Senior, sir, as you may be
aware, is next on the list for the shrievalty. Shall I call him out,
sir?"

Mr. Weatherley looked through the glass and met the glance,
instantly lowered, of the young man in question. Mr. Stephen Tidey
Junior was short and stout, reflecting in his physique his
aldermanic father. His complexion was poor, however, his neck thick,
and he wore a necktie of red silk drawn through a diamond ring.
There was nothing in his appearance which grated particularly upon
Mr. Weatherley's sense of seemliness. Nevertheless, he shook his
head. He was beginning to recognize his wife's point of view, even
though it still seemed strange to him.

"I wasn't thinking of young Tidey at all," he declared, bluntly. "I
was thinking of that young fellow at the end of the desk there--chap
with a queer name--Chetwode, I think you call him."

Mr. Jarvis, human automaton though he was, permitted himself an
exclamation of surprise.

"Young Chetwode! Surely you're not in earnest, sir!"

"Why not?" Mr. Weatherley demanded. "There's nothing against him,
is there?"

"Nothing against him, precisely," Mr. Jarvis confessed, "but he's at
the lowest desk in the office, bar Smithers. His salary is only
twenty-eight shillings a week, and we know nothing whatever about
him except that his references were satisfactory. It isn't to be
supposed that he would feel at home in your house, sir. Now, with
Mr. Tidey, sir, it's quite different. They live in a very beautiful
house at Sydenham now--quite a small palace, in its way, I've been
told."

Mr. Weatherley was getting a little impatient.

"Send Chetwode out for a moment, anyway," he directed. "I'll speak
to him here."

Mr. Jarvis obeyed in silence. He entered the office and touched the
young man in question upon the shoulder.

"Mr. Weatherley wishes to speak to you outside, Chetwode," he
announced. "Make haste, please."

Arnold Chetwode put down his pen and rose to his feet. There was
nothing flurried about his manner, nothing whatever to indicate on
his part any knowledge of the fact that this was the voice of Fate
beating upon his ear. He did not even show the ordinary interest of
a youthful employee summoned for the first time to an audience with
his chief. Standing for a moment by the side of the senior clerk in
the middle of the office, tall and straight, with deep brown hair,
excellent features, and the remnants of a healthy tan still visible
on his forehead and neck,