"Certainly sir." And Baxter went out, closing the door behind him.
Meanwhile Bellew busied himself in removing all traces of his journey,
and was already bathed, and shaved, and dressed, by the time
Baxter returned.
Now gripped in his right hand Baxter carried a black leather bag which jingled as he set it down upon the table.
"Got it?" enquired Bellew.
"I have, sir."
"Good!" nodded Bellew. "Now just run around to the garage, and fetch the new racing car,—the Mercedes."
"Now, sir?"
"Now, Baxter!"
Once more Baxter departed, and, while he was gone, Bellew began to pack,—that is to say, he bundled coats and trousers, shirts and boots into a portmanteau in a way that would have wrung Baxter's heart, could he have seen. Which done, Bellew opened the black bag, glanced inside, shut it again, and, lighting his pipe, stretched himself out upon an ottoman, and immediately became plunged in thought.
So lost was he, indeed, that Baxter, upon his return was necessitated to emit three distinct coughs,—(the most perfectly proper, and gentleman-like coughs in the world) ere Bellew was aware of his presence.
"Oh!—that you, Baxter?" said he, sitting up, "back so soon?"