Wolfenden, glancing towards Mr. Sabin as he finished his story, was surprised at the latter’s imperfectly concealed interest. His lips were indrawn, his face seemed instinct with a certain passionate but finely controlled emotion. Only the slight hiss of his breath and the gleam of his black eyes betrayed him.
“What happened?” he asked. “Did you secure the fellow?”
Wolfenden played a long shot and waited whilst he watched the run of his ball. Then he turned towards his companion and shook his head.
“No! He was a great deal too clever for that. He sent me out to meet Whitlett, and when we got back he had shown us a clean pair of heels. He got away through the window.”
“Did he take away any papers with him?” Mr. Sabin asked.
“He may have taken a loose sheet or two,” Wolfenden said. “Nothing of any consequence, I think. He had no time. I don’t think that that could have been his object altogether, or he would scarcely have suggested my remaining with him in the study.”
Mr. Sabin drew a quick, little breath. He played an iron shot, and played it very badly.
“It was a most extraordinary occurrence,” he remarked. “What was the man like? Did he seem like an ordinary thief?”
Wolfenden shook his head decidedly.
“Not in the least,” he declared. “He was well dressed and his manners were excellent. He had all the appearance of a man of position. He completely imposed upon both my mother and myself.”