But to Clement’s surprise his face betrayed neither the guilt nor the fear which he had expected to see, but only amazement that the other should be there—and some annoyance. “You?” he said. “What the devil are you doing here? What joke is this? Did your father think that I could not be trusted to see things through? Or that you were likely to do better?” “I want a word with you,” said Clement. He was in no mood to mince matters. “But why are you here?” with rising anger. “Why have you come after me? What’s up?” “I’ll tell you, if you’ll step aside.” “You can tell me on the coach, then, for I have no time to lose now. I mean to catch the three o’clock coach, and——” “No!” Clement said firmly. “I must speak to you here.” But on that the broker interposed, his watch in his hand, “Anyway, I can stop,” he said. “Who is this gentleman?” “Mr. Ovington, junior,” Arthur said, with something of a sneer. “I don’t know what he has come up for, but——” “But, at any rate, he’ll see you safe to the coach,” the other rejoined. “And I must be off. I give you joy of it, Mr. Bourdillon. Fine work! Fine work, by Jove! And I shall tell Mr. Ovington so when I see him. You’re a marvel! My compliments to your father, young gentleman,” addressing Clement. “Glad to have met you, but I can’t stay now. Fifty things to do, and no time to do ’em in. The world’s upside down to-day. Good morning! Good morning!” With a wave of the hand, his watch in the other, he turned on his heel and strode back towards the main entrance. The two looked at one another and the third, who made up the party, a burly man in a red waistcoat and a curly-brimmed Regency hat, surveyed them both. “Well, I’m hanged,” Arthur exclaimed, reverting sourly to his first surprise. “Is everybody mad? Must you all come to town? I should have thought that you’d have had enough to do at the bank without this! But as you must——” then to the officer, who was carrying a small leather valise, the duplicate of one which Arthur held in his hand—“wait a minute, will you? And keep an eye on us. We shall not be a minute. Now,” drawing Clement into a corner of the lodge, five or six paces away, where, though a stream of people continually brushed by them, they could talk with some degree of privacy. “What is it, man? What is it? What has bought you up? And how the deuce have you come to be here—by this time?” “I posted.” “Posted? From Aldersbury? In heaven’s name, why? Why, man?” Clement pointed to the bag. “To take that over,” he said. “This? Take this over?” Arthur turned a deep red. “What—what the devil do you mean, man?” “You ought to know.” “I?” “Yes, you,” Clement retorted, his temper rising. “It’s stolen property, if you will have it.” And he braced himself for the fray. “Stolen property?” “Just that. And my father has commissioned me to take charge of it, and to restore it to its owner. Now you know.”