“Stay up here in the room,” he warned George before he left. “Keep out of trouble. If I need anything I’ll come back up.”
George nodded understanding, quiet pleased that Albert was entrusting such valuable orders to him.
Albert hurried to the library. Aunt Annabelle was there with Margot. Major Mastiff was standing before the fireplace talking to two strangers dressed in conservative grey suits. They looked up as Albert entered. Major Mastiff turned and glared into the fire, leaving Margot to handle the introductions.
“Albert,” she said somewhat uneasily, “these gentlemen are government agents. They’re down here to investigate a very baffling robbery that occurred at the town bank some time today.”
Albert swallowed suddenly. His heart began to leap at his ribs like an imprisoned rabbit.
“V-very glad to know you,” he stammered. One of the agents was heavy and dark and a Smith. The other was light and fair and a Jones. They shook hands firmly.
“U-unexpected pleasure,” Albert assured them lamely, “did you say you were down here on a bank robbery?” The Smith answered:
“Yes. As a matter of fact we’ve traced the notes to this locality. It seems Major Mastiff’s cook spent a good deal of money this afternoon in the village tavern and when we checked on the bills we discovered them to be those which were stolen from the bank this morning. We hurried here but it seems the bird has flown the coop. The cook didn’t return from the village so he’s probably miles away from here by this time.”
Albert was perspiring profusely. He remembered all too well that the cook had won the banknotes from George after lunch. Here the tireless wolves of the law were sniffing around and a closet full of incriminating bills was directly over their heads.
“Too bad about the cook,” he murmured half-heartedly. “I suppose he’s gone for good now,” he added hopefully.
“Not at all,” the Jones answered, laughing. “We’ll have him in custody in twenty-four hours. And when we do we’ll find out who his confederates are in short order.”
Margot interrupted to ask the officers to stay for dinner and Albert slumped into a chair, his strength slipping away from him. All hope was dead now. He might just as well give up gracefully and pray that they’d assign him to something light, like sweeping out the prison library.
So immersed in his own gloomy thoughts was Albert, that he did not notice the slightly frantic discussion going on between the major, Aunt Annabelle and Margot. He didn’t look up until he heard the major’s voice. It wasn’t just the major’s voice that snapped him from his reverie, it was the apologetic tone in it that electrified him.
He peered up and saw that the major was speaking to the two government agents.
“I am completely desolated,” the major was saying humbly. “Never in all the years I have been head of Mastiff Manor have we been placed in such a humiliating position. Our hospitality, sir, is a watchword in this part of the country and it pains us most grievously to be forced to admit that the absence of our cook makes it impossible for us to ask you to dine with us. Not for forty years has it been necessary for us to turn anyone from our door. The bitter necessity that forces us to do so now is deeply regretted by all of us. I am more miserable, sirs, than my words convey. All I can hope for is your understanding and forgiveness.”
“Well,” Albert said practically, “maybe they can come out with us, and we’ll rustle up something. Bread and butter and coffee wouldn’t be too hard to take right now.”
“Bread and butter!” the major echoed stridently, “are you mad? And do you have the unmitigated gall to suggest that Mastiff guests retire to the scullery to prepare their own foods?”
“I’m afraid I did,” Albert said nervously. “I just forget myself sometimes, major. Pay no attention to me.”
“I never have,” the major snapped frostily.
Margot sat down beside Albert.
“Don’t antagonize father,” she whispered. “He’s terribly sensitive about the Mastiff reputation for hospitality. If you could do something to save the day, Albert, you’d win him over completely for life.”
“What could I do?” Albert asked helplessly. “I might try wishing hard and snapping my fingers, but that never does work.”
He brooded darkly for several seconds and then, like a bolt of lightning, a marvelous idea popped into his head.
George, the genie, could handle this situation!
If George could fix things up, he, Albert, could take the credit and he’d be in solid with the old duck for the duration.
He patted Margot’s hand reassuringly, and then he strode from the library and took the steps two at a time. He plunged into his room without knocking and found George sleeping comfortably in the armchair.
He shook him roughly, but it was several minutes before George opened his eyes and regarded him sleepily.
“Whatcha want?” he grunted.
“I got a job for you,” Albert said enthusiastically, “a big job that will really try you out. Want to take a crack at it?”
George straightened up with alacrity.
“Gosh, this is what I’ve been waiting for,” he gasped happily. “Whatcha want?”
“A banquet,” Albert explained, “for six people. All the trimmings. Wine, food, everything that goes with it.” George was beaming happily now. “That wuz my specialty in the old days,” he said excitedly. “I’ll fix you up like I used to for my old pal, the Sultan.”
“Good,” Albert nodded approval. “Don’t let me down now, this means a lot to me. I’m going downstairs and tell them to tie their napkins on tight. Then you can wave the magic wand and we’ll eat.”
“Yup, that’s right,” George grinned expectantly. “I can’t wait to get started again. Today I yam going to be a man.”
Albert winked at him in conspiratorial conviviality and then whistling happily, strode from the room and down the winding flight of stairs that led to the library.
“The crisis is past,” he announced with jovial loudness as he strode into the library, “food is on the way. Food, fit for a king. The Mastiff banner is again flying high before a headwind of delightful aromas. The Mastiff honor is saved. We eat royally and sumptuously. The motto of Mastiff Manor shall always be: Eat to your heart’s content and you’ll find bicarbonate of soda on the first shelf to the right.”
“Oh Albert,” Margot cried, “did you really arrange for something?”
“Listen, you congenital ass,” barked Major Mastiff, “I will not tolerate any more of your damfoolishness. If you have provided for a suitable repast, I am willing to admit that my judgment of you might have been somewhat premature. But if this is another of your moronic attempts at humor I shall—” The major broke off in the middle of the sentence — listening!
Everyone else in the room, including Albert, turned toward the double doors that led to the library — listening!
“W-what is it?” Margot asked nervously.
“Music,” Albert gulped. “J — just music.”
It was music, but strange, compelling, sensuous music that trilled sweetly through the room, growing in intensity and volume every second!
Before another word could be spoken, four huge, turbaned figures moved slowly into the room. In their hands they held reedlike musical instruments, with which they produced the weird, hauntingly beautiful music that was filling the room.
“I say!” gasped Major Mastiff.
Following the musicians came eight young men bearing large trays of steaming, delightfully fragrant foods. They placed the trays on the floor, forming a semi-circle with them and then they backed to the wall where they remained motionless.