The manager, as was natural, took the initiative, bustling past me into
my room and peering eagerly around.
"I needn't say, Mr. Bayne," he orated fluently, "how sorry I am that
this has happened--especially beneath our roof. It is our first case,
I assure you, of anything so regrettable. If it gets into the papers it
won't do us any good. Now the important thing is to take the fellow
out by the rear without courting notice. Why, where is he?" he asked
hopefully. "Surely he isn't gone?"
"Sure, and didn't I tell ye? 'Tis without eyes ye think me!" The
policeman was resentful, and so, to tell the truth, was I. The whole
maddening affair seemed bent on turning to farce at every angle; the
doctor, as a final straw, had just offered _sotto voce_ to mix me a
soothing draft!
"Gone! Of course he's gone, man!" I exclaimed with some natural temper.
"Did you expect him to sit here waiting all this time? What on earth
have you been doing--reading the papers--playing bridge? A dozen thieves
could have escaped since I telephoned downstairs!"
"But you said," he murmured, apparently dazed, "that you could hold
him.
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