housekeeper had gone away, "Mr. Horbury always carried the more
important keys on him, didn't he?"

"Always," responded Neale.

"Very good! Let things go on," said Gabriel. "But don't come bothering
me or Mr. Joseph Chestermarke unless you're obliged to. Of course, Mr.
Horbury may come in by the next train. That'll do, Neale."

Neale went back to the outer room. Things went on, but the missing
manager did not come in by the 10.45, and nothing had been heard or seen
of him at noon, when Patten went to get his dinner. Nor had anything
been seen or heard at one o'clock, when Patten came back, and it became
Shirley and Neale's turn to go out. And thereupon arose a difficulty. In
the ordinary course the two elder clerks would have left for an hour and
the manager would have been on duty until they returned. But now the
manager was not there.

"You go," said Neale to Shirley. "I'll wait. Perhaps Mr. Joseph will
come out."

Shirley went--but neither of the partners emerged from the private room.
As a rule they both went across to the Scarnham Arms Hotel at half-past
one for lunch--a private room had been kept for them at that old-world
hostelry from time immemorial--but now they remained within their
parlour, apparently interned from their usual business world. And Neale
had a very good idea of what they were doing. The bank's strong room was
entered from that parlour--Gabriel and Joseph were examining and
checking its contents. The knowledge distressed Neale beyond measure,
and it was only by a resolute effort that he could give his mind to his
duties.

Two o'clock had gone, and Shirley had come back, before the bell rang
again. Neale went into the private room and knew at once that something
had happened. Gabriel stood by his desk, which was loaded with papers
and documents; Joseph leaned against a sideboard, whereon was a decanter
of sherry and a box of biscuits; he had a glass of wine in one hand, and
a half-nibbled biscuit in the other. The smell of the sherry--fine old
brown stuff, which the clerks were permitted to taste now and then, on
such occasions as the partners' birthdays--filled the room.

"Neale," said Gabriel, "have you been out to lunch? No? Take a glass of
wine and eat a biscuit--we shall all have to put off our lunches for an
hour or so."

Neale obeyed--more because he was under order than because he was
hungry. He was too much bothered, too full of vague fears, to think of
his midday dinner. He