been shocked by the fall in value of some dashed railway shares to about half the value of waste paper, that I faced the problem squarely and made my decision."
"Oh, there was a certain amount of method in your madness, I suppose."
"What d'yer mean, madness?"
"There always is, bless him," proceeded Anne, addressing Jeff with the air of an indulgent parent discussing the eccentricities of a favourite child. "When he explains any of these weird doings of his, you find yourself nodding appreciatively and feeling that he has taken the only possible course."
"Diamonds are always diamonds," said Jeff, for the defence.
"Not if you can't find them."
"It's nice, of course, to be able to find them."
"Full many a gem of purest ray serene the dark, un-fathomed caves of ocean bear, and a lot of good they are to a hard-up old peer of the realm and his impoverished niece. This also applies to gems which may or may not be stuffed up the chimney in the second housemaid's bedroom."
"I don't think they are there," said Lord Uffenham, having considered the suggestion.
"They may be."
"True."
"You haven't the slightest notion where they are."
"At the moment, no. I keep getting what seem to be encouraging gleams of light, but they haven't led anywhere."
Jeff touched on a point which, he felt, would not have escaped the attention of Sheringham Adair.
"Why didn't you put these diamonds in a safe deposit vault?"
"I don't believe in safe deposit vaults."
"Ask him why he didn't buy a safe of his own?" said Anne.
"Why didn't you buy a safe of your own?" enquired Jeff obediently.
"I don't---"
"—believe in safes."
"Well, I don't," said Lord Uffenham, stoutly. "A safe simply affords an indication to a burglar where to start looking. It gives the foul feller a sort of official assurance that if he is prepared to take a little trouble, he will find something to his advantage."
"You are a deep reasoner, Lord Uffenham."
"Always have been."
"Doesn't he remind you a little," said Anne, with a niece's candour, "of the White Knight in Alice Through The Looking Glass? When he passes into those trances of his, I always feel that he's thinking of a way ... I forget how it goes, but a way of doing something or other quite different from anything anybody else would have thought of. Safe deposit vaults? No. He doesn't believe in them. Safes? Not for the Last of the Uffenhams. Coal scuttles, yes."
"Coal scuttles?"
"He tells me he once hid them in the drawing-room coal scuttle. He used to think of a different place every night."
"It amused me," said Lord Uffenham. "I found it an entertaining test of my ingenuity."
"Which, of course, has rather complicated things. His memory has got back to what you might call the fitful stage, and he keeps remembering clever places he once thought of. And then he goes and rummages there. So now you will understand how all this anti-Cakebread feeling started. Every time he rummages, somebody always comes in while he is half-way through. You can see what he's like—rather a large man—tall, broad, lots of firm flesh. If you come into a room where he is hunting for diamonds, you can't miss him."
Jeff nodded. He quite saw how the other would catch the eye.
"Very embarrassing."
"Most."
"And how did you—er—get this way, Lord Uffenham?'*
"Mr. Adair means," interpreted Anne, "how did you lose your memory? You tell him. I want to see if it sounds as funny as it did when you told me."
Lord Uffenham exhibited a certain testiness.
"You will exaggerate so, my dear. There's no question of my having lost my memory. All that's happened is that it's a bit uncertain for the time being, owing to that motor accident of mine."
"You aren't telling it nearly as well this time, darling. My Lord Uffenham," explained Anne, "is a man who will never just accept conventions. He likes to brood over them and examine them, and if they seem to him unreasonable, he takes a resolute stand against them. He was driving on the right of
"Oh, there was a certain amount of method in your madness, I suppose."
"What d'yer mean, madness?"
"There always is, bless him," proceeded Anne, addressing Jeff with the air of an indulgent parent discussing the eccentricities of a favourite child. "When he explains any of these weird doings of his, you find yourself nodding appreciatively and feeling that he has taken the only possible course."
"Diamonds are always diamonds," said Jeff, for the defence.
"Not if you can't find them."
"It's nice, of course, to be able to find them."
"Full many a gem of purest ray serene the dark, un-fathomed caves of ocean bear, and a lot of good they are to a hard-up old peer of the realm and his impoverished niece. This also applies to gems which may or may not be stuffed up the chimney in the second housemaid's bedroom."
"I don't think they are there," said Lord Uffenham, having considered the suggestion.
"They may be."
"True."
"You haven't the slightest notion where they are."
"At the moment, no. I keep getting what seem to be encouraging gleams of light, but they haven't led anywhere."
Jeff touched on a point which, he felt, would not have escaped the attention of Sheringham Adair.
"Why didn't you put these diamonds in a safe deposit vault?"
"I don't believe in safe deposit vaults."
"Ask him why he didn't buy a safe of his own?" said Anne.
"Why didn't you buy a safe of your own?" enquired Jeff obediently.
"I don't---"
"—believe in safes."
"Well, I don't," said Lord Uffenham, stoutly. "A safe simply affords an indication to a burglar where to start looking. It gives the foul feller a sort of official assurance that if he is prepared to take a little trouble, he will find something to his advantage."
"You are a deep reasoner, Lord Uffenham."
"Always have been."
"Doesn't he remind you a little," said Anne, with a niece's candour, "of the White Knight in Alice Through The Looking Glass? When he passes into those trances of his, I always feel that he's thinking of a way ... I forget how it goes, but a way of doing something or other quite different from anything anybody else would have thought of. Safe deposit vaults? No. He doesn't believe in them. Safes? Not for the Last of the Uffenhams. Coal scuttles, yes."
"Coal scuttles?"
"He tells me he once hid them in the drawing-room coal scuttle. He used to think of a different place every night."
"It amused me," said Lord Uffenham. "I found it an entertaining test of my ingenuity."
"Which, of course, has rather complicated things. His memory has got back to what you might call the fitful stage, and he keeps remembering clever places he once thought of. And then he goes and rummages there. So now you will understand how all this anti-Cakebread feeling started. Every time he rummages, somebody always comes in while he is half-way through. You can see what he's like—rather a large man—tall, broad, lots of firm flesh. If you come into a room where he is hunting for diamonds, you can't miss him."
Jeff nodded. He quite saw how the other would catch the eye.
"Very embarrassing."
"Most."
"And how did you—er—get this way, Lord Uffenham?'*
"Mr. Adair means," interpreted Anne, "how did you lose your memory? You tell him. I want to see if it sounds as funny as it did when you told me."
Lord Uffenham exhibited a certain testiness.
"You will exaggerate so, my dear. There's no question of my having lost my memory. All that's happened is that it's a bit uncertain for the time being, owing to that motor accident of mine."
"You aren't telling it nearly as well this time, darling. My Lord Uffenham," explained Anne, "is a man who will never just accept conventions. He likes to brood over them and examine them, and if they seem to him unreasonable, he takes a resolute stand against them. He was driving on the right of
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