of it.

Apparently Mr. Barch was in a state of violent excitement and did not at
once notice the presence of the General or his son.

"I say, dash it all! what's up? What are you bounders kicking up all
this noise about? And why on earth hasn't one of you answered my ring?"
he blurted out, addressing the nearer of the two footmen. "I've pulled
that dashed bell rope until I'm tired. I say, nip downstairs, one of
you, and tell that valet chap to bring back my clothes, and not to
bother about brushing them until after I go to bed. Mr. Harry promised
to lend me a suit of evenin' togs, but went off without doing so, blow
him! And I haven't a blessed livin' stitch to put on!"

"Good Lud, Barch! I do beg a thousand pardons, old chap!" exclaimed the
General's hopeful. "Sorry I forgot about the evenin' togs, dear boy.
What a beast of a hole you'd have been in if I hadn't come back. Eh,
what?"

"Well, if it could be any worse than the one I've been in for the past
five minutes it would be a marvel, dear boy," responded Cleek, with
lamblike innocence. "Always was a thoughtless beggar, don't you know.
Took off my blessed clothes, and let your valet toddle off with 'em to
brush 'em, as he suggested, before I once thought about the evenin' ones
you'd promised to lend me."

"Harry's valet?" It was the General who spoke. "Do I understand you to
say, Mr. Barch, that you gave your clothes to somebody whom you took for
my son's valet? In the name of reason, where did you get that impression
of the man? I ask, because Harry has no special valet. Hawkins,
here"--indicating the second footman--"valets both my son and myself;
but having only me to look after this evening, as we did not expect
Harry to return in time for dinner, he has been in attendance upon me up
to the present moment, so it most certainly could not have been he."

"Oh, no; chap wasn't a bit like him, General. Wasn't like the other
footman, either. Tallish chap, fair-haired, little turned-up 'ginger'
moustache. Was dressed in evening clothes and wore a black-and-yellow
striped waistcoat."

"That's the man! That's the man!" trumpeted forth Harry Raynor and Lord
St. Ulmer in concert, the latter's excited voice ringing out from the
room into which, unfortunately, Cleek could not, of course, see. "That's
the identical fellow, pater; Barch has described him to a hair," went on
young Raynor, addressing his father. "Sneak thief--that was his little
game, St. Ulmer. Nicked m