Rather to his surprise, Stelfox withdrew at once in exactly the same manner as if he had only come in to bring the gentleman’s shaving-water. Mr. Bradfield, breathing heavily from rage and excitement, got up, turned the key in the lock, and began to dress. He was in a passion still, so indignant with Stelfox for refusing to be bribed that he quite felt that he was an injured person. He told himself, however, with a chuckle, when he had got a little cooler, that neither Stelfox nor anybody else could prevent his crossing to Flushing by the next boat, and getting out of jurisdiction before matters had got far enough for a warrant to be issued for him. At the same time there was just a little undercurrent of anxiety in his mind, the result of the extreme promptitude with which the cunning Stelfox had traced him out, and the astuteness with which he had framed an excuse to induce the attendants at the hotel to show him up to the room of the gentleman he asked for. “But how on earth did he get in?” Mr. Bradfield asked himself, remembering that he had locked his door before going to bed. On examination, however, the lock proved to have been defective, so that Stelfox had found his entry easy. By this time Mr. Bradfield was fully dressed, and he turned to the head of the bed where, under the damask curtain, he had hidden his precious bag of securities on the previous night. The bag was no longer there. CHAPTER XXXVI. VICTORY. Stupefaction, terrible, absolute, fell for one moment upon Mr. Bradfield. He thought not of common thieves; it was borne in upon him at once, with irresistible force, that the theft was the work of Stelfox. Ringing the bell violently, and not waiting for it to be answered, he ran downstairs, telling the waiters, the boots, and everyone he met to “Stop that man!” At first they did not take in the sense of this injunction, but when they did, they explained that the man, who had represented himself to be Mr. Bradfield’s servant, had just caught the train back to Wyngham. For it appeared that Stelfox had made no secret either of his own name, or of his master’s, or of his destination. “My bag! My b--b--bag,” stammered Mr. Bradfield. “He’s a thief! he’s stolen it.” At once a little group collected round the excited man, and the proprietor of the hotel coming forward, at once ordered the boots to run to the station and telegraph a description of the man, so that he might be stopped. For, indeed, more than one person remembered that he had gone upstairs without a bag, and returned carrying one. But this order was scarcely given when Mr. Bradfield, turning suddenly more ghastly white than before, changed his mind and his tactics. “No, no,” stammered he. “Don’t do that; wait a bit.” At the same moment, a maid came running out of the bar with a note, which, she said, had been left for the gentleman by the man who called himself his servant.