“I should really think, Master Richard, as you had now won enough.” “Enough? Certainly not. I have not broken the bank yet. I mean to do that before I’ve done with it, Johnny.” “That will be after you’ve killed yourself,” said honest John. “Well, then I shall die _rich_,” was the reckless rejoinder. Richard, who was too exhausted for repose, tossed and tumbled on his bed for hours, and eventually dropped into a heavy slumber, and slept far into the next morning. He awoke feeling very unwell, but his chief anxiety was lest he should miss the opening of the tables; he was always the first to begin. He rang his bell violently for Maitland. There was no reply, and when he rang again, one of the hotel servants came up. “Where is my man?” he inquired. “Monsieur’s man-servant took monsieur’s luggage to the railway-station; he is gone by the early train to Turin.” “Gone to Turin with my luggage?” “Yes, with the two portmanteaus--very heavy ones.” Richard got out of bed, and dragged his weary limbs into the dressing-room, an inner apartment, where the portmanteaus were kept for safety. They were both gone. “What train did the scoundrel go by? Where is my watch? Why, the villain has taken that too! Send for the police! No; there is no time to be lost--send a telegram. Why, he has not even left me enough money to pay a telegram!” All his small change was gone. Honest John had taken everything; he had not left his young master a single sixpence. At this revelation of the state of affairs, poor Richard, weakened as he was by his long excitement, threw himself on the bed and burst into tears. The attendant, to whom, as usual, he had been liberal, was affected by an emotion so strange in an Englishman. “Monsieur must not fret; the thief will be caught and the money restored. It will be well, perhaps to tell the _maitre d’hotel_.” The master of the hotel appeared with a very grave face. He was desolated to hear of the misfortune that had befallen his young guest. Perhaps there was not quite so much taken as had been reported. “I tell you it’s all gone; more than five thousand pounds, and my watch and chain; I have not half a franc in my possession.” “That is unfortunate indeed,” said the _maitre d’hotel_, looking graver than ever, “because there is my bill to settle.” “Oh, hang your bill!” cried Richard. “_That_ will be all right. I must telegraph to my father at once.” “But how is monsieur to telegraph if he has no money?”