Mr. Graham-Shute took refuge in the study, where he bored John Bradfield by talking politics, which his host hated.
It was about three o’clock in the afternoon when a knock at the study door was hailed by Mr. Bradfield as affording a hope of release.
“Come in!” cried he; and Stelfox entered.
Both the gentlemen saw at once, by the disturbed expression of the usually stolid face, that something had happened.
“Well, what is it?” asked his master testily.
The next moment, with a glance at Graham-Shute, Mr. Bradfield jumped up, and, making a step towards an inner door, which led into the library, made a sign to Stelfox to follow him.
But Mr. Graham-Shute’s curiosity was roused.
“Eh—what? What, it’s something about that lunatic of yours, Bradfield, I’m sure!” he cried excitedly. “He has got into some mischief or other! I knew he would while I was here. What—what is it, Stelfox? Has the creature got away, or what?”
Stelfox nodded.
“That’s it, sir,” he said.