Anything that was smaller and more portable than a
sideboard, and above the value of ninepence, had an irresistible
attraction for him, provided that it fulfilled the necessary condition of
belonging to some one else. On the rare occasions when he was included
in a country-house party, it was usual and almost necessary for his host,
or some member of the family, to make a friendly inquisition through his
baggage on the eve of his departure, to see if he had packed up "by
mistake" any one else's property. The search usually produced a large
and varied yield.
"This is funny," said Peter Pigeoncote to his wife, some half-hour after
their conversation; "here's a telegram from Wilfrid, saying he's passing
through here in his motor, and would like to stop and pay us his
respects. Can stay for the night if it doesn't inconvenience us. Signed
'Wilfrid Pigeoncote.' Must be the Snatcher; none of the others have a
motor. I suppose he's bringing us a present for the silver wedding."
"Good gracious!" said Mrs. Peter, as a thought struck her; "this is
rather an awkward time to have a person with his failing in the house.
All those silver presents set out in the drawing-room, and others coming
by every post; I hardly know what we've got and what are still to come.
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