confirmed bachelor. Well
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you are one, aren't you, she asked gently. I don't
know at any rate I might not always be. In fact,
I don't you be in a hurry to change, said
Miss Pilgrim. Don't imitate that King of yours. Judging from
the document Dad showed you, Henry the Eighth wanted to
be a bachelor again and then decided to remain a
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married man, all in one day. You Britishers are so variable.
It may seem very absurd, Miss Pilgrim, but I have
to make up my mind without delay, and you can
help me in this matter. Might I dare I one moment,
Lord Roker, she interrupted quickly, You ought to be very
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careful before you think of changing your state. Teddy Ropeson
waited twelve months before I promised to marry him. Teddy Robeson,
exclaimed Lord Roger. Yes, this is his picture. She pulled
a locket from her dress and showed him the miniature
of a nice, clean looking lad. He's the son of
Joshua K. Ropeson, the Fustic King, she explained. Fustic, repeated
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Lord Roger with intense gloom. It's a wood that dies yellow. Dead,
is the Logwood King, you know? Logwood dies black. When
I marry Teddy, the two firms will amalgamate and we
shall pretty well control the output of the West Indies.
I see, said Lord Roger. Rather I hear that'll be
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in the fall. If you ever come over to the States,
mind you look us up. Teddy will give you some
big game shooting. I guess you'd like it. Whatever you
told Dad, you've done things, missus Stilton told me at
breakfast this morning, that you had got a decoration for
distinguishing yourself in action. Oh that was years ago, well,
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not more than a hundred, she said gravely, And I
reckon you don't let the flies settle much. A gracious look,
it's six o'clock and i've letters to mail. I must run,
But don't you be in a hurry about retiring from
that club. Ugh, that's the second, said Lord Roker enigmatically,
as he watched her vanish. The second and the last.
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Lord Roker made no attempt to purloin the Bunyan manuscript.
That night. He thought it possible that the indefatigable mister
Tullet might prolong his labors on Charlotte Bronte into the
early hours of the morning, and being of a thoughtful temperament,
he was unwilling to interrupt them. He had still two
nights at his dispose. The next day he spent chiefly
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on the links. He did not allow his thoughts to
linger regretfully on his hopeless love. He gave his whole
attention to the game and retrieved his reputation by beating
the professional's record. In the evening, he played his part
in progressive bridge with marked success, and then, at one
thirty a m. When the whole establishment was presumably fast asleep,
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he descended from his bedroom window by a stout rope
and made his way to the wing occupied by mister Pilgrim.
He found the window of mister Tullet's room and was
busily engaged for the next half hour in opening it.
He then dropped into the room and turned on his light.
Three grandfather's clocks were solemnly ticking in three separate corners.
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The fire was still flickering in the grate. A pile
of letters, addressed and stamped were ready for the post.
A batch of correspondents was docketed and endorsed. The waste
paper basket was full to overflowing. Lord Roker gave one
glance around and then tried the door. It was, as
he expected, locked on the outside. He placed some chairs
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and other obstacles in front of it to impede progress
should an alarm be raised, and lit the gas in
order to add to mister Tullet's reputation for overwork. He
then turned to the drawer in which the Bunyan manuscript
was kept. It was locked. He produced a bundle of
keys and finally opened it. There was a document inside,
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but instead of being time stained, foxed and torn, it
was modern and neat. Moreover, it was typewritten and endorsed
notes on the Late Sea Bronte, Haworth, England, nineteen o four.
Lord Roker turned this out in disgust, hoping to find
the Bunyum manuscript below, but he was disappointed the manuscript
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was not there. He replaced the notes in the drawer
and turned his attention elsewhere. He opened every drawer in portfolio,
looked on every shelf and in every corner, but in
vain there was no sign of the Bunyan manuscript. Determined
not to be baffled for his credit as a burglar
was at stake, Lord Roker resumed his search and again
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went over the ground three times. At least. He was
disturbed when the grandfather's clocks went off at the hour
and the half hour with alarming wheezes and groans. When
they had finished with three thirty, he had to admit
himself beaten. The manuscript had no doubt been removed to
another room. It was desperately annoying, but he had still
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twenty four hours to find where it was and to
get it. He gave up on the search reluctantly and
made his way through the window and up the rope
to his bedroom. Soon after breakfast the morning, word went
round the Hydro that the Bunyan Manuscript had been stolen
from mister Pilgrim's rooms, the manuscript for which he had
just paid two thousand pounds. A hole cut in one
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of the window panes pointed to the method by which
entry had been made, but no clue to the thief
had been left behind. The police had been informed and
a detective was coming. Only the Bunyan Manuscript was missing.
That alone, of the many portable and valuable treasures in
mister Pilgrim's possession, it showed a literary instinct in the thief,
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which was as surprising as it was unusual, for it
would be impossible for him to make any profitable use
of his booty without certain discovery. The more one reflected
about it, the more perplexing it was. To Lord Roker,
it was humiliating in the extreme. To fail in his
mission was exasperating, but the annoyance was increased tenfold with
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the knowledge that he had been forestalled someone else, a professional,
no doubt, had been on the same errand he had
not dallied over the enterprise, and he had won the
stakes for which he played. And now he Lord Roker
would have to appear empty handed at the Burglars. He,
a founder of the club, would be the first man
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who had to resign through incapacity to carry out the
terms of his membership. It was galling. Indeed, even the
neat hole he had made in the window had been
placed to the credit of the other burglar. At six
p m. He went upstairs to dress. The evenings were chilly,
and he had occasionally had a fire. He sat down
before it now to finish his cigarette, and moodily watched
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the flames while his thoughts turned on the unsatisfactory nature
of all earthly affairs. Suddenly he gave an exclamation of
extreme surprise, jumped out of his chair, and caught hold
of a bit of half burnt paper projecting from the grate.
It was perhaps three inches long and two across. Half
of it was ash that fell away as he touched it.
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On the scant margin left was written in stiff archaic English,
Ye slough of desperate amazing. He cried for the fragment
he held in his hand was part of the missing manuscript.
In another instant, he had seized his water jug and
emptied the contents on the fire, putting it out and
deluging the hearth. Then he rang the bell and sent
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an urgent message for mister Pilgrim. Five minutes later, the
American entered. Roker handed him the fragment and pointed out
where he had found it. Seems a pretty expensive way
of lightened fires, said mister Pilgrim. Grimly, allow me to
ring for the help. Did you lay this fire? He
asked the maid, who responded, no, sir, that's Jenny's whack.
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Send Jenny up, then, said mister Pilgrim, now on his knees,
searching the grape for more traces of the manuscript, but
searching in vain. In a few minutes, Jenny entered, did
you lay this fire? Mister Pilgrim asked again, yes, sir.
What sort of paper did you use for it? Newspaper? Oh?
I know, I laid it yesterday morning with some old
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rubbishy stuff I found on your floor, sir, rubbishy stuff
you found on my floor, cried mister Pilgrim, What do
you mean, girl? I was lighting your fire? Yesterday morning, sir,
and found I'd used up all my paper, so I
got some out of your wastebasket. There was a dirty
lot of rubbishy paper lying on the floor beside it,
so I took that as well and used it up
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for my morning fires. How many fires did you lay
with it altogether? Well, your two, sir, and this one
and the one in the hall. Then this is the
only one of the lot that wasn't lit yesterday. Yes, sir,
I hope it wasn't anything important, I used, mister Pilgrim
sat down. Important. Not a bit, my girl. It just
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cost me ten thousand dollars, that's all. It wasn't what
they've said you've lost, was it, sir? Said the girl. Oh, sir,
I'm that's sorry. But all I can say say is
it was on the floor. It didn't look fit for
wrapping sausages in. Go, shouted mister Pilgrim, You a born fool,
And then, after a long pause, he added, I'm much
(29:00):
obliged to you, Roker. Now come along, I must see
my secretary. I suspect he's another mortal fool in disguise.
Mister Pilgrim's secretary was busy as usual, this time taking
down a letter from Miss Pilgrim's dictation scares me a minute, Marian, said,
Mister Pilgrim, then to his secretary. You said you were
(29:21):
reading that blamed Bunyan manuscript the night before last. Just
describe when you got it out and what followed. I'd
finished my transcript of your notes on Miss Bronte, Sir,
about eleven thirty, and having half an hour to spare,
I thought i'd just run over that old manuscript again.
John Bunyan had his own notions about calligraphy, and he
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was a bit freer in his spelling than any man
I'd come across, so I rather fancied him. While I
was reading, you may remember calling me to your room
to take down that cable to Boston and the letter
of confirmation. It was twelve thirty when I left you,
and i'd clean forgotten about the manuscript. I turned the
light out and went to bed. A quarter of an
(30:03):
hour afterwards, I remembered i'd left Bunyan out, so I
came back here. I couldn't find the matches, but I
just fell around for the manuscript and put it back
in the drawer and locked it. You darn't hay seed
burst in. Mister Pilgrim, you have your points, but at
this particular moment, I think you're more suited for raising
cabbages than for secretary work. If you can't tell the
(30:24):
difference in the handle of a Bunyan manuscript and your
notes on Charlotte Bronte in the dark, you might know
a banana from a potato in the daylight. You're you're
oh man. You put the Bronte notes in the drawer,
and you left the Bunyan out, brushed him on the
floor in the dark, and then the help lit the
fire with him. God, the secretary collapsed. Never mind, mister Tullett, said,
(30:48):
Miss Pilgrim, It was entirely a mistake. I might have
done it myself. It comes of working so late, Dad.
I guess there's plenty more old manuscripts in the British
Isles waiting for dollars to fetch them. And I reckon,
there's only one Bunyan manuscript, said mister Pilgrim, solemnly, and
that's gone to light hydropathic fires because my secretary doesn't
(31:11):
carry wax vestas in his pajamas. But what about that
hole in the window, Mister and Miss Pilgrim the Secretary,
and Lord Roker stared blankly at it. And that is
why Lord Roker was not able to show the Bunyan
manuscript at the next meeting of the Burglars Club end
(31:31):
of Chapter six
Chapter six of The Burglars Club, a romance in twelve chronicles.
This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in
the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please
visit LibriVox dot org. Read by Jim Pearson Perry The
(00:22):
Burglars Club by Henry Augustus Herring, Chapter six the Bunyan Manuscript.
Anstruther sat down. Amidst vociferous applause. Gentlemen, said the Duke.
I think we may heartily congratulate Major Anstruther on the
foresight in ingenuity displayed in renewing his subscription. I am sorry.
(00:45):
We cannot keep the radium as a memento, but according
to our rule, it has to be returned to Professor
blythe at once. This particular burglary has been so satisfactory
that I think we may with it vantage again. Turned
to the Daily Press for our next item I read yesterday.
(01:07):
Let me see where is it? I cut out the ah.
Here it is, yet another priceless possession is leaving the
Eastern Hemisphere. Thirty pages of the Pilgrim's Progress all that
is left of that immortal work in the handwriting of
John Bunyan. Has been waiting for offers at Messrs Christie's
room since November last. The highest bid from the United
(01:30):
Kingdom was forty five pounds ten shillings, at which price
the precious manuscript did not change hands. We now hear
that two thousand pounds has been offered and accepted. The
purchaser is mister John Pilgrim, the Logwood King of New York.
At the present rate of denudation, it seems likely that
(01:52):
fifty years hence the original of the Magna Charta will
be the only historical manuscript left in the country. Shame
shame greeted the reading of that paragraph. I'm glad you
agree with the newspaper, said the Duke Blandly. I read
that paragraph at breakfast yesterday, and since then I have
(02:12):
learnt that Lord Roker's subscription is due. It seems to
me more than a coincidence that these two matters should
come together. It is a national disgrace that the manuscript
of that remarkable, I believe unparalleled effort of mister Bunyan
should leave the country for one night longer. At any rate,
it must remain in the possession of Englishmen. My Lord Roker,
(02:36):
you will kindly produce the Bunyan manuscript at our next
meeting on the twenty third inst in settlement of your subscription.
At five p m. On Monday, April eighteenth, the last
a new arrival registered himself in the Visitor's book at
the Oakley Hydropathic Establishment as James Roker, Jermyn Street, Southwest.
(02:58):
He was a good looking, straight built man of thirty
or thereabouts. He was of an unobtrusive disposition, but was
obviously well informed, for in the smoke room after dinner,
when in a discussion on the internal resources of Japan,
the date of Queen Anne's death came up, the new
arrival gave it authoritatively as seventeen forty five, and so
(03:21):
settled the matter. The next morning brought letters addressed to
Lord Roker. Five minutes after the arrival of the post.
The news spread, and at breakfast he was the sinoshore
of all eyes. It was the first time that a
nobleman had stayed at the hydro excepting the doubtful instance
of Count Spiegalizon in eighteen ninety three. But to provide
(03:45):
for possible emergencies, the management had thoughtfully placed a peerage
on the bookshelves. This volume was now thoroughly investigated, and
it was learnt that James Lord Roker was heir to
the Earldom of Chalonar, and that he was born on
April twenty fifth, eighteen seventy. His birthday obviously would occur
(04:06):
the following week, and an enterprising lady suggested the propriety
of arranging for a concert and a representation of Missus
Jarley's waxworks in honor of the occasion. The only person
in the place who seemed annoyed by his arrival was
mister John Pilgrim, a gentleman from New York. That's why
he was so darned civil to me last night. He
(04:28):
thought he knows how fond Fifth Avenue girls are of
the British peerage, and he thinks he's only got to
drop his handkerchief from Marying to pick it up. HI
call it a bit thick of him. I'm glad she's
away for the day. I asked him to look round
this evening, so I reckon I'll have to be civil,
but I'll stand no nonsense. If he tries his sortyer
(04:50):
on me during the day, I'll let him know there
was no occasion or indeed opportunity to let Lord Roker
know anything during the day, for he went to Rylestone
the first thing after breakfast and only reappeared at dinner time.
The toilets of at least eighteen ladies were more elaborate
than usual that evening, but they were lost on Lord Roker, who,
(05:12):
after half an hour in the smoke room, tapped on
mister Pilgrim's door at eight thirty. Good evening, my Lord,
said mister Pilgrim, with studied politeness. Will you sit there,
cigar sir, I can recommend these. I hope you had
a pleasant day. How do you like the hydro? Thank you?
Said Lord Roker, as he took the box and settled
(05:34):
himself on the chair. Indicated, I've been away in the
country all days. I haven't seen much of the hydro
yet it seems all right. At any rate, you've got
pretty snug quarters, yes, said mister Pilgrim, with some complacency.
You say, I'm sampling the British Isles, getting the best
I can lay hands on, and am storing my purchases here.
(05:57):
This room is furnished with Heppendale and Chipple White's masterpieces
collected by my daughter paintings by Jones and Rosetti in
the next cabin I've got those historical sundrys I mentioned,
but before we look at them, I want you to
give me some information, and I shall be delighted to
do so. If I have it, you have it, sir,
(06:18):
I may as well explain what I want. I've come
over to see Europe for the first time, but I
want to know more about it than Americans do. As
a general rule, I'm not content to visit Shakespeare's tomb
and see Windsor Castle and then think I've done the
old country. I want to know the people who inhabit
her today, and you can't get to know them aboard trains.
(06:40):
That's why I've come to this hydro. I get here
what my secretary calls a symposium of the whole nation.
So I'm studying people here with the idea of writing
a book on my return. What are your views on
things in general, my Lord, my dear sir. That's a
big order, but I may say I'm pretty well satisfied
(07:01):
with things in general. You are a hereditary legislator, I believe,
said mister Pilgrim. I may be some day, replied Lord Roker,
But at present I am not. Well. Then what is
your particular line in life? If you mean business or profession,
I have none. I am a drone. A drone, sir,
(07:23):
I am delighted, exclaimed mister Pilgrim with marked interest. Then hello, Marian.
Back again. Roker turned, and there, framed in the doorway
was a living Romney picture, a radiant girl. She came forward,
the light playing on her red brown hair. Lord Roker,
my daughter, said mister Pilgrim. The girl smiled and shook hands.
(07:47):
I hope I'm not interrupting a very serious deliberation, she said,
half hesitatingly. Indeed not, Lord Roker hastened to assure her, fearful,
lest this delectable vision should vanish. She took the chair.
He offered, well, what have you gotten at yorke, inquired
mister Pilgrim. You'll neither of you guess. Three grandfather's clocks three,
(08:11):
exclaimed mister Pilgrim. Sheridan. He added, no, just grandfather's clocks,
and the dearest ones you ever saw. I can bet
on that, said her father. Are they genuine? They're all dated,
and mister Tullitt got pedigrees with each of them. One
of them tells the moon, and one the day of
(08:32):
the month. We shall have to hire an astrologer to
regulate them and start them fair. Mister Tullet says he
works best on board your railroad car, as noise suits him.
So I shall fix up the three clocks in his
den here to keep him happy. I reckon, he'll know
when it's lunch time anyway, But what have you been
doing dead? Makin a few notes at present? I'm gettin
(08:54):
some valuable information. Lord Roker says he's a drone. Well,
then I'm sure that Lord Roker does himself an injustice,
she said, turning her smiling eyes upon him. Roker shook
his head. I toil, not neither do I spin. What
do you do all the time, she asked? I shoot
and fish and hunt. And uh, once a year I
(09:18):
see the Eaton and harrow cricket match. Gosh, exclaimed mister Pilgrim.
He shoots and fishes and hunts, and once a year
he goes to a cricket match, I said, the Eaton
and harrow match. Oh, certainly they must give it some name.
I reckon, And what do you do when you can't
shoot and fish and hunt? I add up my list
of kills and catches, and this is downright interestin', said
(09:41):
mister Pilgrim. What do you shoot and hunt birds and foxes?
You seem to fancy small fry, sir. Did you never
hanker after elephants? Never? If I had a maxim or
a gatling gun, I might turn my attention to elephants,
but I'm not going to buy one for the purpose.
Mister Pilgrim looked hard at his guest, but Lord Roker
(10:04):
bore the scrutiny impassibly. May I ask how you get
your dollars, the American continued, I have an income from
my father. I don't mind telling you the amount, three
thousand a year dollars no pounds sterling. Well that's a
tidy figure. But did you never want to make three
thousand into thirty thousand? I have suggested an increase to
(10:28):
my father, but not such a big one as that.
I asked him to make it five, but he would not.
Someday perhaps he may, but thirty thousand is out of
the question. I should suppose it was. I didn't mean
an increase in your allowance. Did you never think of
dipping into trade and increasing it? That way, never doesn't
(10:50):
fancy elephants or trade. Mister Pilgrim soliloquized, Well, I reckon,
it takes all kinds of swallows to make a summer.
Your father must have been in a good way of business,
not a bit of it. He inherited all he has
from his ancestors. Oh, how did the original ancestor make
his pile in war? In the time of Edward the third,
(11:12):
he had the good fortune to capture a royal prince
to dukes and a marshal of France who is still
living on the ransoms he got. I should have liked
to known the original ancestor, said mister Pilgrim. Reckon, he'd
have tackled elephants if he'd only got a pea shooter.
Father broke in, Miss Pilgrim. I'm sure Lord Roker is
tired of answering questions. Don't you think it's our turn
(11:35):
to do something now? Ah, that's so, said mister Pilgrim,
who had long since forgotten his unkind suspicions of his
visitor's intentions. I hope I haven't worried you too much,
my lord. It isn't every day I get the chance
of interviewing a future hereditary legislator. I promised last night
to show you some historical curiosities. We'll just go in
(11:57):
and write out my secretary Tullett, who has the key,
and of them. They adjourned to the next room and
found mister Tullet busy at his desk. He opened various
cabinets and drawers for them. This, said mister Pilgrim, as
the original warrant signed by Henry the Eighth consigning his
sixth wife to the Tower of London for beheading purposes.
(12:17):
He had it penned in Latin to frighten her more.
The writ was never served, as Henry changed his mind
and decided to keep her on the throne. And here, sir,
is my latest purchased thirty pages of The Pilgrim's Progress,
written by John Bunyan in Bedford Jail. I paid ten
thousand dollars for that, and I'd have paid twenty before
(12:38):
missing it. You see, my name is John Pilgrim, and
it seemed to me that I have sort of a
claim on that book, a kind of relationship. Anyway, there's
my two names on the title page. Moreover, I've gone
on so well since I started life in a Chicago's stockyard,
that Pilgrim's progress would best describe my record. If it was,
(13:00):
dear Reverend, I would have called the autobiography I'm writing
by the name of that book. But as I can't
do so, I've bought the original manuscript. You'll handle it carefully.
It's not in the first rate repair. Mister Pilgrim showed
his guest other historical treasures, and would have gone on
indefinitely had not his daughter compassionately intervened. The rest of
(13:21):
the evening was spent in conversation and in listening to
coon songs witchingly sung by Miss Pilgrim to her accompaniment
on a harpsichord once the property of missus Thrale of Stretham,
a friend of the immortal doctor Johnson. Good Night, my lord,
said mister Pilgrim, at eleven o'clock. Perhaps you'll be kind
enough to look round in the morning. I'll shall make
(13:42):
a few notes of the information you've given me, and
my secretary will lick them into shape. Right, said Lord Roger,
with his eyes beyond mister Pilgrim fixed on an enchanting
vision of brown and gold seated in the basket chair
before the fire. On the following morning, Lord Roker found
(14:02):
mister Pilgrim's secretary before a typewriter, which he seemed to
be working against time. A pile of correspondence lay around him.
He finished the sheet on which he was engaged, and
then with a sigh of relief, he turned to his visitor. Morning,
my Lord, I have this ready for you. He handed
a typewritten sheet to Lord Roker, who sat down and read.
(14:24):
Some day I may be a hereditary legislator. At present,
I am a drone. I fish, shoot birds, and hunt foxes,
and once a year I attend a cricket match. Birds
are more suited to the bore of my gun than elephants.
If I had a maxim, I might tackle elephants. I
am in receipt of an income of three thousand pounds
sterling a year from my father, who refuses to increase
(14:46):
the amount. I am otherwise well satisfied with the universe.
My record last year was birds blah blah, fishes blah blah,
foxes blah blah. I have left space for the mortality
returns in any note you may wish to add, said
the secretary, courteously kindly fell in the figures and initial
the sheet. If you find it correct, your name will
(15:07):
not appear if mister Pilgrim makes use of the information.
Lord Roker referred to his pocket book for statistics and
then inserted the figures required. The note he added was
de mortuis nil nissa bonum. Good kills all of them,
he explained. The secretary took the sheet and placed it
(15:27):
methodically in a folio labeled Britisher's. Is mister Pilgrim anywhere about?
Lord Roker asked, or Miss Pilgrim? I believe that Miss
Pilgrim is on the grounds. But mister Pilgrim has gone
across the moors in his motor to shed a tear
at the residence of the late Charlotte Bronte. A wonderful man,
(15:47):
is my boss, my lord. It takes me all my
time to file the information he gathers. It will be
midnight before I have fixed Charlotte up. Your hours are long,
said Lord Roker sympathetically. They are, and they are getting longer.
Here country is just waking up to the fact that
John Pilgrim is here. We had a big mail today
(16:08):
outside proper business. There were twenty begging letters from tramps
and prodigals, eighteen asking for subscriptions, and two which we
could not decipher. Four town councils mixed us up with
Andrew Carnegie and wrote, demanding free libraries. I reply to
all of them. Then I won't trespass any longer. On
your time, Mister Tullock pulled out his watch snakes. He exclaimed,
(16:32):
I always have fifteen minutes dumbbell exercise now to keep
me inform. Good morning, my lord. His visitor left him
standing in position with his dumbbells. Now. When Lord Roker
turned in his chair and first saw Miss Marian Pilgrim,
he was confounded when she spoke, and to her beauty
there was added an infinite charm of frankness and joy
(16:54):
of life. He fell hopelessly in love only once before
this happened to him, and singularly enough. She also was
an American, a dark eyed Boston girl he met in Rome.
He had been refused because his position and his prospects
rendered the match an impossibility to her father, for he
was not at that time heir to an earldom. Since
(17:16):
then he had gone unscathed through the perils of many
seasons in many capitals, only to be finally routed while
in pursuit of the commonplace profession of a burglar. That
he had aroused any interest in her heart, he did
not for a moment suppose, but perhaps there might be
a remote chance of winning her. If there were, how
(17:38):
could he imperil his hope of success by running the
risks attended on the burglary. If she could give him
the slightest hope, he would resign his membership of the
Burglars forthwith. It was ridiculous to have to rush matters,
but he had to know his fate at once. He
could not even put it off till tomorrow, for he
knew she was going to Naresborough for the day with
(18:00):
her father. He met her on the golf links. They
played in a foursome in the morning. In the afternoon
they had a round together. She was in capital form.
Her splendid health and energy were a delight to the eye.
Perhaps it was owing to this distraction that he foozled
some of his drives and twice got badly bunkered. His
(18:21):
play went steadily from bad to worse, and she won
by three up and two to play. I don't think
you were playing your best game, she said, as they returned,
It strikes me that you were thinking about something else
the whole time. You're quite right, I've never played worse,
and I was thinking about something else, something very serious,
(18:44):
I reckon. Oh very Is it anything I could help
you in? You are very kind, Miss Pilgrim. All day
and most of last night, I have been deliberating on
an important step, what sort of step, whether or not
I ought to resign my membership of a certain club?
Is that all? Well? You see, I was one of
(19:06):
the original founders, and I like it. But sometimes the
conditions of membership seem impossible at any rate. I have
felt them so since last evening. What are the conditions?
I can't tell you them all, but one is that
you have to be a bachelor, A confirmed bachelor. Well
(19:27):
you are one, aren't you, she asked gently. I don't
know at any rate I might not always be. In fact,
I don't you be in a hurry to change, said
Miss Pilgrim. Don't imitate that King of yours. Judging from
the document Dad showed you, Henry the Eighth wanted to
be a bachelor again and then decided to remain a
(19:48):
married man, all in one day. You Britishers are so variable.
It may seem very absurd, Miss Pilgrim, but I have
to make up my mind without delay, and you can
help me in this matter. Might I dare I one moment,
Lord Roker, she interrupted quickly, You ought to be very
(20:09):
careful before you think of changing your state. Teddy Ropeson
waited twelve months before I promised to marry him. Teddy Robeson,
exclaimed Lord Roger. Yes, this is his picture. She pulled
a locket from her dress and showed him the miniature
of a nice, clean looking lad. He's the son of
Joshua K. Ropeson, the Fustic King, she explained. Fustic, repeated
(20:35):
Lord Roger with intense gloom. It's a wood that dies yellow. Dead,
is the Logwood King, you know? Logwood dies black. When
I marry Teddy, the two firms will amalgamate and we
shall pretty well control the output of the West Indies.
I see, said Lord Roger. Rather I hear that'll be
(20:56):
in the fall. If you ever come over to the States,
mind you look us up. Teddy will give you some
big game shooting. I guess you'd like it. Whatever you
told Dad, you've done things, missus Stilton told me at
breakfast this morning, that you had got a decoration for
distinguishing yourself in action. Oh that was years ago, well,
(21:17):
not more than a hundred, she said gravely, And I
reckon you don't let the flies settle much. A gracious look,
it's six o'clock and i've letters to mail. I must run,
But don't you be in a hurry about retiring from
that club. Ugh, that's the second, said Lord Roker enigmatically,
as he watched her vanish. The second and the last.
(21:41):
Lord Roker made no attempt to purloin the Bunyan manuscript.
That night. He thought it possible that the indefatigable mister
Tullet might prolong his labors on Charlotte Bronte into the
early hours of the morning, and being of a thoughtful temperament,
he was unwilling to interrupt them. He had still two
nights at his dispose. The next day he spent chiefly
(22:02):
on the links. He did not allow his thoughts to
linger regretfully on his hopeless love. He gave his whole
attention to the game and retrieved his reputation by beating
the professional's record. In the evening, he played his part
in progressive bridge with marked success, and then, at one
thirty a m. When the whole establishment was presumably fast asleep,
(22:24):
he descended from his bedroom window by a stout rope
and made his way to the wing occupied by mister Pilgrim.
He found the window of mister Tullet's room and was
busily engaged for the next half hour in opening it.
He then dropped into the room and turned on his light.
Three grandfather's clocks were solemnly ticking in three separate corners.
(22:46):
The fire was still flickering in the grate. A pile
of letters, addressed and stamped were ready for the post.
A batch of correspondents was docketed and endorsed. The waste
paper basket was full to overflowing. Lord Roker gave one
glance around and then tried the door. It was, as
he expected, locked on the outside. He placed some chairs
(23:09):
and other obstacles in front of it to impede progress
should an alarm be raised, and lit the gas in
order to add to mister Tullet's reputation for overwork. He
then turned to the drawer in which the Bunyan manuscript
was kept. It was locked. He produced a bundle of
keys and finally opened it. There was a document inside,
(23:29):
but instead of being time stained, foxed and torn, it
was modern and neat. Moreover, it was typewritten and endorsed
notes on the Late Sea Bronte, Haworth, England, nineteen o four.
Lord Roker turned this out in disgust, hoping to find
the Bunyum manuscript below, but he was disappointed the manuscript
(23:52):
was not there. He replaced the notes in the drawer
and turned his attention elsewhere. He opened every drawer in portfolio,
looked on every shelf and in every corner, but in
vain there was no sign of the Bunyan manuscript. Determined
not to be baffled for his credit as a burglar
was at stake, Lord Roker resumed his search and again
(24:14):
went over the ground three times. At least. He was
disturbed when the grandfather's clocks went off at the hour
and the half hour with alarming wheezes and groans. When
they had finished with three thirty, he had to admit
himself beaten. The manuscript had no doubt been removed to
another room. It was desperately annoying, but he had still
(24:35):
twenty four hours to find where it was and to
get it. He gave up on the search reluctantly and
made his way through the window and up the rope
to his bedroom. Soon after breakfast the morning, word went
round the Hydro that the Bunyan Manuscript had been stolen
from mister Pilgrim's rooms, the manuscript for which he had
just paid two thousand pounds. A hole cut in one
(24:58):
of the window panes pointed to the method by which
entry had been made, but no clue to the thief
had been left behind. The police had been informed and
a detective was coming. Only the Bunyan Manuscript was missing.
That alone, of the many portable and valuable treasures in
mister Pilgrim's possession, it showed a literary instinct in the thief,
(25:22):
which was as surprising as it was unusual, for it
would be impossible for him to make any profitable use
of his booty without certain discovery. The more one reflected
about it, the more perplexing it was. To Lord Roker,
it was humiliating in the extreme. To fail in his
mission was exasperating, but the annoyance was increased tenfold with
(25:44):
the knowledge that he had been forestalled someone else, a professional,
no doubt, had been on the same errand he had
not dallied over the enterprise, and he had won the
stakes for which he played. And now he Lord Roker
would have to appear empty handed at the Burglars. He,
a founder of the club, would be the first man
(26:04):
who had to resign through incapacity to carry out the
terms of his membership. It was galling. Indeed, even the
neat hole he had made in the window had been
placed to the credit of the other burglar. At six
p m. He went upstairs to dress. The evenings were chilly,
and he had occasionally had a fire. He sat down
before it now to finish his cigarette, and moodily watched
(26:27):
the flames while his thoughts turned on the unsatisfactory nature
of all earthly affairs. Suddenly he gave an exclamation of
extreme surprise, jumped out of his chair, and caught hold
of a bit of half burnt paper projecting from the grate.
It was perhaps three inches long and two across. Half
of it was ash that fell away as he touched it.
(26:49):
On the scant margin left was written in stiff archaic English,
Ye slough of desperate amazing. He cried for the fragment
he held in his hand was part of the missing manuscript.
In another instant, he had seized his water jug and
emptied the contents on the fire, putting it out and
deluging the hearth. Then he rang the bell and sent
(27:11):
an urgent message for mister Pilgrim. Five minutes later, the
American entered. Roker handed him the fragment and pointed out
where he had found it. Seems a pretty expensive way
of lightened fires, said mister Pilgrim. Grimly, allow me to
ring for the help. Did you lay this fire? He
asked the maid, who responded, no, sir, that's Jenny's whack.
(27:34):
Send Jenny up, then, said mister Pilgrim, now on his knees,
searching the grape for more traces of the manuscript, but
searching in vain. In a few minutes, Jenny entered, did
you lay this fire? Mister Pilgrim asked again, yes, sir.
What sort of paper did you use for it? Newspaper? Oh?
I know, I laid it yesterday morning with some old
(27:57):
rubbishy stuff I found on your floor, sir, rubbishy stuff
you found on my floor, cried mister Pilgrim, What do
you mean, girl? I was lighting your fire? Yesterday morning, sir,
and found I'd used up all my paper, so I
got some out of your wastebasket. There was a dirty
lot of rubbishy paper lying on the floor beside it,
so I took that as well and used it up
(28:18):
for my morning fires. How many fires did you lay
with it altogether? Well, your two, sir, and this one
and the one in the hall. Then this is the
only one of the lot that wasn't lit yesterday. Yes, sir,
I hope it wasn't anything important, I used, mister Pilgrim
sat down. Important. Not a bit, my girl. It just
(28:39):
cost me ten thousand dollars, that's all. It wasn't what
they've said you've lost, was it, sir? Said the girl. Oh, sir,
I'm that's sorry. But all I can say say is
it was on the floor. It didn't look fit for
wrapping sausages in. Go, shouted mister Pilgrim, You a born fool,
And then, after a long pause, he added, I'm much
(29:00):
obliged to you, Roker. Now come along, I must see
my secretary. I suspect he's another mortal fool in disguise.
Mister Pilgrim's secretary was busy as usual, this time taking
down a letter from Miss Pilgrim's dictation scares me a minute, Marian, said,
Mister Pilgrim, then to his secretary. You said you were
(29:21):
reading that blamed Bunyan manuscript the night before last. Just
describe when you got it out and what followed. I'd
finished my transcript of your notes on Miss Bronte, Sir,
about eleven thirty, and having half an hour to spare,
I thought i'd just run over that old manuscript again.
John Bunyan had his own notions about calligraphy, and he
(29:42):
was a bit freer in his spelling than any man
I'd come across, so I rather fancied him. While I
was reading, you may remember calling me to your room
to take down that cable to Boston and the letter
of confirmation. It was twelve thirty when I left you,
and i'd clean forgotten about the manuscript. I turned the
light out and went to bed. A quarter of an
(30:03):
hour afterwards, I remembered i'd left Bunyan out, so I
came back here. I couldn't find the matches, but I
just fell around for the manuscript and put it back
in the drawer and locked it. You darn't hay seed
burst in. Mister Pilgrim, you have your points, but at
this particular moment, I think you're more suited for raising
cabbages than for secretary work. If you can't tell the
(30:24):
difference in the handle of a Bunyan manuscript and your
notes on Charlotte Bronte in the dark, you might know
a banana from a potato in the daylight. You're you're
oh man. You put the Bronte notes in the drawer,
and you left the Bunyan out, brushed him on the
floor in the dark, and then the help lit the
fire with him. God, the secretary collapsed. Never mind, mister Tullett, said,
(30:48):
Miss Pilgrim, It was entirely a mistake. I might have
done it myself. It comes of working so late, Dad.
I guess there's plenty more old manuscripts in the British
Isles waiting for dollars to fetch them. And I reckon,
there's only one Bunyan manuscript, said mister Pilgrim, solemnly, and
that's gone to light hydropathic fires because my secretary doesn't
(31:11):
carry wax vestas in his pajamas. But what about that
hole in the window, Mister and Miss Pilgrim the Secretary,
and Lord Roker stared blankly at it. And that is
why Lord Roker was not able to show the Bunyan
manuscript at the next meeting of the Burglars Club end
(31:31):
of Chapter six
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