THE LOOT OF CITIES BEING THE ADVENTURES OF A MILLIONAIRE IN SEARCH OF JOY (A FANTASIA); AND OTHER STORIES BY ARNOLD BENNETT AUTHOR OF “THE OLD WIVES’ TALE” [Illustration: ·1798· EDINBURGH] THOMAS NELSON AND SONS, LTD. LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK _Pensa, lettor, se quel che qui s’inizia non procedesse, come tu avresti di più sapere angosciosa carizia._ DANTE. CONTENTS. THE LOOT OF CITIES 7 MR. PENFOUND’S TWO BURGLARS 157 MIDNIGHT AT THE GRAND BABYLON 173 THE POLICE STATION 193 THE ADVENTURE OF THE PRIMA DONNA 214 THE EPISODE IN ROOM 222 225 SATURDAY TO MONDAY 235 A DINNER AT THE LOUVRE 244 THE LOOT OF CITIES. CHAPTER I. THE FIRE OF LONDON. “You’re wanted on the telephone, sir.” Mr. Bruce Bowring, managing director of the Consolidated Mining and Investment Corporation, Limited (capital two millions, in one-pound shares, which stood at twenty-seven-and-six), turned and gazed querulously across the electric-lit spaces of his superb private office at the confidential clerk who addressed him. Mr. Bowring, in shirt-sleeves before a Florentine mirror, was brushing his hair with the solicitude of a mother who has failed to rear most of a large family. “Who is it?” he asked, as if that demand for him were the last straw but one. “Nearly seven on Friday evening!” he added, martyrised. “I think a friend, sir.” The middle-aged financier dropped his gold-mounted brush and, wading through the deep pile of the Oriental carpet, passed into the telephone-cabinet and shut the door. “Hallo!” he accosted the transmitter, resolved not to be angry with it. “Hal_lo_! Are you there? Yes, I’m Bowring. Who are you?” “_Nrrrr_,” the faint, unhuman voice of the receiver whispered in his ear. “_Nrrrr. Cluck._ I’m a friend.” “What name?” “No name. I thought you might like to know that a determined robbery is going to be attempted to-night at your house in Lowndes Square, a robbery of cash--and before nine o’clock. _Nrrrr._ I thought you might like to know.” “Ah!” said Mr. Bowring to the transmitter. The feeble exclamation was all he could achieve at first. In the confined, hot silence of the telephone-cabinet this message, coming to him mysteriously out of the vast unknown of London, struck him with a sudden sick fear that perhaps his wondrously organised scheme might yet mis-carry, even at the final moment. Why that night of all nights? And why before nine o’clock? Could it be that the secret was out, then? “Any further interesting details?” he inquired, bracing himself to an assumption of imperturbable and gay coolness.