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TURTLE VILLA.

"AND this yere willa is to be broke into, you says, guv'ner?" "Yes, Bill, it be, and no mistake."

"That won't be werry 'ard with such a flimsy crib, I guess, guv'ner?'

"Lord bless you, Bill, it's all one to we; we don't care whether it's hard or easy, we don't. Have you got the tools?" "Yes, guv'ner, here they be right enough."

I

The voices sunk into a whisper. I could hear no more. was seated in a third-class carriage on the London and Brighton line, Crystal Palace section, on my way from London Bridge to Upper Norwood, where I resided. The carriage was an unusually old one, and so slightly built, that the words, though spoken in a low voice in the next compartment, were distinctly audible where I sat. I kept a good look-out at all the stations we subsequently stopped at, in case the speakers should leave the train, for I was intensely anxious to behold real live housebreakers, and such I concluded them to be.

They did not get out until we arrived at the Crystal Palace station. Then I beheld a small, seedy-looking individual, with a pale cadaverous face, dressed in rusty black, emerge from the train. He was accompanied by a powerful man in a suit of corduroys, with an immense bird's-eye fogle wrapped several times round his neck, a bullet head, a depressed nose, and the general appearance of a decayed prizefighter. He carried a small bag in one hand, and struck me as a most formidable and forbiddinglooking fellow.

I determined to point them out to the police. Before, however, I could find a member of that fraternity, Bill and his "guv'ner" had hastily departed, not without leaving their photographs mentally impressed upon the retina of my brain.

B 695, whom I at last encountered sloping nonchalantly down the hill, was evidently a newly caught member of the force, and not, it appeared to me, a very promising specimen of it. He only gaped wearily when I told him what I considered my thrilling little narrative.

"Do you think they are planning a burglary?" I inquired, after waiting some time for him to speak.

"Can't say, I'm sure," he slowly drawled out in reply. "But can nothing be done?" I inquired, with some impatience. "Not that I knows on," he answered, with increasing phlegm.

(He evidently regarded me as an unmitigated nuisance.)

"At all events, my man, you had better mention the matter to your inspector, or whatever your superior officer is called," I remarked, with some hauteur of manner, nettled at the indifference which he exhibited. He only nodded and expectorated freely in reply!

"And such are the guardians of our hearths and homes!" I exclaimed bitterly, as in a moody frame of mind I wended my way onwards to Turtle Villa.

I had completely thrown away fifteen minutes of my valuable time (I get nearly a shilling an hour for it) in the interests of the public.

Jemima Ann, the wife of my bosom, stood awaiting me on the threshold of our house.

"Oh, Albert Edward," she exclaimed, eagerly, "I am so glad you have come. How I wish you had arrived a few minutes

sooner!"

"Why, lovey?" I inquired.

"Because two such strange, suspicious-looking characters have just been prowling about our premises. I didn't like their looks at all."

"Was one dressed in a corduroy suit?" I asked, quickly.

"Yes, ducky, but however

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"Did he wear a bird's-eye fogle?" I interrupted her, by asking with increasing rapidity.

"What is a bird's-eye fogy, Albert Edward?"

"Why, a spotted handkerchief, idio—my love, I mean.”

"Yes, dear, and I am so glad you sent them

"Sent them be hang-but-

"But what, Albert Edward?"

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"But what, Jemima Ann? Why, look to the bolts, examine well the locks, try the window catches; we shall have our house broken into this blessed night as sure as peas is peas."

At the same time I informed her of the conversation I had chanced to overhear in the train. This announcement, coming so unexpectedly, was for one minute a leetle too much for my wife. She thought at first she would faint, but as I carefully avoided standing where I could catch her, she soon rallied.

I may mention, that her father is a (non) commissioned officer in her Majesty's brigade of Guards, so the martial blood of her race naturally stood her in good stead, and came to her aid at this juncture.

"Get out your horse-pistol, dear!" she presently exclaimed, in a hoarse voice, as the warm blood came mantling back into her cheek.

"I will!" I said.

"And load it," she went on, in a more and more decided tone. "So be it," I replied, solemnly.

"Their blood be upon their own heads!" added Jemima Ann, piously, looking upwards at the ceiling.

She has a wonderful opinion of my pistol, which, by-the-bye, I forgot all the time was loaded.

It belonged to my great-great (several more greats) grandfather, who was a trumpeter in the English cavalry, and who was slightly wounded at the base of the spine at the battle of Culloden. It has always been a cherished heirloom in our family. Domestic tradition avers that it always was loaded.

My great, &c., grandfather, I suppose, forgot to fire it off at the battle of Culloden.

It is on the flint principle.

"And, Albert Edward!" resumed Jemima Ann, after a short pause for reflection, "I have an idea!"

"Indeed!" I remarked, incredulously.

"Yes, dear. Oh, such a clever one!"

"Clever!" I repeated, with increasing disbelief.

"Yes, Albert, clever. Just listen to it. Suppose you are asleep when the burglars arrive?"

"Well, dear?"

"Well, dear? How stupid you are! How shall you be able to use your pistol if you are asleep?"

"But the noise they make will soon wake me up."

"But suppose they don't make a noise? Suppose they put list on their shoes, blacken their faces, and creep quite noiselessly about?"

I confess I didn't like the picture.

"And suppose," continued Jemima Ann, warming with her subject, "they use a horrid centre-bit quite quietly (I have heard they can), and get into our drawing-room, and carry away some of our beautiful things and works of art the stuffed bullfinch, for instance?"

The notion was too painful for me. I groaned aloud.

"But what will you give me if I tell you how to prevent them?" she went on, triumphantly.

"What will I give you?" I replied, in a transport of enthusiasm and generosity; "why, a most lovely bonnet I saw to-day in Whitechapel. A pea-green one, with magnificent red dahlia flowers all over it."

Jemima Ann's eyes glistened.

"A bargain-a bargain!" she exclaimed, delightedly. "And now come into the parlour and hear all about it."

I suppose every one knows Upper Norwood, but every one may not know Turtle Villa. It is a beautiful little house, in the centre of Poppet-road. It has an elegant stucco front, and several square feet of garden ground both before and behind. All the residences in Poppet-road are of a similar chaste and pleasing appearance, but I always recognise mine at once by the stuffed bullfinch in the drawing-room window. I pay thirty pounds a year for it—a high rent, certainly. Indeed, on my present salary, I am perhaps hardly justified in giving it, but "noblesse oblige." Genteel I've lived, and genteel I'll die. Jemima Ann's relations may be in the Guards, but whilst we live in Turtle Villa, we have, we feel, the whip hand of them. Besides, we keep a regular servant, and have everything tiptop and "comy foe" about us. Quite the correct thing, I can assure you. On one subject only are we rather sore

we have no heir to inherit our property. When Jemima Ann and I sit in our drawing-room on Sundays, and look round at our splash furniture, beautiful photographic album, antimacassars, and what not, we often gaze despondently at each other, and mutually heave an uncommonly heavy sigh. Heigho! but where was I?

Oh, we were just gone into the parlour to talk the plan over. I thought it a capital one.

Somehow or other, after tea was over, we sat up late, discussing its ins and outs. We did not feel much inclined to go to bed. Not that I felt nervous-oh no! not very.. I think Jemima Ann did. About ten o'clock our front-door bell rang, and she bounded frantically out of her chair, as if Bill and his guv'ner had arrived.

"Pooh, pooh," I said, calmly, "it's only the postman.'

It was only the postman.

He brought, as usual, a communication of a commercial and unpleasant nature.

At eleven o'clock we prepared for bed.

"Let us go and see that all is secure before we retire," I said. Of course the servant, who has to rise very early, had been in bed hours ago.

Jemima Ann seized the candle. I tried each bolt, I examined every window. All was secure.

"Now for my invention," cried Jemima Ann.

The staircase at Turtle Villa is very steep, and there is just room for one person to ascend it at a time. This adds greatly to the snugness and security of the house. We proceeded to tie a long and strong piece of whipcord, one foot from the ground, to the banisters (spelt balusters by mistake in "Walker's Dictionary"); we then stuck a strong fork firmly into the wains coting on the wall, on the opposite side of the stairs, and passed

the string through it, finally attaching its end to our largest bell in the adjoining passage. And now do you recognise the cuteness of our plan? Look here. Supposing the burglars to have effected an entrance into the house, they would, no doubt (after securing the bullfinch, &c.), grope their way in the dark up-stairs in search of plate, &c. (our plate-best Britannia metal-is always kept at nights in our bedroom for security).

Imagine them, then, gingerly (in their list shoes) ascending the stairs. Suddenly the leading robber stumbles over the whipcord -down he comes with stunning force and tremendous noise upon his nose, and the bell rings violently! If not too much injured by the fall they would probably both bolt incontinently.

Such was Jemima Ann's happy idea. The strategic ingenuity of which she probably owed to her descent from a military man. We double-locked our bedroom door and went to bed. I hate to be taken unawares. Before getting into bed, however, I placed my great, &c., grandfather's pistol on a chair by the bedside. It has a long brass barrel. It does not seem to cock easily. Indeed, I was totally unable to cock it. For the first time doubts of its efficiency crossed my mind.

The hours rolled slowly on; one o'clock struck, and no burglars. I began to feel sleepy. All Saints' Church clock gave out two. Jemima Ann napped off. Before three tired nature asserted its supremacy. I slept. Suddenly we simultaneously started up in our bed, awakened by a sound as of a heavy fall, whilst the bell rang violently! Suppressed groans were also audible.

"Habet!" I exclaimed, triumphantly. (Jemima Ann, now that the fated hour had come, seemed incapable of action; she only buried her head frantically beneath the bed-clothes.)

"What had I better do?" I asked myself, irresolutely, as I got out of bed and seized my pistol.

It was dreadfully cold that December morning, and quite dark, and I shivered painfully (of course from the cold) as I stood listening at the door. "Perhaps the burglars will go away now," I thought.

But the cries and groans continued. I concluded not to risk my life unnecessarily; besides, there were two robbers.

Suddenly I thought I could distinguish a cry for help. It sounded like "Missis."

Moreover, now I came to think of it, the groans, &c., were certainly pitched in a higher key than I should have imagined Bill or his guv'per capable of.

My heart stopped its tumultuous beating directly; I lighted the candle and looked at my watch; six o'clock it said.

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