Fletcher dismissed him, and turned to his correspondence and breakfast.
A letter from the bank manager at Ashstead contained the numbers of the missing bank notes for which he had telephoned. He put it in his pocket. Then a thought came to him, and he rang the bell.
“I am afraid I must get back to London to-day,” he said to the innkeeper’s wife. “Please let me have my bill.”
“I am sorry sir,” she said, “I ’ope as ’ow it’s not because of you being frightened in the night, sir.”
There was a note of raillery in the voice which was most galling.
He made no answer, and in due course an illiterate scrawl was brought which indicated by its total that piracy still ran in the blood of these people. Fletcher produced a ten pound note; it was a long shot but worth trying.
“Could you oblige me with change?” he said.
“I’ll see, sir,” said the woman, and retired.
He saw her call her husband, and a colloquy took place.
Presently she reappeared; on the plate was a five pound note and some loose silver. This was not the type of house where five pound notes are flung about, so when the door was shut he produced his letter.