Under Padlock and Seal

"Look!" cried the little girl. "The locks can't be opened because they are sealed. That thing like one of the chessmen with a leopard standing on top putting his tongue out was Uncle Roger's crest. He did that himself just before he died."

The front of each of the padlocks was ornamented with a big circular lump of dark blue sealing-wax, on which the impression of the old gentleman's seal was distinctly visible. While these remained unbroken it was impossible to put a key into either of the locks.

"I suppose he did that to make sure that no one should open the box before the proper time?"

"Yes," answered Elsie. "You see, even if a person had keys which would fit the locks, he couldn't use them unless he first broke the seals; and no one would do that, because it would show that the box had been meddled with."

"But supposing you got some more blue wax of the same colour – " began Brian. "But, no; of course you'd want the seal. What became of it, d'you know?"

"Father's got it. He keeps it locked up in one of the drawers of the big safe at his office. He showed it to us once. It's on the end of one of those chains that old gentlemen used to wear hanging down under their waistcoats."

At this point the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Guy and Ida, who had just returned from a walk.

"Hullo!" cried the former. "What are you two doing with Uncle Roger's box?"

"Only looking at it," answered Brian.

"What a crank the old chap must have been!" continued Guy. "Why didn't he leave it in his will to be opened at once?"

"I've heard father say that he was always doing queer things," remarked Ida. "Long after his wife died he wouldn't eat his meals unless her place was laid for her opposite to him at table, where she used to sit. For the last five years of his life they say he stayed in the house, and never put his foot outside the door."

"Silly old chump!" remarked Guy. "I wonder if there really is anything in this old box of his. Look here; I'll turn it up, and you listen and tell me if you hear anything move inside."

"O Guy, don't! You may break something!" exclaimed his sister.

"Not I. I'll do it gently. Now listen." Slowly and cautiously he turned the box on end, but its contents did not appear to move.

"I believe the blessed thing's empty!" cried the boy.

"I fancied I heard something sort of trickle about inside," said Elsie.

"Oh, you're always fancying something," said her brother. "You'll say the grindstone's in there next."

"I thought I heard something too," exclaimed Brian. "But it was only a very slight sound, such as a bit of loose wood might make – a chip, perhaps, from off the inside of the lid."

Guy lowered the box, and turned it up again. "I do hear something," he admitted. "It's a bit of wood, I expect. What a sell! I'm certain the box is empty."

"Oh, nonsense; you can't tell," answered Ida. "It may be quite full of something, and so tightly packed that the contents are wedged together, and can't shake about when you move the box. Uncle Roger would never have taken the trouble to seal the locks, and leave those instructions in his will, if it were just an empty box."

"Well, here goes," said Brian. "I'm going to put it back in its place again." And with these words he lifted the chest in his strong arms, and returned it to its old corner. Guy remained for a moment balancing himself on one foot.

"Let me see," he said; "what was it I meant to do? Oh, I know! Mend the ring in Bob's collar. He's always getting loose. First I must get the tweezers."

He ran off at once to find the tool, but on entering the kitchen was at once pounced upon by the cook. Sarah had been at the Pines for many years, and the young Ormonds had grown to regard her as quite one of the family.

"Now, Master Guy," she began, "what business had you got to go and take all my methylated spirit?"

"I haven't touched it," was the answer.

"Yes, you have, now. You've been and taken it for that there model steam engine of yours. Why didn't you come and ask if you might have some?"

"I tell you I haven't had any," persisted the boy.

"Now, Master Guy, you're telling fibs. The bottle was half full, or nearly so, last week; and when I come to it this afternoon there wasn't a drop left, and too late to send down into town and get any."

"Look here, Sarah; you can say what you like, but I haven't touched your silly old bottle, so there! Jane must have taken the spirit, or else you used it yourself."

The boy found the tweezers, and ran out into the yard. But Sarah was still unconvinced. She had found her remaining stock of methylated spirit entirely vanished; and as Guy had been known, on one or two previous occasions, to borrow the bottle and help himself to its contents when fuel was required for his model steam engine, she naturally supposed him to be the culprit in the present instance.

Later on, when the family were assembled at the tea-table, Mrs. Ormond herself referred to the matter.

"Guy," she said, "are you sure you haven't taken cook's methylated spirit?"

"Quite sure, mother."

"I should be sorry to think that you weren't telling me the truth about such a small matter, but I must say it does seem very strange. Sarah goes and finds the bottle standing uncorked and empty, and I know myself that there was some spirit in it a few days ago."

"Perhaps if the cork wasn't in the bottle the spirit had evaporated," suggested Elsie.

"I don't think it would do that," replied her mother, laughing. "I'm rather inclined to think that it evaporated into the lamp of somebody's steam engine."

"No, it didn't!" cried Guy. "Look here, mother; you might as well believe a fellow when he tells you the truth."

"Well, if you tell me you didn't take it," replied Mrs. Ormond, "I must believe you. All I can say is, it's very strange."

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