The Hon. Richard Hilton stared at the type-written letter with distinct feelings of pleasure. This is what he read:—

"That's good," he ejaculated. "Ribston's a trump. But what on earth's the Great Seal of the United Kingdom, and where is it to be found?"

Mr. Hilton's library was chiefly devoted to sport and fiction, and he could find no reference to it therein. He had therefore to make inquiries outside, when he learnt that the Great Seal of the United Kingdom was the property of the Lord Chancellor for the time being, that it was a very important object indeed, its impression being requisite at the foot of the highest documents of State; and, consequently, that its unexpected absence might very well upset the nation's affairs and incidentally bring serious trouble upon anyone who had tampered with it.

Mr. Hilton's sporting instincts were roused. "It seems to me," he thought, "that this is going to be the best thing I have had on since I walked across Thibet disguised as a second-class Mahatma. But where does the Chancellor keep the thing?"

He skimmed through many biographies of Lord Chancellors with very little result. One of them, it appeared, kept the Great Seal with his silver, another always carried it about with him in a special pocket, and slept with it under his pillow; while a third stored it at the Bank of England. History was discreetly silent as to how the other hundred and one keepers of the Great Seal guarded their property.

Mr. Richard Hilton contemplated his notes with disgust. "I never could rely on books," he said. "There's nothing for it but to find out for myself. The present man probably keeps it where any other common-sense fellow would. He'll have a library, so it may be there. He's a good liver, so it may be in a secret bin in his wine cellar; he's a sportsman, so it may be in a gun-case under his bed. I shall have to look round and find out. Where does he live?"

His lordship's town residence was Shipley House, Kensington Gore. Hilton took a walk in that direction. The house looked as unpromising and unsympathetic a subject for robbery as a metropolitan magistrate could have wished. The spiked railings in front and the high wall at the back would have suggested to most people the impossibility of the enterprise; but Mr. Hilton simply noted these items with interest, and then adjourned to a light lunch at his club to think the matter out.

It was one o'clock in the morning when Mr. Hilton scaled the wall at the rear of the Lord Chancellor's house. Though it was nine feet high, it presented no difficulties to an ex-lieutenant in the navy; but he got over carefully, for he was in evening dress, believing that to be the safest disguise for a general burglar. He dropped lightly on the turf, and then made his way across to the house and commenced a careful inspection of the basement windows. To his intense surprise, he found the lower sash of one of them to be open. This astonishing piece of good luck meant the saving of at least an hour. With a cheerful heart he entered the house, finding his way by the electric flashlight which he carried.

His passage to the great hall upstairs was easy. Here he halted to take his bearings. He was at the foot of the marble stairs for which Shipley House was famous. Once they had stood in front of Nero's villa at Antium; but, oblivious of his historic surroundings, Mr. Richard Hilton stood wondering which of the four doors on his left led to the library. One after another he cautiously opened them, only to find living or reception rooms. He crossed the hall, and got into the billiard-room. Where on earth was the Lord Chancellor's den? Ah! those heavy curtains under the staircase. He passed through them. There was a short passage, with a door at the end. Hush! what was that? He listened intently. It was nothing—merely nervous fancy. He turned the handle of the door, and entered.

He was in the Lord Chancellor's library. But, Heavens! he was not there alone.

For a moment he drew back in dismay; but the singularity of the other man's occupation arrested him.

He was kneeling on the floor before the wall at the far end of the room. He had a lamp or candle by his side. What on earth was he doing? Had he surprised the Lord High Chancellor, the keeper of the King of England's conscience, worshipping by stealth at some pagan shrine?

What were the rites he was performing? Curiosity impelled Mr. Hilton forward. As he drew nearer, the situation unfolded itself. He had done the Lord Chancellor an injustice. It was not he.

A man was kneeling before a safe built into the wall. He was drilling holes into the door by the light of a lamp.

He was a real burglar!

The humour of the situation struck Mr. Hilton so keenly that he nearly laughed. For some time he watched the operation, expecting each moment to be discovered. Then, as the man continued absorbed in his work, Mr. Hilton sank noiselessly into an easy chair behind him. To prepare for contingencies, his hand had stolen to his coat pocket, and now held a small revolver.

For half an hour longer he continued to admire the businesslike methods of the burglar. The door of the safe had now been pierced through all round the lock. The man turned to reach another tool. In so doing his eye caught sight of a patent leather boot and a trouser leg, where before there had been empty space. The phenomenon fascinated him. He slowly turned his head, following the clue upward until his eyes were level with the barrel of Mr. Hilton's revolver. His jaw fell, and he stiffened.

"Please keep as you are for a minute," said a low voice from behind the weapon. "I wish you to understand the situation. There is no immediate cause for anxiety. I am—er—a friend in disguise. You may go on with your most interesting work. I shall give no alarm. Do you understand?"

"Who the blazes are you?" asked the burglar.

"Your curiosity is natural. I am in your own noble profession—a top-sawyer or a swell mobsman, I forget which; but I have the certificate at home."

"None of yer gammon," said the burglar. "Can't you put that thing down an' say wot yer game is."

"William," Mr. Hilton replied, "I wish you clearly to understand that you have nothing at all to do with my game. You go on drilling those nice little holes. When you've got that door open we'll discuss matters further. Please proceed."

"D'you take me for a mug?" asked the burglar defiantly.

"I shall, if you don't go on with your work. This instrument goes off on the slightest provocation, and the wound it makes is very painful."

The burglar turned, and resumed his work; but he did not seem to have much heart in it, nor to derive much encouragement from Mr. Hilton's occasional promptings. Every now and then he looked round suspiciously. Another half-hour passed before he had prized the bolts back, and the door was open.

For the moment the two men forgot everything but their curiosity, and both looked anxiously inside. Every shelf and pigeon-hole was rummaged, but there was nothing but letters and documents. There were two drawers below. The locks of these had to be picked. In the last one the burglar pounced on a bag of money and some notes.

"Got 'im!" he cried triumphantly.

"What?"

"Two 'underd an' fifty quid. 'E gets it on the fust of ev'ry month to pay 'is washin' bill."

"How did you know that?"

"From a pal at the bank. I've 'ad this in my eye for a year or more, but I've mos'ly been a-doin' time since I——" He stopped short suddenly, evidently regretting his outburst of confidence.

"Now put that money back," said Mr. Hilton.

"Wot for?"

"Because I tell you."

"Arfter all the trouble I've 'ad? No bloomin' fear."

"Put it back. You shan't lose by it."

"Wot d'ye mean?"

"I'm looking for something myself. It isn't in the safe, but it may be in some other drawer in the room. If I find it I'll give you £250 myself."

"Name o'Morgan, or am I speakin' to Lord Rothschild?" said the burglar sarcastically. "You don't 'appen to 'ave the chink on you?"

"I haven't; but see, you can have this watch and chain, and my sovereign purse, and these links, and I think—yes, here's a tenner. You can have this lot till I give you the money."

The burglar was impressed.

"Cap'n," he said, "you've a free an' easy way in 'andlin' walubles wot soots me down to the ground. I wish we could 'ave met sooner. It would 'ave saved my ole woman many a weary six months. But wot's the need to leave the chink? S'pose we takes the bag, an' leaves the notes?"

"You've got to leave the lot, William," said Mr. Hilton decisively.

The burglar turned thoughtfully away from the safe. "Wot is it you're lookin' for?" he asked. "'As the guv'n'r cut you orf with a bob, an' are you a-goin' to alter the ole bloke's will?"

"I'm looking for a seal."

"Stuffed?" asked William, with a sportsman's interest.

"No. A seal for stamping wax. It's a big one, made of silver, and about six inches across. Let's try these drawers in the desk."

There were six of them. Four were open, the other two locked. It took some time to open these. They were full of legal matter. Then they turned their attention to a set below some bookshelves. While the burglar was busy with the locks Hilton turned over the papers on the desk. The first was headed, "House of Lords: Gibbins v. Gibbins. Judgment of Lord Ravy." Another read, "Gibbins v. Gibbins. Judgment of Lord McTaughtun." Beside them was the half-written judgment of the Lord Chancellor himself.

Mr. Richard Hilton looked at these legal feats without interest. Mechanically he lifted the lid of the desk. A large leather case fitted exactly into the compartment below. He pulled it out. It was stamped with the royal arms.

"Here. Cut this, please."

The flap was cut, and Hilton drew out a richly embroidered and betasselled silk purse.

He looked eagerly inside.

"Hurrah!" he cried in his excitement. For it was the Great Seal of the United Kingdom.

The burglar examined it critically, and then felt its weight. "Five quid," he said, putting it down contemptuously.

Hilton dropped it carefully into his pocket.

At this moment the electric light was suddenly switched on, and the whole place was brilliantly illuminated. They both turned sharply towards the door. There in his dressing-gown stood an old gentleman. Hilton had often seen those classic features in photographs or the illustrated papers. He recognised them at once. It was the Lord Chancellor.

"What are you doing here?" came the stern judicial voice.

"We are—er—we are making the Home Circuit, my lord," said Hilton deferentially. "May I ask your lordship to be good enough to lower your voice. You perceive that I am armed."

"You would dare to fire on me, sir?" said the Lord Chancellor.

"I hope it will not be necessary; for in that case your lordship would not hunt next season with the Bister Vale. Will you please take that seat?"

His lordship sank into the chair. "You are a bold man," he said, after a pause.

"A bold, bad man, I fear, my lord. And so is my partner, Mr. William Sikes here. Aren't you, William?"

William did not reply. He was gazing intently at the Lord Chancellor.

"Ain't yer name 'Ardy?" he asked. "'Enery 'Ardy?"

"It used to be," replied his lordship.

"I thought so," said Mr. Sikes. "Then I says to yer face you're a bloomin', footlin' rotter."

"'Gently, brother, gently, pray,'" said Hilton.

"A bloomin', footlin' rotter," repeated Mr. Sikes with the earnestness of conviction. "An' I've waited five-an'-twenty year to tell you so."

"Ah," said the Lord Chancellor, with some interest. "How is that?"

"I once paid you to defend me at the Dawchester 'Sizes respectin' a mare wot 'ad follered me inter 'Ampshire. A sickenin' 'ash you made of it. You got two quid fer the job, an' I got two year. I b'lieve you woz boozed."

"Pray forgive William, my lord," said Hilton. "He forgets himself strangely when he's excited. We have a lot of trouble with him at home."

William glared at him. "I ain't forgot that bloke's ugly mug, any'ow. I swore I'd be quits with 'im one day, an', holy Moses, it's my go now." Saying this, he clutched his jemmy, and advanced threateningly towards his lordship.

"Stay, you fool!" Hilton cried. "If you dare to touch him I'll shoot you. Get back."

William hesitated.

"If you don't get back before I count three I'll lame you for life. One—two——"

William retired sullenly.

"My lord," said Hilton, "I must draw this painful interview to a close. Your presence excites William, and he's always dangerous when excited. We will retire. Before I go, I wish to give you my word of honour that anything we may take away with us to-night will be again in your possession within forty-eight hours."

"Your word of honour, sir!" repeated his lordship with withering contempt.

"You are ungenerous, my lord. You force me to remind you that but for my interference William would undoubtedly have had his revenge upon you to-night, and the Woolsack have lost its brightest ornament. In return, I ask your lordship to give me your own assurance that you will not raise any alarm for the next half-hour. If you do not we shall have to bind and gag you."

"Don't you be such a fool as to trust 'im," said William. "I'll do the gaggin'," he added, with enthusiasm.

"Shut up, William," said Mr. Hilton. "If his lordship gives his word you may be sure he will keep it—even with thieves. The age of chivalry is not yet past, although you are still alive. My lord, do you agree?"

"I am in your hands. I promise."

Hilton bowed. He pointed to the door to his companion.

"My tools," said William, going round the desk to collect them. A minute later the two had left the room. In five minutes they had scaled the outside wall, and within the half-hour were in Richard Hilton's rooms.

Mr. William Sikes looked round him admiringly.

"I understand your feelings, William," said Mr. Hilton, "but my windows and doors are every night connected with a burglar-alarm, and my man, who was once a noted bruiser, is close at hand. I don't really think it would be safe for you to call again. Now you want your money. I will write a cheque out, payable to bearer, and give it you. If you make yourself nice and tidy they will cash it for you in the morning over the counter at my bank."

"I don't like cashin' cheques at banks," said William. "I never was any good at it," he added pensively. "Ain't you got any rhino in this 'ere shanty?"

"Let me see. You have a tenner of mine in your pocket. Perhaps I can give you some more." Hilton opened a bureau, and produced a cash-box. "You see where I keep it, William," he remarked pleasantly. "I shall have to find another place for it in future—you are so very impulsive. Ah, here we are. Three fivers and two—four—six in gold. That makes twenty-one. And where's the sovereign purse I gave you? Thank you. Here are four more: that makes twenty-five; and you have ten: that is thirty-five. Now I'll make a cheque out for the balance—what is it? Yes; two hundred and fifteen pounds.... Here it is. Perhaps your friend at the Lord Chancellor's bank will present it for you before three o'clock this afternoon, when I shall suddenly find that I have lost the cheque, and shall stop payment."

"Wot do you do that for?" asked William suspiciously.

"I must do it for my own protection, William, as I'm afraid it wouldn't be wise for me to have any direct transactions with you. But until three o'clock the game is in your hands. Now it's time for you to have your beauty sleep. I am much obliged for your assistance. Good-night. Oh, by the way, let me have my watch, please—and the links. William, I'm afraid you were forgetting them."

"Blow me, but I was," said William frankly, as he dived into his capacious pockets. "My mem'ry ain't wot it used to be, an' I knows it. Wot with work an' worry, an' worry an' work, it don't 'ave a fair chance. 'Ere you are, Cap'n." And William placed the jewellery in Mr. Hilton's hands with obvious regret. Then his host showed him off the premises.

It was now four o'clock. Hilton pulled out the Great Seal, and locked it up in a secret drawer in his bureau. Then he retired to rest, in the happy consciousness of a night well spent.

He rose late that morning, and it was one o'clock before he left his rooms. In Piccadilly, on the news posters:

Richard Hilton stared at this in blank amazement. The pains and penalties did not disturb him, but "£250 in gold and notes missing" held him spellbound. Suddenly light dawned upon him, and he burst out with "Done! And by William! That was when he collected his tools, and I wasn't watching. The scoundrel! Hi! hansom!... Cox's Bank. Sharp!"

Ten minutes later he was at the bank counter.

"I have lost a cheque for £215, payable to bearer, made out to self and endorsed. Please stop payment," he said.

"Very sorry, Mr. Hilton," replied the teller. "It was presented first thing this morning, and I cashed it in gold."

That evening the meeting of the Burglars' Club was held at the house of Lord Altamont, an ex-colonel of the Welsh Guards. There was a record attendance. The robbery of the Great Seal had excited general interest, but to members of the Club the accompanying details were of the gravest importance.

After the usual opening formalities had been gone through, Lord Ribston rose.

"Mr. President, I crave leave for Mr. Richard Hilton, a cadet member of this club, to speak."

Assent was given by the general silence, which was maintained when Hilton entered.

"Mr. President, my lords and gentlemen," he began, "I regret exceedingly that I have to make my first appearance in your midst with an apology. I take it that you have all seen the paragraph in the papers stating that the Great Seal is missing from the Lord Chancellor's House, and, in addition to that, £250 in notes and gold. No explanation is needed as to the absence of the Great Seal, for that resulted from the mandate of your club. The other item calls for a clear and explicit statement of the facts of the case."

Here Hilton gave an account of the robbery from his first meeting the burglar to his parting from him, concluding, "So now, gentlemen, I suggest that I deserve your sympathy rather than your blame; for not only has Mr. Sikes relieved me of £250, but I have promised the Lord Chancellor to return anything we took away with us. I shall, therefore, have to send him a further like sum. I do not grudge the loss of £500, since I have been enabled to qualify as a member of your club, but I do most sincerely regret that my bungling has led to even a temporary suspicion that the taint of professionalism has been brought into your midst. My lords and gentlemen, I am in your hands. Here, at any rate, is the Great Seal of the United Kingdom."

The last words were lost in tumultuous applause. Each member rose to his feet and acclaimed the speaker, and then they crowded round him and shook hands.

"Gentlemen," said the President, when order had been restored, "I move that Mr. Richard Hilton be now formally enrolled as a member of the Club, and in your name I welcome him as one who has already added lustre to our annals. The circumstances of his entry are so unusual that, as a mark of our appreciation, I beg to move that the provincial line due from him in the usual course of things in two years' time be hereby excused, and that, as an exception to our rule, Mr. Hilton be elected for a term of four years."

The proposition was carried by acclamation.

"Your Grace and gentlemen, I thank you," said the beaming Richard Hilton.

The Privy Council met at ten on the following morning, and ordered a new seal to be engraved; but at noon a postal packet was delivered at Shipley House, which, on being opened, disclosed an old biscuit tin, then tissue paper, then cotton-wool, and finally the Great Seal of the United Kingdom.

The treaty between England and Korea was signed with the usual formalities at three in the afternoon.

Later in the day the Lord Chancellor received from five different quarters registered parcels, each weighing about a pound avoirdupois. Each packet contained fifty sovereigns.

Thus within forty-eight hours his lordship had received all the stolen property. In consideration thereof he cancelled his instructions to Scotland Yard to follow up a clue which Mr. William Sikes had incautiously given about a Dorset horse robbery in the late 'seventies.

His lordship also advertised his acknowledgments in the agony column of the Times, and asked for the favour of an explanation of the whole incident. This was not forthcoming, and the matter remained for some time the one unsolved riddle of his lordship's life.

Mr. William Sikes, with the £500 so ingeniously obtained, retired from the burglary profession, and bought a little public house known as the "Goat and Compasses." For some reason or other he altered the name to "Seal and Compasses," thereby causing much mystification to future antiquarians in that particular district.

In recalling his conduct on the night in question, Mr. Sikes spends some of the happiest hours of his life.

To Mr. Richard Hilton the events of that night were also eminently satisfactory. He was the only loser, but he had gained more than he had lost, for the laurels of the Burglars' Club were his.