“‘Quite right, my boy,’ I says. ‘Give it to me. There, be off down!’
“Well, sir, as soon as I was alone, I ripped up the bag, for it was locked; and hang me if it hadn’t got in all her jewels—every blessed thing: diamonds and sapphires and rubies and emeralds and pearls; thousands and thousands of pounds’ worth, for she would go it in jewels; and when I offended her I used to have to make it up by giving her something new. That woman cost me a pot of money, Moorpark, ’pon my soul she did, for I never shilly-shallied. If she was upset I always bought her something new.”
“But, really, I don’t understand all this!” said Lord Henry feebly.
“Wait a bit. She had meant to take her jewels with her, and the idiot of a boy blundered the thing, somehow, and instead of her having them I have the whole blessed lot. For I pitched the cases in the iron safe where I keep my papers, locked ’em up, came on here to see after her, and there’s the keys!”
He slapped his pocket, and looked at Lord Henry as he spoke.
“I never expected it,” said Elbraham coolly; “it was her dodge.”
“Then where do you expect she is?”
“Why, bolted, man; gone to the devil—or with the devil, that black-looking rascal Malpas; and a deuced good job too!”
“But this is very dreadful!” said Lord Henry.
“It would have been if she had got away with all those stones,” said Elbraham, helping himself to more wine. “But she was done there. By Jingo! what a cat-and-dog life we have led!”