"Softly, Ma'am, softly! Duty is duty; an' 'f any damage is done, I'm responsible."
His eyes fastened upon a dressing-case that lay on a table near the mirror,—apparently the last article handled by the occupant of the room.
"No robbery, Ma'am," said he, opening the case, and taking out its contents. "Razors and brushes, and such like, is personal, and not subject to levy; but these, Ma'am, you see, air."
He held up a pocket-book full of bank-notes.
"I'll count 'em before you, Ma'am, if you please, so's there'll be no mistake. Thirteen thousand! A pretty good haul! I'll go down, now. If anythin's wantin' for the chap when he comes to, jest le'me know."
With a gleam of intense satisfaction on his sharp and vulgar features, the officer descended the stairs.
CHAPTER XVIII.
John Fletcher sat by his fireside, reading the evening papers. The failures of the day, of course, engaged his attention; among them, those of Sandford and his associates were not unexpected. His little wife sat by him, fondling the weakly baby.
"Old Sandford has gone by the board, ducky. Good enough for him! He's come to grief, as he deserved. He'll never trouble me any more."
"I'm afraid a good many more'll come to grief, as you say, before this panic is over."