“Why, then,—I think you ought to lose no time.”
“Pshaw! I know that well enough.”
“If I were you, I should be off directly.”
“Off!—S'death, man! you enrage me. What do you mean by be off?'”
“Why, off after him, to be sure.”
“Which way did he go?”
“Ah! there I'm at fault.”
Godfrey could bear no more:—he rushed out of the office, hallooed “Porter!” five or six times, and, in a few seconds, half-a-dozen knights of the knot were advancing, from different corners of the inn yard, towards him. “My good fellows,” said he, “did any of you see a little black fellow taking a large trunk or chest from the office, on a truck, this morning?”
Two of them had seen the little black man, but they did not recollect in what direction he went after quitting the yard.
“How dreadfully provoking!” exclaimed Godfrey: “My only course is to ransack every street—every corner, in quest of him. I'll give ten guineas to any one who will discover the wretch. Away with you at once;—bring all the black porters you know or meet with, to the office; and, perhaps, the clerk may identify the rascal among them. I've been robbed!—do you hear?—robbed—”