e was unsatisfactory. He was
slovenly in figure and habits, with a stubbly beard and unkempt hair;
and although he had L150 a year his clothes were threadbare and shabby.
He seemed always hard up for money. He did not go out, as most of us
did, in the middle of the day to get lunch, but fortified himself with
bread and cheese, which he brought in his pocket, and partook of
mysteriously behind the lid of his desk.

Now and then I had come upon him while he was deeply engaged in writing
what appeared to be private letters, and I could not help noticing that
on each occasion when thus interrupted he coloured up guiltily and hid
his letter hastily away in his blotting-paper. And once or twice lately
mysterious parcels had been handed to him over the counter, which he had
received with a conscious air, hiding them away in his desk and carrying
them home under his coat at night.

I did not at all like these oddities, and, holding the position I did, I
had often debated with myself whether it was not my duty to take the
manager or head cashier into my confidence on the subject. And yet
there had never till now occurred anything definite to take hold of, nor
was it till this October morning, when I saw the manager's desk broken
and the empty cash-box on the floor, that it came over me that McCrane
was even a worse fellow than I had taken him for.

He had been most mysterious about his holidays this year. He was to
have taken them in May, among the first batch, but suddenly altered his
arrangements, giving no reason, and requesting to be allowed to go in
September. September came, and still he clung to his desk. Finally
another change was announced: McCrane would start for his fortnight's
holiday on the second Thursday of October.

These changes were all arranged so mysteriously, and with such an
unusual show of eagerness on McCrane's part, and as the time itself drew
near he exhibited such a mixture of self-satisfaction, concealment, and
uneasiness, that no one could fail to observe it. Add to this that
during the last day or two he had made more than one mistake in his
addition, and had once received a reprimand from the manager for
inattention, at which he vaguely smiled--and you will hardly wonder that
my first words on that eventful morning--the first of his long-expected
holiday--were--

"Michael McCrane has bolted!"

The manager when he arrived took the same view as I did.

"I don't like this, Samuels," sa