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."

The meal over, the boys and girls retired to the breakfast-room; and there, seated at the usual places round the table, they began to prepare their work for the following day.

"Guy," said Ida suddenly, "are you sure you were telling the truth about that methylated spirit?"

"Of course I was! D'you think I'd lie?"

"You do tell crams sometimes," put in Elsie, who was not going to see her brother pose as an angel of light without having a word to say.

"Shut up, Elsie! I tell you I haven't been near the bottle. It's weeks since I last worked the engine. – Isn't it, Brian?"

Brian looked up from his book. "Yes," he answered. "It's a month, I should say. There was something wrong with the cylinder, and Cole put it right."

"There, I told you so!" retorted Guy. "Now, perhaps you'll believe what I say."

For some time no one spoke. Elsie finished one of her lessons, and sat back in her chair for a moment's rest.

"I say," she murmured, "suppose Uncle Roger's box was full of bank-notes, d'you suppose father would let us have a pony? I think I should ask him to buy one."

Guy and Ida both looked up from their books.

"Get away!" cried the boy. "What rot! I wouldn't mind offering to pay you a shilling for every bank-note that's found in that stupid old chest. But, I say," he added, "fancy having a real live pony! It would be ripping!"

CHAPTER IV.

THE BOX OPENED

It seemed as if Thursday would never come. The four children were longing to know what was inside the box. Even Guy was inclined to abandon his idea that it was empty, and Elsie had quite made up her mind that it contained something wonderful. The excitement increased as the time drew nearer when the big blue seals would be broken, and the wonder seemed to be how any one could have waited twenty years for this to take place.

On Wednesday, when the family were gathered at dinner, Mrs. Ormond made a suggestion which was not at first received with unanimous approval.

"As all you children are anxious to see the box opened," she said, "I think instead of its being done at breakfast time to-morrow, it had better be postponed till after tea."

"O mother!" protested Guy and Elsie in the same breath. "What d'you want to do that for?"

"It's always a rush to get you started for school in the morning," was the answer. "If there's anything to hinder you, you're sure to be late. Considering that the box has been waiting to be opened for so many years, I'm sure a matter of a few hours can't make any difference."

"Oh yes; we'll wait till after tea," said Ida, "and then we shall have plenty of time for a grand opening ceremony."

With some reluctance Guy and Elsie agreed to this new arrangement. To them an extra ten hours or so seemed a very long time. The boy sat silent for a while, making a kind of switchback with his napkin-ring and the bread-knife.

"Mother," he said at length, "did you ever find the carver that was lost?"

"No; I'm sorry to say I haven't," was the reply. "We've searched and searched, but we can't find it anywhere."

"That's strange," remarked Mr. Ormond from his end of the table. "Does Harry know anything about it?" he added, alluding to a boy who had come in as a makeshift to clean knives and boots since the departure of William Cole.

"No; I spoke to him at once, and made him search the tool-house, but he couldn't find the knife. He says he never remembers having seen it, which I believe is true, for I don't think he's had it to clean since he's been here."

"It ought to be somewhere," remarked Mr. Ormond. "The lad's perfectly honest, I should say, and can't have walked off with it. At the same time, a carving-knife isn't a thing that disappears into thin air."

"Oh, I dare say we shall find it before long," was the answer. "Sometimes things do slip away in the most unaccountable manner, and you never discover where they are gone until perhaps you come across them quite by accident – often when you are looking for something else."

Elsie could hardly go to sleep that night for thinking of what was going to happen on the morrow. It would be nice, she imagined, to have a mysterious box like that to open every day of the year, and so ensure a constant succession of fresh surprises. Once more the chest was the subject of her dreams; and this time, instead of being found full of treasure, it simply would not open at all. Brian, Guy, and her father were all trying to force up the lid, but the iron bands held it firm. The only tool they had with which to work was the poultry-carver, and this bent up like a strip of paper.

"Oh, bother!" cried Elsie, and stamped her foot. With that the whole room seemed to rock and totter, and Ida's voice was heard complaining in sleepy tones, "I wish you wouldn't kick me and shout 'bother.' Do lie still!"

At length Thursday evening arrived. Blinds were lowered, curtains drawn, and lamps lighted. At the tea-table, as might be imagined, there was but one topic of conversation.

"Well, Brian," said Mr. Ormond, "what'll you give me for what's inside the box?"

"I should want to see first what it is, uncle."

"Very likely; but I want to know what offer you are inclined to make before it is opened. Come now – a speculation."

Brian laughed, and Elsie, who seemed unable to sit still on her chair, burst out with – "Father, if it is full of bank-notes, will you buy us a pony?"

"I think I must take an example from Brian, and be cautious," answered her father, laughing. "There are bank-notes and bank-notes. They might each be worth five pounds or five hundred; and between the two there is a considerable difference."

"If it's full of five-pound notes, would you buy us a pony?"

"Well – yes. I think I may safely say I would," answered Mr. Ormond, with another laugh. "But," he added, "I'm afraid, Elsie, that I shan't be called upon to fulfil my promise."

Elsie clapped her hands. Her mother smiled, and paused in the act of raising the silver teapot.

"Come, now," she remarked; "suppose each of you say in turn what you think will be found inside this wonderful box that has been shut up for twenty years."

"Father, you begin," said Ida – "you guess first."

"I'm sure I can't form any idea," was the answer. "What does your mother say?"

"I'll guess it's full of old letters and papers," was the reply.

"O mother, how uninteresting!" exclaimed Ida. "I'll say it's jewellery and silver plate."

"I'll say a bag of money!" cried Brian.

"I'll say old clothes!" shouted Guy. "What d'you say, Elsie?"

"A pony – no, I mean bank-notes," was the prompt reply, received with a fresh outburst of merriment.

"Well, come along," said Mr. Ormond, rising from the table. "Come along, and we'll see which of you has guessed nearest the truth."

The children all sprang from their chairs.

"A procession! a procession!" cried Ida. And one was immediately formed. Mr. Ormond went first, carrying the lamp; Guy followed, beating a tray to represent a drum; Ida, Elsie, and Brian improvised musical instruments out of the fire-irons, and Mrs. Ormond brought up the rear.

"Now," said Mr. Ormond, when the library was reached and the band ceased its triumphal march, "suppose you strong young men lift the box out into the middle of the room, and then we'll commence operations."

Guy and Brian soon had the chest in the position indicated; the lamp was put close by on an adjoining table, and boys and girls gathered round, one and all on the tip-toe of eager expectation.

"The first thing will be to get these seals off the padlocks," said Mr. Ormond. "Now, how are we going to do that? Old Uncle Roger certainly wasn't sparing of his wax."

"I've got an old chisel that'll do it!" cried Brian. "I'll fetch it, if you'll wait half a minute."

"Well, make haste!" cried Guy impatiently.

"It seems almost a shame to break the seals," said Ida, stooping to examine them. "The impression is so clear that I can read the words of the motto."

"Oh, bother the seals!" said her brother. "We can't see what's inside the box until they are broken."

A moment later Brian came bounding back with his chisel. Mr. Ormond took the tool, and soon chipped the wax away from the face of the locks.

"Now," he remarked, with a smile, "what should you say if we found I'd lost the keys?"

"Say!" cried Guy. "Oh, I should say, Burst it open somehow. Get the wood-axe, or the coal-hammer."

"I don't think there'll be any need for such extreme measures," answered his father. "Go to the top drawer on the left-hand side of that writing-table, and in it you'll find two keys on a steel ring."

The keys were produced, the padlocks unfastened and removed. The supreme moment had arrived, and the children crowded round holding their breath.

"Now then, children," said Mr. Ormond, preparing to raise the lid. "Are you all quite ready? Very well, then. One – two – three!"

There was a moment of astonished silence as the whole company bent over the opened chest. With a sort of gasp, Ida broke the spell. "Empty!" she cried.

It was perfectly true; the box was as empty as Mother Hubbard's famous cupboard.

"What a sell!" cried Guy, and burst out laughing. The disappointment was almost too much for Elsie; the tears came into her eyes, and her lips trembled.

"Cheer up, little woman!" said her father kindly. "It might have been worse. D'you remember the story in the 'Arabian Nights' of the fisherman who dragged a brass bottle out of the sea, and when he had broken the seals and taken out the stopper a great genie rushed forth in a cloud of smoke, telling the unfortunate man to choose what death he would die? Suppose, now, the same sort of creature came out of this box."

"I do call it a lot too bad!" exclaimed Ida. "D'you think Uncle Roger really did it on purpose, and left you only an empty box?"

"I'm sure I don't know," replied her father. "It seems like it. Perhaps he did it for a joke."

"A very silly sort of joke, then," continued the girl snappishly, "to make people keep a stupid old box for twenty years, when it was empty all the time."

"D'you think, uncle," began Brian, "that there was something in it once, but that it's been stolen?"

"That's impossible," was the answer. "No one could open the box without breaking the seals on the padlocks, and there you saw them just now intact, as they have always been. Supposing a thief had broken them, he couldn't have made fresh ones unless he had had the old man's seal, which I keep locked up in one of the drawers of my safe at the office."

"I suppose it would be impossible to break into the box through the bottom or one of the sides?" said the boy thoughtfully.

"Oh yes," answered Guy. "You couldn't possibly do that. It's made of solid oak, and see how strongly it's bound with iron. If you wanted to break into it at all, you'd have to smash it all up with an axe or sledge-hammer."

"I can't believe that anything has been stolen," said Mr. Ormond. "No; I think old Uncle Roger must have done it as a queer sort of joke. He was a strange old fellow."

"Well, it's a horrid, mean thing to do," cried Elsie, still half inclined to give way to tears. "It's perfectly hateful. Now we shall never have the pony."

The group continued to linger round the open box, as if still hoping that some treasure might be found.

"I think you'd better all come back into the warm room," said Mrs. Ormond. "It's very cold here. – Brian, will you put the box back in its old place? Some one may fall over it in the dark."

The boy prepared to do as he was asked.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed. "There is something in the old thing, after all."

"What?" cried all three of his cousins at once.

Brian laughed, and held up something between his finger and thumb. "A cork!" he answered.

CHAPTER V.

A NAVAL DISASTER

"A cork?" cried Ida. "Let me see it."

Brian handed over the small object which he had seen lying in a corner of the empty box. It was an ordinary cork, such as would fit a good-sized medicine bottle.

"That's what we must have heard the other day rolling about when we turned the chest up on its end," said Guy.

"What's the good of it? Throw it away!" cried Elsie, who could not get the bank-notes out of her mind.

"I wonder how it can have got there!" said Guy, as the family prepared to move back into the warmer room. "What could be the good of locking up and sealing a cork in an iron-bound box for twenty years?"

"I don't suppose it was put there on purpose," answered his father. "It dropped in by mistake."

"Oh, come on! Let's get to our lessons," said Ida. "I'm sick of that stupid box."

At that moment Brian, who had stayed behind to put the chest back in its place, appeared in the room.

"Uncle," he said, "this cork has got a little round label on the top, with the name of a chemist on it – 'Greenworthy.'"

Mr. Ormond took the cork, looked at it, held it nearer the lamp, and looked at it again.

"This is curious," he muttered.

"What's curious, father?" asked Elsie.

"Why, this cork has Greenworthy's name on it, and Greenworthy hasn't been in business for more than ten years at the outside, so how can one of his corks come to be inside a box that has been shut for twenty?"

"Then the box has been opened," said Brian.

Mr. Ormond seemed to doubt this. "One of you children must have dropped the cork in just now," he said. "Are you sure you didn't, Brian?"

"Quite sure, uncle," answered the boy.

"And I'm sure neither of us did," added each of his cousins.

"Perhaps there's a knot-hole in the box through which the cork might have been poked some time," suggested Elsie.

"I don't think there is," said Guy, moving towards the door. "But I'll soon see."

He returned a few moments later, but only to report that there was not the smallest crack or hole in the wood through which a pin could be dropped.

"It's certainly very funny," said Mr. Ormond. "The cork must have fallen out of some one's pocket after we'd opened the box. I may have dropped it in myself."

"But we heard it rolling about in the box some time ago," remarked Elsie.

"Well, it's a mystery," answered her father, laughing – "one which I can't explain."

The children prepared to retire to the breakfast-room and begin their day's lessons. Brian, however, had still one more question to ask.

"Uncle," he said, "supposing a thief had opened that box, wouldn't it be possible for him to imitate the seals?"

"Of course it would be possible to get a duplicate die made," was the answer. "But I'll tell you why I feel sure that in this case the locks have not been tampered with. Uncle Roger's seal came into my possession directly after his death, and has been in my safe ever since. In one place it was slightly damaged. There was a peculiar cut or scratch on the metal face, and I noticed that this cut was visible in the impression on the seals we broke just now. That could not have been imitated, and I'm quite convinced in my own mind that the box has not been opened."

By Saturday the keen edge of the disappointment had somewhat worn off, though Elsie had hardly recovered her accustomed spirits, and still grieved for the pony which she had quite made up her mind was to have been a black one, with white socks, and a white star on its forehead. Perhaps the boys felt the failure of their hopes and expectations less than the girl, from the fact that they had something on hand just then which occupied a considerable amount of their attention, and a good portion of their spare time.

Brian's great hobby was ship-building, and the fact that there was a fish-pond in the garden at the Pines enabled him to give each fresh model a practical test as soon as it was ready to be launched. He had constructed vessels of all descriptions – ships that sailed, and ships that didn't; gunboats which mounted a brass cannon, and peaceful merchant traders which carried cargoes of earth and stones across the water from one shore to another.

Now he had upon the stocks a vessel of an altogether novel design, and this latest addition to his miniature navy had cost him a great many hours of work and the exercise of no small amount of patience before it could be pronounced ready for use. It was said to be a "torpedo-boat destroyer," and was constructed out of the hull of an old tin boat. Her engines had once formed the motive power of a clockwork locomotive, but they had now been adapted to marine requirements, and made to turn a small screw.

With the determination to be up to date, Brian had resolved to have no woodwork about this war vessel. With considerable labour he had cut decks, funnels, and other fittings out of tin; to fix these in place it had been necessary to acquire the art of using a soldering-iron, and this he had done, though at the price of at least one rather bad burn and a blistered finger.

Evening after evening, when lessons were done, he had devoted his spare time to work on his model, fixing the engines, soldering down the decks, and putting in ballast, so as to balance the boat and keep her on an even keel. At length the work was finished; the Fury, as she was called, was painted all over an orthodox black, and when given a trial trip in the bath, ran from end to end in a manner which was quite satisfactory. Brian's next wish was to prove that the little vessel was equal to a trip across the fish-pond.

Saturday afternoon was fixed upon for the experiment, and soon after dinner Guy, Elsie, and their cousin assembled at the water-side, Ida having gone out with a friend. The pond was circular in shape, with a brick bottom, and was perhaps about thirty feet in diameter. It was shallow near the shore, and in one or two places were large pots in which water-lilies were planted, these forming dangerous reefs on which an unskilful captain of a model craft might well run his vessel aground. Brian wound up the engines of the Fury, keeping his finger on the screw to prevent it starting off with a whiz; then, adjusting the rudder, he lowered the "destroyer" into the water.

"Doesn't she look fine?" cried Guy, as the little vessel started off in good style. "Just like a real little steamer. Wouldn't it be fun if we could have two fleets, and make them fight? Hullo! She's changing her course."

The last remark was occasioned by the small craft bearing round in a curve, and making for the shore in another direction.

"It's the rudder," said Brian. "It doesn't work right. Give me a bit of string, and I'll see if I can't fix it properly this time."