“Baxter!”

“Sir?”

“Oblige me by getting this cashed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bring half of it in gold.”

“Sir,” said Baxter, glancing down at the slip of paper, “did you say—­half, sir?”

“Yes, Baxter,—­I’d take it all in gold only that it would be rather awkward to drag around.  So bring half in gold, and the rest in—­five pound notes.”

“Very good, sir!”

“And—­Baxter!”

“Sir?”

“Take a cab!”

“Certainly sir.”  And Baxter went out, closing the door behind him.  Meanwhile Bellew busied himself in removing all traces of his journey, and was already bathed, and shaved, and dressed, by the time Baxter returned.

Now gripped in his right hand Baxter carried a black leather bag which jingled as he set it down upon the table.

“Got it?” enquired Bellew.

“I have, sir.”

“Good!” nodded Bellew.  “Now just run around to the garage, and fetch the new racing car,—­the Mercedes.”

“Now, sir?”

“Now, Baxter!”

Once more Baxter departed, and, while he was gone, Bellew began to pack,—­that is to say, he bundled coats and trousers, shirts and boots into a portmanteau in a way that would have wrung Baxter’s heart, could he have seen.  Which done, Bellew opened the black bag, glanced inside, shut it again, and, lighting his pipe, stretched himself out upon an ottoman, and immediately became plunged in thought.

So lost was he, indeed, that Baxter, upon his return was necessitated to emit three distinct coughs,—­(the most perfectly proper, and gentleman-like coughs in the world) ere Bellew was aware of his presence.

“Oh!—­that you, Baxter?” said he, sitting up, “back so soon?”

“The car is at the door, sir.”

“The car?—­ah yes, to be sure!—­Baxter.”

“Sir?”

“What should you say if I told you—­” Bellew paused to strike a match, broke it, tried another, broke that, and finally put his pipe back into his pocket, very conscious the while of Baxter’s steady, though perfectly respectful regard.

“Baxter,” said he again.

“Sir?” said Baxter.

“What should you say if I told you that I was in love—­at last, Baxter!—­Head over ears—­hopelessly—­irretrievably?”

“Say, sir?—­why I should say,—­indeed, sir?”

“What should you say,” pursued Bellew, staring thoughtfully down at the rug under his feet, “if I told you that I am so very much, in love that I am positively afraid to—­tell her so?”

“I should say—­very remarkable, sir!”

Bellew took out his pipe again, looked at it very much as if he had never seen such a thing before, and laid it down upon the mantelpiece.

“Baxter,” said he, “kindly understand that I am speaking to you as—­er—­man to man,—­as my father’s old and trusted servant and my early boy-hood’s only friend; sit down, John.”