"I was out of a place for about three months, sir, and—and my wife got very ill, sir, and I had spent all my savings. The doctor said that the only chance of saving her was to send her out of London. I went to call on a gentleman about a place, and while I was waiting, sir, I—I—I saw a couple of sovereigns on the mantelpiece, and I took them, sir."
"That was very wrong of you, Mr. Bates," said the Professor.
"Yes, sir."
"What happened?"
"The money was missed, and I was arrested, sir. The magistrate was very good to me. He might have sent me to prison, but he only bound me over. I am very grateful to him, sir. Still, that finished me as far as work was concerned, sir."
"And your wife?"
Mr. Bates suddenly began to cry. "My wife is dead, sir."
"Dear me," said the Professor, turning his head away, "dear me!"
There was a short pause, during which Mr. Bates began mechanically to wash up. The Professor sat in silence while plate after plate was cleaned and put aside. When both piles were finished, he looked up at the small clock which was ticking away on the mantelpiece. The time was about five-and-twenty minutes to seven.
"It is a little early for breakfast," he remarked, "but I think that, as you are here, Mr. Bates, I will take advantage of the fact by getting you to cook me some eggs and bacon. There ought to be plenty, unless Andrew has excelled himself."