yes steadily fixed on his informant. When Neale had
finished, Mr. Chestermarke shook his head.

"If Horbury had meant to come into town by the 8.30 train and had missed
it," he remarked, "he would have wired or telephoned by this.
Telephoned, of course: there are telephones at every station on that
branch line. Very well, let things go on."

Neale went out and set his fellow-clerks to the usual routine. Patten
went for the letters. Neale carried them into the partners' room. At ten
o'clock the street door was opened. A customer or two began to drop in.
The business of the day had begun. It went on just as it would have gone
on if Mr. Horbury had been away on holiday. And at half-past ten in
walked the junior partner, Mr. Joseph Chestermarke.

Mr. Joseph was the exact opposite of his uncle. He was so much his
opposite that it was difficult to believe, seeing them together, that
they were related to each other. Mr. Joseph Chestermarke, a man of
apparently thirty years of age, was tall and loose of figure, easy of
demeanour, and a little untidy in his dress. He wore a not over
well-fitting tweed suit, a slouch hat, a flannel shirt. His brown beard
usually needed trimming; he affected loose, flowing neckties, more
suited to an artist than to a banker. His face was amiable in
expression, a little weak, a little speculative. All these
characteristics came out most strongly when he and his uncle were seen
in company: nothing could be more in contrast to the precise severity of
Gabriel than the somewhat slovenly carelessness of Joseph. Joseph,
indeed, was the last man in the world that any one would ever have
expected to see in charge and direction of a bank, and there were people
in Scarnham who said that he was no more than a lay-figure, and that
Gabriel Chestermarke did all the business.

The junior partner passed through the outer room, nodding affably to the
clerks and went into the private parlour. Several minutes elapsed: then
a bell rang. Neale answered it, and Shirley and Patten glanced at each
other and shook their heads: already they scented an odour of suspicion
and uncertainty.

"What's up?" whispered Patten, leaning forward over his desk to Shirley,
who stood between it and the counter. "Something wrong?"

"Something that Gabriel doesn't like, anyhow," muttered Shirley. "Did
you see his eyes when Neale said that Horbury wasn't here? If Horbury
doesn't turn up by this next train--ah!"

"Think he's sloped?"