



Produced by Aaron Cannon





THE LOST HOUSE

by Richard Harding Davis




I

It was a dull day at the chancellery. His Excellency the American
Ambassador was absent in Scotland, unveiling a bust to Bobby Burns,
paid for by the numerous lovers of that poet in Pittsburg; the First
Secretary was absent at Aldershot, observing a sham battle; the Military
Attache was absent at the Crystal Palace, watching a foot-ball match;
the Naval Attache was absent at the Duke of Deptford's, shooting
pheasants; and at the Embassy, the Second Secretary, having lunched
leisurely at the Artz, was now alone, but prepared with his life to
protect American interests. Accordingly, on the condition that the story
should not be traced back to him, he had just confided a State secret to
his young friend, Austin Ford, the London correspondent of the New York
REPUBLIC.

"I will cable it," Ford reassured him, "as coming from a Hungarian
diplomat, temporarily residing in Bloomsbury, while en route to his post
in Patagonia. In that shape, not even your astute chief will suspect its
real source. And further from the truth than that I refuse to go."

"What I dropped in to ask," he continued, "is whether the English are
going to send over a polo team next summer to try to bring back the
cup?"

"I've several other items of interest," suggested the Secretary.

"The week-end parties to which you have been invited," Ford objected,
"can wait. Tell me first what chance there is for an international polo
match."

"Polo," sententiously began the Second Secretary, who himself was a
crackerjack at the game, "is a proposition of ponies! Men can be trained
for polo. But polo ponies must be born. Without good ponies----"

James, the page who guarded the outer walls, of the chancellery,
appeared in the doorway.

"Please, Sir, a person," he announced, "with a note for the Ambassador,
he says it's important."

"Tell him to leave it," said the Secretary. "Polo ponies----"

"Yes, Sir," interrupted the page. "But 'e won't leave it, not unless he
keeps the 'arf-crown."

"For Heaven's sake!" protested the Second Secretary, "then let him keep
the half-crown. When I say polo ponies, I don't mean----"

James, although alarmed at his own temerity, refused to accept the
dismissal. "But, please, Sir," he begged; "I think the 'arf-crown is for
the Ambassador."

The astonished diplomat gazed with open eyes.

"You think--WHAT!" he exclaimed.

James, upon the defensive, explained breathlessly.

"Because, Sir," he stammered, "it was INSIDE the note when it was thrown
out of the window."

Ford had been sprawling in a soft leather chair in front of the open
fire. With the privilege of an old school-fellow and college classmate,
he had been jabbing the soft coal with his walking-stick, causing it to
burst into tiny flames. His cigarette drooped from his lips, his hat
was cocked over one eye; he was a picture of indifference, merging upon
boredom. But at the words of the boy his attitude both of mind and body
underwent an instant change. It was as though he were an actor, and the
words "thrown from the window" were his cue. It was as though he were
a dozing fox-terrier, and the voice of his master had whispered in his
ear: "Sick'em!"

For a moment, with benign reproach, the Second Secretary regarded the
unhappy page, and then addressed him with laborious sarcasm.

"James," he said, "people do not communicate with ambassadors in notes
wrapped around half-crowns and hurled from windows. That is the way one
corresponds with an organ-grinder." Ford sprang to his feet.

"And meanwhile," he exclaimed angrily, "the man will get away."

Without seeking permission, he ran past James, and through the empty
outer offices. In two minutes he returned, herding before him an
individual, seedy and soiled. In appearance the man suggested that
in life his place was to support a sandwich-board. Ford reluctantly
relinquished his hold upon a folded paper which he laid in front of the
Secretary.

"This man," he explained, "picked that out of the gutter in Sowell
Street, It's not addressed to any one, so you read it!"

"I thought it was for the Ambassador!" said the