‘Oh, it’s you, Mr Atherton. I beg your pardon, sir,—I thought it might have been the police.’
‘What then? Do you stand in terror of the minions of the law,—at last?’
A most discreet servant, Matthews,—just the fellow for a budding cabinet minister. He glanced over his shoulder,—I had suspected the presence of a colleague at his back, now I was assured. He put his hand up to his mouth,—and I thought how exceedingly discreet he looked, in his trousers and his stockinged feet, and with his hair all rumpled, and his braces dangling behind, and his nightshirt creased.
‘Well, sir, I have received instructions not to admit the police.’
‘The deuce you have!—From whom?’
Coughing behind his hand, leaning forward, he addressed me with an air which was flatteringly confidential.
‘From Mr Lessingham, sir.’
‘Possibly Mr Lessingham is not aware that a robbery has been committed on his premises, that the burglar has just come out of his drawing-room window with a hop, skip, and a jump, bounded out of the window like a tennis-ball, flashed round the corner like a rocket.’
Again Matthews glanced over his shoulder, as if not clear which way discretion lay, whether fore or aft.
‘Thank you, sir. I believe that Mr Lessingham is aware of something of the kind.’ He seemed to come to a sudden resolution, dropping his voice to a whisper. ‘The fact is, sir, that I fancy Mr Lessingham’s a good deal upset.’