"It was in a Pickwickian sense, sir," said Bates

gravely.

"And in a righteous cause," declared my grandfather.

"I assure you, Pickering, that I have every intention of

taking care of Bates. His weekly letters giving an account

of the curious manifestations of your devotion to

Jack's security and peace were alone worth a goodly

sum. But, Bates-"

The old gentleman was enjoying himself hugely. He

chuckled now, and placed his hand on my shoulder.

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"Bates, it was too bad I got those missives of yours

all in a bunch. I was in a dahabiyeh on the Nile and

they don't have rural free delivery in Egypt. Your

cablegram called me home before I got the letters. But

thank God, Jack, you're alive!"

There was real feeling in these last words, and I

think we were all touched by them.

"Amen to that!" cried Bates.

"And now, Pickering, before you go I want to show

you something. It's about this mysterious treasure, that

has given you-and I hear, the whole countryside-so

much concern. I'm disappointed in you, Jack, that you

couldn't find the hiding-place. I designed that as a part

of your architectural education. Bates, give me a

chair."

The man gravely drew a chair out of the wreckage

and placed it upon the hearth. My grandfather stepped

upon it, seized one of the bronze sconces above the mantel

and gave it a sharp turn. At the same moment,

Bates, upon another chair, grasped the companion

bronze and wrenched it sharply. Instantly some mechanism

creaked in the great oak chimney-breast and the

long oak panels swung open, disclosing a steel door with

a combination knob.

"Gentlemen,"-and my grandfather turned with a

quaint touch of humor, and a merry twinkle in his

bright old eyes-"gentlemen, behold the treasury! It

has proved a better hiding-place than I ever imagined

it would. There's not much here, Jack, but enough to

keep you going for a while."

We were all staring, and the old gentleman was unfeignedly

enjoying our mystification. It was an hour

on which he had evidently counted much; it was the

triumph of his resurrection and home-coming, and he

chuckled as he twirled the knob in the steel door. Then

Bates stepped forward and helped him pull the door

open, disclosing a narrow steel chest, upright and held

in place by heavy bolts clamped in the stone of the chimney.

It was filled with packets of papers placed on

shelves, and tied neatly with tape.

"Jack," said my grandfather, shaking his head, "you

wouldn't be an architect, and you're not much of an

engineer either, or you'd have seen that that paneling

was heavier than was necessary. There's two hundred

thousand dollars in first-rate securities-I vouch for

them! Bates and I put them there just before I went

to Vermont to die."

"I've sounded those panels a dozen times," I protested.




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