The prize problem party never took place after all, for the problems were solved as soon as propounded. Gladys was "influenced" to take back her gift, on the ground that Othello—who, Mr. Dix said, ought to have been called Desdemona—must be lonely. Why not give him, or her, to Mr. Simmons, who already had other rabbits? Jane and Lucilla explained how much they had enjoyed owning Othello and how they could not bear to stand in his (or her) light if a more agreeable social life seemed to open before him (or her). So Othello went away, and Mr. Dix and his under-gardeners rejoiced.
The problem of the buried silver provided a pleasant dinner-topic. The story of the burglar was told by Lucilla—Aunt Harriet kept her room that evening—and though the story assumed a good deal that hadn't been so, it made quite a good story with Mr. Dix introduced as an anonymous stranger sheltering in the summer-house from the rain.
"And that's months ago," said Mr. Thornton, "and you've left your poor silver there ever since? Why, Dix could have got it out for you in no time."
"He didn't know. Nobody knew. We've only just made up our minds to tell. Because really we must get the silver up again."
"How much is there?" asked the other Mr. Thornton—the one called Bill.
"Oh, just the teapot and milk-jug and sugar-basin. We put the spoons in our pockets."
"We'll get it out for you. Not to-night, because we're playing at that concert. But to-morrow."
And sure enough they did—with fish-hooks and weights coated with birdlime or something sticky. They fished behind the stove, and up came the silver—rather yellow, but not much dented—and not a chip of the panelled mantel-piece disturbed.
"Not at all," they said to the thanks of Lucilla and Jane. "It's a pleasure. I wish you let us do more things for you. Shall we clean the silver? We're rather a dab at that."
