The Mission of Mr. Eustace Greyne | Page 5

so."
"And where shall I find a cicerone?"
"Apply to Rook."
"In what terms? You see, dearest, this is rather a special matter, isn't
it?"
"Very special. But on no account hint that you are in Algiers for
'Catherine's' sake. It would get into the papers. It would be cabled to
America. The whole reading world would be agog, and the future
interest of the book discounted."
Mr. Greyne looked at his wife with reverence. In such moments he
realized, almost too poignantly, her great position.

"I will be careful," he said. "What would you recommend me to say?"
"Well"--Mrs. Greyne knit her superb forehead--"I should suggest that
you present yourself as an ordinary traveler, but with a specially
inquiring bent of mind and a slight tendency towards
the--the--er--hidden things of life."
"I suppose you wish me to visit the public houses?"
"I wish you to see everything that has part or lot in African frailty. Go
everywhere, see everything. Bring your notes to me, and I will select
such fragments of the broken commandments as suit my purpose,
which is, as always, the edifying of the human race. Only this time I
mean to purge it as by fire."
"That corner house in Park Lane, next to the Duke of Ebury's, would
suit us very well," said Mr. Greyne reflectively.
"We could sell our lease here at an advance," his wife rejoined. "You
will not waste your journey, Eustace?"
"My love," returned Mr. Greyne with decision, "I will apply to Rook on
arrival, and, if I find his man unsatisfactory, if I have any reason to
suspect that I am not being shown everything--more especially in the
Kasbah region, which, from the guide-books we bought to-day, is, I
take it, the most abandoned portion of the city--I will seek another
cicerone."
"Do so. And now to bed. You must sleep well to-night in preparation
for the journey."
It was their invariable habit before retiring to drink each a tumbler of
barley water, which was set out by the butler in Mrs. Greyne's study.
After this nightcap Mrs. Greyne wrote up her anticipatory diary, while
Mr. Greyne smoked a mild cigar, and then they went to bed. To-night,
as usual, they repaired to the sanctum, and drank their barley water.
Having done so, Mr. Greyne drew forth his cigar-case, while Mrs.
Greyne went to her writing-table, and prepared to unlock the drawer in

which her diary reposed, safe from all prying eyes.
The match was struck, the key was inserted in the lock, and turned. As
the cigar end glowed the drawer was opened. Mr. Greyne heard a
contralto cry. He turned from the arm-chair in which he was just about
to seat himself.
"My love, is anything the matter?"
His wife was bending forward with both hands in the drawer, telling
over its contents.
"My diary is not here!"
"Your diary!"
"It is gone."
"But"--he came over to her--"this is very serious. I presume, like all
diaries, it is full of----" Instinctively he had been about to say
"damning"; he remembered his dear one's irreproachable character and
substituted "precious secrets."
"It is full of matter which must never be given to the world--my secret
thoughts, my aspirations. The whole history of my soul is there."
"Heavens! It must be found."
They searched the writing-table. They searched the room. No diary.
"Could you have taken it to my room, and left it there?" asked Mr.
Greyne.
They hastened thither, and looked--in vain. By this time the servants
were gone to bed, and the two searchers were quite alone on the ground
floor of their magnificent mansion. Mrs. Greyne began to look
seriously perturbed. Her Roman features worked.
"This is appalling," she exclaimed. "Some thief, knowing it priceless,

must have stolen the diary. It will be published in America. It will bring
in thousands--but to others, not to us."
She began to wring her hands. It was near midnight.
"Think, my love, think!" cried Mr. Greyne. "Where could you have
taken it? You had it last night?"
"Certainly. I remember writing in it that you would be sailing to
Algiers on the Général Bertrand on Thursday of this week, and that on
the night I should be feeling widowed here. The previous night I wrote
that yesterday I should have to tell you of your mission. You know I
always put down beforehand what I shall do, what I shall even think on
each succeeding day. It is a practice that regulates the mind and
conduct, that helps to uniformity."
"How true! Who can have taken it? Do you ever leave it about?"
"Never. Am I a madwoman?"
"My darling, compose yourself! We must search the house."
They proceeded to do so, and, on coming into the schoolroom, Mrs.
Greyne, who was in front,