From The Further Adventures of Romney Pringle, a collection of short stories about an engaging crook and literary agent who lives in Furnival's Inn, cycling everywhere no matter what the scam...
it in the yard last night, but he stuck to it like cobbler's wax, and stood it in the passage, where he could see it all the time he was eating. An' would you believe it, sir?" --sinking his voice to a confidential whisper--"he actually took the machine up to his bedroom with him at night!"
Pringle having expressed his horror at this violation of decency, the waiter continued--
"Ah! and when the guv'nor heard of it and went up to speak to him about it, he'd locked the door and pretended not to hear. He said it was a valuable machine; but I've got a brother in the trade and I know something about machines myself, and I don't see it's anything out of the way."
"What name did he give?"
"Think it was Snaky, or something foreign like that." The waiter consulted a slate. "Ah! here it is, sir--Snaburgh, No. 24; call 7.30."
"Has he gone, then?" inquired Pringle anxiously.
"Took his machine out with him soon after eight. The guv'nor objected to his going out before he'd paid