"Good-morning, my lord. Rather early to disturb you, I am afraid."
Cyril noticed that Griggs's manner had undergone a subtle change. Although perfectly respectful, he seemed to hold himself rigidly aloof. There was even a certain solemnity about his trivial greeting. Cyril felt that another blow was impending. Instantly and instinctively he braced himself to meet it.
"Not at all. What can I do for you?" he replied in his usual quiet voice.
The man hesitated a moment.
"The fact is, my lord, I should like to ask you a few questions, but I warn you that your answers may be used against you."
"I have nothing to fear. What is it you want to know?"
"Have you missed a bag, my lord?"
"That confounded bag! It has turned up at last," thought Cyril. What on earth should he say? How much did the fellow guess?
"You had better ask my man. He knows more about my things than I do," he managed to answer, as he lifted a perfectly expressionless face to Griggs's inspection.
"Quite so, my lord. But I fancy that as far as this particular bag is concerned, that is not the case."