"Good evening, Mr. Paxton. Did you authorise any one to come and fetch away your bag?"
"No. Why?"
"Some fellow came and said that you had sent him for your Gladstone bag."
"I did nothing of the kind. Did you give it him?"
The manager smiled.
"Hardly. You had confided it to my safe keeping, and I was scarcely likely to hand it to a stranger who was unable to present a more sufficient authority than he appeared to have. We make it a rule that articles entrusted to our charge are returned to the owners only, on personal application."
"What sort of a man was he to look at?"
"Oh, a shabby-looking chap, very much down at heel indeed, middle-aged; the sort of man whom you would expect would run messages."
"Tell me, as exactly as you can, what it was he said."
"He said that Mr. Paxton had sent him for his Gladstone bag. I asked him where you were. He said you were at Medina Villas, and you wanted your bag. You had given him a shilling to come for it, and you were to give him another shilling when he took it back. I told him our rule referring to property deposited with us by guests, and he made off."