I was at the address I had given by nine o’clock. Several hours passed without bringing any one, and I was beginning to despair, when a gentleman of the name of Bagshawe was announced: I fairly leaped for joy, for this was beyond my hopes.
A gentleman presently entered, of about thirty years of age, of a distinguished, though somewhat dissipated aspect.
“This brooch is yours?” said I, exhibiting it without delay or preface.
“It is; and I am here to know what your singular advertisement means?”
I briefly explained the situation of affairs.
“The rascals!” he broke in almost before I had finished; “I will briefly explain it all. A fellow of the name of Hartley, at least that was the name he gave, robbed me, I was pretty sure, of this brooch. I pointed him out to the police, and he was taken into custody; but nothing being found upon him, he was discharged.”
“Not entirely, Mr. Bagshawe, on that account. You refused, when arrived at the station-house, to state what you had been robbed of; and you, moreover, said, in presence of the culprit, that you were to embark with your regiment for India the next day. That regiment, I have ascertained, did embark, as you said it would.”
“True; but I had leave of absence, and shall take the Overland route. The truth is, that during the walk to the station-house, I had leisure to reflect that if I made a formal charge, it would lead to awkward disclosures. This brooch is an imitation of one presented me by a valued relative. Losses at play—since, for this unfortunate young woman’s sake, I must out with it—obliged me to part with the original; and I wore this, in order to conceal the fact from my relative’s knowledge.”
“This will, sir,” I replied, “prove, with a little management, quite sufficient for all purposes. You have no objection to accompany me to the superintendent?”
“Not in the least: only I wish the devil had the brooch as well as the fellow that stole it.”