CHAPTER XXXVI. VICTORY.
Stupefaction, terrible, absolute, fell for one moment upon Mr. Bradfield. He thought not of common thieves; it was borne in upon him at once, with irresistible force, that the theft was the work of Stelfox. Ringing the bell violently, and not waiting for it to be answered, he ran downstairs, telling the waiters, the boots, and everyone he met to “Stop that man!”
At first they did not take in the sense of this injunction, but when they did, they explained that the man, who had represented himself to be Mr. Bradfield’s servant, had just caught the train back to Wyngham. For it appeared that Stelfox had made no secret either of his own name, or of his master’s, or of his destination.
“My bag! My b—b—bag,” stammered Mr. Bradfield. “He’s a thief! he’s stolen it.”
At once a little group collected round the excited man, and the proprietor of the hotel coming forward, at once ordered the boots to run to the station and telegraph a description of the man, so that he might be stopped. For, indeed, more than one person remembered that he had gone upstairs without a bag, and returned carrying one.
But this order was scarcely given when Mr. Bradfield, turning suddenly more ghastly white than before, changed his mind and his tactics.
“No, no,” stammered he. “Don’t do that; wait a bit.”
At the same moment, a maid came running out of the bar with a note, which, she said, had been left for the gentleman by the man who called himself his servant.
Mr. Bradfield, opening the envelope with clammy fingers, read the following words:
“Sir,—I beg respectfully to say that I have taken your bag back to Wyngham House for you, as I am sure that you will want it when you return, as I hope you will do in the course of the day. I can undertake to say that a satisfactory settlement will be arrived at, if you should think proper to meet Mr. Richard Wryde and his lawyer, who will be there to meet you.—I am, sir, your obedient servant,
“James Stelfox.”