Then he saw what it was that had woke him. Standing beside his bedside, as respectfully as ever, was Stelfox. Then Mr. Bradfield felt that the way of the transgressor is indeed hard. He sat up in bed, and tried to look merely surprised. “Hallo, Stelfox, is that you?” he said, boisterously. “Yes, sir, it is I,” answered Stelfox, who was always correct. “Well, and what are you doing here? Nothing happened, I hope?” He was not yet quite warmed to the world and its doings, so, although he was undoubtedly annoyed and alarmed by the appearance of his late servant, he did not quite appreciate the full significance of this singular intrusion. “Well, sir, I can’t exactly say that nothing has happened,” said Stelfox, still looking down. “I came down from London to Wyngham yesterday afternoon, sir, to see you. But I saw Mr. Marrable instead, sir.” All this was said quite simply. But when his speech was finished, Stelfox came to a sudden stop--a nasty, significant stop. “Mr. Marrable! Oh, yes,” said Mr. Bradfield, assuming more cheerfulness of speech as his thoughts lost it. “He told me, sir, about the will made by Mr. Gilbert Wryde.” “Well, what has that to do with me?” “Well, sir, it has a good deal to do with you now that Mr. Richard is of age and proved to be sane, I think. For, of course, he ought to come into his property.” There was a pause. For the thousand and first time Mr. Bradfield was asking himself whether this was a man to be bribed. He decided that at this stage of affairs the experiment must be tried. “Look here, Stelfox,” said he, “you’re an honest man, and you want to see justice done to everybody, I’m sure.” “I do, sir,” said Stelfox, modestly. “And, in consideration of the fact that I’ve not been a bad master to you, or an ungenerous one for ten years, you would like, I am sure, to see justice done to me, too?” “I should, sir,” answered Stelfox readily, but in a manner which left Mr. Bradfield to doubt whether the inflection of his voice was not “nasty.” “Well, then,” pursued Mr. Bradfield, “see. Mr. Wryde, Master Richard’s father, left me a large sum--you see I don’t deny it was a large sum--in trust for his idiot son.” But here Stelfox at last looked up. “_Idiot_ son, sir!” he interrupted, promptly. “But Mr. Marrable assures me that, so far from being an idiot, Master Richard was considered a very bright child, even after the scarlet fever had made him deaf.” “Mr. Marrable assures you! But what’s Mr. Marrable? An idiot himself!” interrupted Mr. Bradfield, impatiently. “And,” went on Stelfox, steadily, not heeding the interruption, “he says he knows it was old Mr. Wryde’s intention to take or send his little son to England, as it was thought his hearing could be restored. Indeed, sir,” pursued he, with uncanny smoothness, “Mr. Richard has recovered his hearing in a wonderful manner since he has been in London, and under the care of a specialist, sir.” Here Mr. Bradfield broke out with sudden sharpness: