“No, not exactly that. We have a game in hand that nobody, I think, need despise for its facility. What do you say, boys, to carrying off the Crown jewels, or at least part of them?” “I should say it was a very bad joke, and might, if indulged in, lead to a very good term of penal servitude,” answered Rees, picking out a cigar very carefully from the case Goodhare offered. “But I suppose that, like many other bad jokes, you won’t be unwilling to lend a hand to carry it out.” Rees considered a few moments, and then laughed. “No,” said he. “It would be a new sensation, at all events.” But Sep began to shiver, and to look with glances of alarm from the one to the other. “Leave me out this time, Goodhare,” he said at last, hoarsely. “Can’t, my dear boy. Your shrewdness and methodical way of carrying out instructions is just as necessary to our combination as Rees’s dash and my inventiveness. You sketch, don’t you?” “Ye-es, a little,” admitted Sep reluctantly. “And you have been in America, and could get up, I suppose, very fairly as artist and correspondent to a New York paper?” “If I must, I suppose I could.” “And you, Rees,” continued Amos, “who can do anything which needs smartness and dexterity of fingers, can use a file, or could learn to do it?” “I could learn to do it, of course.” “Very well, then. The Christmas holidays are now on, and people flock to the Tower in swarms. By-the-by, I suppose that you know that St. Austell’s brother, the Honorable Charles Cenarth, is keeper of the regalia?” Rees started. “Why on earth can’t you leave that family alone, Goodhare?” Amos laughed harshly, and a look of diabolical malice flashed out of his eyes. “Oh, in this case my reason will explain itself as it goes on,” said he. “In the meantime you will both, in the course of the holidays, visit the Tower more than once to familiarise yourselves with it. Go on Mondays and Saturdays, the free days, when there is a crush. Use disguise, but of the simplest and neatest sort. Rees, you will practise the filing away of iron bars without noise. And there is something else for you to do. Lord Wenlock, the general, is a great chum of St. Austell’s, isn’t he?” “I believe so.” “Have you ever seen any of his handwriting?” “Not that I remember.” “Then you must get Lady Marion to procure you a couple of his letters. Say they’re for autographs. Study the handwriting, and then forge a letter requesting the keeper to give the bearer (whom you will call an American journalist of note), permission to sketch the regalia. I think you will find these instructions enough for the present.” “Yes, quite enough to land us at Portland,” said Rees, cheerfully.