Chapter 46

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_ CHAPTER FORTY SIX.

Uncle Richard came back late the second night after the robbery, tired out, and glad to go to bed, so that nothing was said respecting the events at the observatory till the next morning at breakfast.

"Hah! no place like home, Mrs Fidler," he exclaimed. "London hotels are all very well, but I'm always glad to get back to Heatherleigh."

"It does me good to hear you say so, sir," said the housekeeper, "for I'm always afraid, sir, that when you come back from the grand places you've been at you'll be dissatisfied."

"No fear of that, Mrs Fidler," said Uncle Richard merrily. "Well, Tom, my lad, I need not ask how you are; you look quite hardy."

"There, Mrs Fidler," said Tom, "you hear that?"

"Yes, my dear, I hear that," said the housekeeper, compressing her lips; "but you can't deceive me. You know you were ill."

"I know you wanted to dose me with prune tea," cried Tom hastily; and he made a grimace.

"Well, sir, who are you that you are not to be dosed with prune tea?" said Uncle Richard, with a mock-serious look. "Mrs Fidler has on more than one occasion tried to play the doctor's part with me."

"And I'm sure, sir, I meant it for the best," said the housekeeper, drawing herself up.

"Of course you did, Mrs Fidler," said Uncle Richard. Then, to change the conversation--"Well, Tom, how about the plane mirror; have you got one perfect yet?"

"Perfect, uncle?" said Tom, smiling. "I'm afraid not."

"So am I, my lad; but have you made one as perfect as possible?"

"Yes, uncle, I've done that," said Tom, who, ever since he rose that morning, had been in a state of mental perturbation, eager to tell his uncle about the breaking into the mill, but fully determined not to say a word--for several reasons--until they were alone.

"Well, let's hear what you did."

"Exactly as you told me, uncle. I took the three pieces of thick plate-glass, and ground them together, changing their positions over and over again, and ended by polishing them one over the other till I think they are as flat as they can possibly be."

"That remains to be proved, Tom--in the telescope. One of the three ought to be good enough for us; but we shall see."

Then the breakfast went on, with Uncle Richard spending a good deal of time over his letters; and at last Mrs Fidler rose and left the room, while Tom felt his cheeks grow warm with excitement.

The time had come for speaking about the robbery, and the question was how to begin. For the boy felt that he had been left in charge of the observatory, and that his uncle might fancy that he had neglected something in the way of securing the place. How then to begin?

While he was mentally seeking for the words connected with the first plunge, the difficulty was solved, the announcement coming out quite naturally, just as Tom felt that he must plunge at once into the story of how he had--in his ignorance--become once more poor.

"What was the matter with you, my boy?" said Uncle Richard, suddenly dropping the letter he was reading, and looking searchingly at his nephew.

"Matter, uncle?"

"Yes, when Mrs Fidler wanted to physic you. There must have been something wrong or she would not have noticed it. Too much fruit?"

"Oh no, uncle," cried Tom eagerly. "She saw how dull and tired I looked after that night in the mill."

"What? you never were so foolish as to stop up all night at work over those plane mirrors?"

"Oh no, uncle," cried Tom, who was now well started; and he plunged at once into his narration, from the looking out of the window to his return to bed.

"Tut--tut--tut!" ejaculated Uncle Richard, frowning, and looking very grimly at his nephew, who, as soon as he had run down, changed from a state of eager excitement to one of depression, and felt quite chilled by the reception his news had met with.

"You don't think I ought to have done more, do you, uncle?" he faltered.

"More? Goodness gracious, boy, what more could you have done? You behaved very pluckily, but it was a great risk to run. Then you have not made it known?"

"No, uncle. David knows, of course, but I gave him strict orders not to say a word."

"And he has not spoken?"

"No, uncle, I think not."

"Good! But you have not spoken to Mr Maxted?"

"No, uncle. I thought you ought to be the first to hear."

"Quite right, Tom. I am glad that in so serious a matter you kept your own counsel. I don't think David would speak. Eh? Yes, Mrs Fidler, we have quite done. Come along, Tom. We'll go over into the workshop."

Uncle Richard led the way, gazing keenly up at the little gallery as they crossed the mill-yard.

"Tut--tut--tut!" he ejaculated. "Why, Tom, you might have broken your neck."

He said no more till they were up in the laboratory, where he examined the bureau, frowning heavily the while, and noting how easily, by the insertion of a flat iron tool, the woodwork could be heaved up, so as to allow the locked drawers to be wrenched open; and there were the marks of chisel or screw-driver plainly showing where they had indented the wood.

Then they went up into the observatory, and the great shutter was examined.

"Hah! I see you have locked the stable door, Tom," exclaimed Uncle Richard.

"Stable door, uncle?"

"Yes, now the steed is stolen. That shutter did not close securely. Any one could pass a hand beneath, and then slip the bolt."

"Yes, uncle; and so I put a screw in there to hold it fast till you came back."

"Quite right. I'll have it done properly. We'll secure it with a piece of sheet-iron at the bottom. Come along down."

They went back into the laboratory below. Uncle Richard making a few remarks about the trap-door, and the struggle at the steps, asking a few questions too about the chase up and down, and round the workshop, before he settled himself in an easy-chair, leaving Tom standing by the table.

"Nice fellow you are, sir," he said severely; "I left you in charge for a few days, and you get up an affair like this ready for me when I come back."

"Uncle!" cried Tom indignantly.

Uncle Richard's countenance relaxed.

"Sit down, Tom," he said, "and let's talk like business men. That's right. You did well in keeping the matter perfectly private; but now let's have everything open and clear as the day. This was nothing more nor less than a burglary, and you surprised the burglar or burglars. Which was it, singular or plural?"

"I only saw--I mean felt--one, uncle," said Tom uneasily; "but there must have been two."

"Why?"

"Because there must have been some one outside to lift the ladder up again."

"After you had laid it down. Of course."

"And I heard a whispering too."

"Must have been at least two then, Tom. Well, that's something. Now then for the next. You had a regular struggle with the burglar--a big strong fellow of course, or he would not have got the better of you."

"Oh no," said Tom quickly; "not very big or strong. I held my own with him pretty well, but he had the best of it."

"You could not see his face?"

"No, uncle."

"But you formed an idea of who it was?" Tom was silent.

"Some one who must have known the place, eh?"

"Yes, uncle, I think he must have known the place."

"Such a fellow as our amiable young poaching friend, Pete Warboys, eh?"

"David says he is sure that it was Pete."

"Why does he say that?"

"Because Pete would know where the ladder was kept, and get it into the yard."

"To be sure; no one more likely," said Uncle Richard, watching his nephew keenly, and then opening and shutting two or three of the drawers as if waiting for Tom to go on speaking.

But Tom remained silent.

"But you don't think it was Pete Warboys, eh?"

Tom still remained silent, and his uncle drew out the drawer in which the deeds had been placed.

"Come, my boy, I must cross-examine you," continued Uncle Richard. "Out with it. There is always to be perfect confidence between us two."

"Yes, uncle," cried Tom passionately, "but don't make me speak. It is only a suspicion, and I may be wrong."

"I'll tell you if you are, Tom, my boy. You heard what I said--there must be perfect confidence between us two. When that ceases, which I think will never be, you and I will part."

"But it seems so hard, so brutal to say such a thing when perhaps it is all imagination, and due perhaps to one's not liking some one else."

"True, Tom," said Uncle Richard gravely; "but we must have out the truth. Come, I'll help you, for I'm afraid I think as you do--you fancy it was your cousin Sam?"

Tom nodded quickly.

"Why?"

Tom tightened his lips as if saying, "I won't speak," but his uncle's eyes were searching him, and in a slow, faltering way he said--

"I don't think Pete Warboys would break in here to steal valuable papers, uncle."

"No; it hardly seems likely, Tom. Go on."

"And--and I thought--must I go on, uncle?"

"Yes, boy, to the bitter end," said his uncle sternly.

"I thought, uncle, that as Uncle James had given me those papers, which made me rich instead of him, my cousin Sam had felt disappointed, and come down here at night, asked Pete Warboys to help him--"

"But he did not know Pete Warboys."

"Only a little, uncle; he had seen him. He might have asked him to get him the ladder."

"Might, Tom; but that looks doubtful. Well?"

"And then, as I could not find out that anything else was stolen--or taken," said Tom, correcting himself, "except those papers, I thought that it must have been Cousin Sam."

"Nothing else stolen but those papers?--you mean the packet you saw me put in the drawer here?"

"Yes, uncle, in the big envelope. There was nothing else taken but them, and some of the other papers."

"Sure, Tom?"

"Yes, quite sure, uncle; and this made me think that nobody else was likely to take them--nobody else would care to do such a thing. But, uncle--"

"Yes."

"I don't think I mind much. I never expected to have any money, except what I could earn for myself; and if it was Sam--"

"What, who came and broke open this bureau like any burglar would?"

"Yes, uncle," said Tom sadly; "if you too really think it was Sam."

"Stop a moment, boy. Had your cousin any notion as to what was kept in that bureau?"

"I'm afraid so, uncle. When he came down here, and I took him about and showed him the place, I remember he asked me what was kept there, and I said you kept your valuable papers there."

"Humph!" ejaculated Uncle Richard.

"But if you do think it could have been Sam--"

"Stop again, sir," cried Uncle Richard; "are you keeping anything back? Are you sure that you did not recognise him by some word, or when you were near the window? Did you not get a glimpse of his face?"

"No, uncle," said Tom firmly. "I never once had the slightest idea as to whom it could be, till I began to think about it after the struggle, and he had got away. Then I'm afraid I made sure it was he."

"Humph!"

"But if you think it was he, uncle--"

"I do think it was, Tom. I feel sure of it, my boy."

"But you won't punish him, uncle?"

"I have punished him, Tom."

"What, you knew, and you have done this?" cried Tom excitedly, as he sprang from his seat, and caught his uncle by the arm.

"I have punished him, Tom, and most severely."

"Uncle! I'd sooner have given up the money a dozen times over. I wish I'd never known of it. Think what it means. Why, a magistrate would treat him like a thief."

"Well, he is a thief," said Uncle Richard sternly.

"Yes; but oughtn't we to hide it from the world, uncle? He is only a boy, and it will spoil his whole life. I'd give the money, I say, a dozen times over sooner than he should be punished. Boys are stupid and thoughtless, uncle; they often do things in haste that they would not do if they considered first, and such a little thing sometimes means so much afterwards."

"Was this a little thing, Tom?"

"No, uncle," cried Tom piteously; "but it would be so horrible. He is my own cousin."

"Yes, Tom, and my own brother's son."

"Yes, uncle; and he never liked me, and I never liked him, but I can't stand by and let you punish him without saying a word."

"Then you mean to tell me, Tom, that you would let him go scot free, sooner than have him punished for trying to take _again_ what is your heritage?"

"Yes, uncle, I would," cried Tom excitedly, "every penny, sooner than he and my aunt and uncle should come to disgrace."

"But they behaved badly to you, sir."

"Perhaps I deserved some of it, uncle."

"Then you must have been a bad one, Tom."

"Yes, uncle, I'm afraid so. But you will let him off? Perhaps he'll repent and send the papers back."

"The same way as foxes do with the farmers' chickens," said Uncle Richard, smiling.

"Uncle, it is too serious to laugh at," cried Tom indignantly. "Sam Brandon is your own nephew."

"Yes, Tom, and all you say is in vain. I have punished him severely for a cruel, cowardly robbery."

"But you'll do no more, uncle?" cried Tom. "Humph! Well, no, I think I may say that I shall do no more. Possibly I shall never see him again."

"Ah, I don't mind that, uncle," cried Tom anxiously. "But tell me-- how--what you have done. I would not speak to anybody, and kept it all so quiet till you came, uncle, because of that. You--you haven't put it in the hands of the police?"

"How could I, my boy, when I knew nothing of the robbery until you told me this morning?"

"But you said you had punished him, uncle."

"So I have--cruelly."

"I don't understand you," said Tom, with his brow puckered-up, and some of the old ideas about his uncle's sanity creeping back into his mind.

"I suppose not, Tom; but I have punished your cousin all the same-- unconsciously of course."

"I wish you'd tell me what you mean, uncle," said Tom, with his face one mass of puckers and wrinkles.

"I will, Tom. No; I would never be the man to bring the law to bear on my own brother or nephew, though on your account I should have taken pretty stern measures to enforce restitution of any papers that had been stolen; but I have, without knowing it, allowed your cousin alone, or perhaps incited, to come down here in my absence, and cunningly attempt to get those deeds back into his or his father's possession."

"Oh, uncle! you don't think--"

"Silence. I don't want to think or surmise, Tom. I only want for you and me to be left alone to our own devices, and you keep interrupting me when I want to explain."

Tom made a deprecating gesture.

"Unconsciously, I say, I have punished your cousin, for he came down here and stole some worthless papers."

"No, uncle," said Tom sadly; "the deeds are gone."

"Yes, my boy," said Uncle Richard; "on second thoughts I felt that it was my duty to place them in a safe depository, and I took them up to London when I went, and saw them locked up in the deed-box with my other valuable papers, and then placed in the strong-room at my lawyer's, where they are out of every would-be scoundrel's reach."

"Uncle!" cried Tom excitedly.

"Well, Tom?"

"I am glad."

"That the papers are safe?"

"Bother the old papers!" cried Tom; "that you have punished him like that."

Then the lad burst into a fit of peculiar laughter, and became calm the moment after.

"Come on, uncle," he cried; "I want to show you the three plane mirrors that I've ground."

"Beauties, Tom," said Uncle Richard a few minutes later. "Tom, my lad, you're my dear sister's son, and the queerest boy I ever met."

"Am I, uncle?" said Tom dryly.

"Yes, my lad."

"You don't mind?"

"Not a bit, Tom. I'm glad."

"Then hooray! let's get to work. I want to see the moon with the new plane mirror."

"Moon, bah! You're lunatic enough as it is, boy."

Tom gave his uncle a comical look, and then shyly held out his hand, which was gripped in a clasp which made him wince. _

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