It was on this untriumphant morning that one of the tenants under his control, calling at the cottage to pay some rent overdue, asked him when the Universal Thrift Club was going to commence its operations.  He had talked of the enterprise to all his tenants, for it was precisely with his tenants that he hoped to make a beginning.  He had there a clientele ready to his hand, and as he was intimately acquainted with the circumstances of each, he could judge between those who would be reliable and those to whom he would be obliged to refuse membership.  The tenants, conclaving together of an evening on doorsteps, had come to the conclusion that the Universal Thrift Club was the very contrivance which they had lacked for years.  They saw in it a cure for all their economic ills, and the gate to Paradise.  The dame who put the question to him on the morning after his defeat wanted to be the possessor of carpets, a new teapot, a silver brooch, and a cookery book; and she was evidently depending upon Denry.  On consideration he saw no reason why the Universal Thrift Club should not be allowed to start itself by the impetus of its own intrinsic excellence.  The dame was inscribed for three shares, paid eighteen-pence entrance fee, undertook to pay three shillings a week, and received a document entitling her to spend L3, 18s. in sixty-five shops as soon as she had paid L1, 19s. to Denry.  It was a marvellous scheme.  The rumour of it spread; before dinner Denry had visits from other aspirants to membership, and he had posted a cheque to Bostocks’, but more from ostentation than necessity; for no member could possibly go into Bostocks’ with his coupons until at least two months had elapsed.

But immediately after dinner, when the posters of the early edition of the Signal waved in the streets, he had material for other thought.  He saw a poster as he was walking across to his office.  The awful legend ran: 

  ASTOUNDING ATTEMPTED BURGLARY AT SNEYD HALL.

In buying the paper he was afflicted with a kind of ague.  And the description of events at Sneyd Hall was enough to give ague to a negro.  The account had been taken from the lips of Mrs Gater, housekeeper at Sneyd Hall.  She had related to a reporter how, upon going into the state suite before retiring for the night, she had surprised a burglar of Herculean physique and Titanic proportions.  Fortunately she knew her duty, and did not blench.  The burglar had threatened her with a revolver, and then, finding such bluff futile, had deliberately jumped through a large plate-glass window and vanished.  Mrs Gater could not conceive how the fellow had “effected an entrance.” (According to the reporter, Mrs Gater said “effected an entrance,” not “got in.”  And here it may be mentioned that in the columns of the Signal burglars never get into a residence; without exception they invariably effect an entrance.) Mrs Gater explained further how the plans of the burglar must have been laid with the most diabolic skill; how he must have studied the daily life of the Hall patiently for weeks, if not months; how he must have known the habits and plans of every soul in the place, and the exact instant at which the Countess had arranged to drive to Stafford to catch the London express.