, what's more, his bed hasn't been
slept in last night. Farnaby's off, sir--nobody knows where."

Old Ronald dropped heavily into the nearest chair. This second mystery,
following on the mystery of the anonymous letter, staggered him. But
his business instincts were still in good working order. He held out his
keys to the clerk. "Get the petty cash-book," he said, "and see if the
money is all right."

The clerk received the keys under protest. _"That's_ not the right
reading of the riddle," he remarked.

"Do as I tell you!"

The clerk opened the money-drawer under the counter; counted the pounds,
shillings and pence paid by chance customers up to the closing of
the shop on the previous evening; compared the result with the petty
cash-book, and answered, "Right to a halfpenny."

Satisfied so far, old Ronald condescended to approach the speculative
side of the subject, with the assistance of his subordinate. "If what
you said just now means anything," he resumed, "it means that you
suspect the reason why Farnaby has left my service. Let's hear it."

"You know that I never liked John Farnaby," the clerk began. "An active
young fellow and a clever young fellow, I grant you. But a bad servant
for all that. False, Mr. Ronald--false to the marrow of his bones."

Mr. Ronald's patience began to give way. "Come to the facts," he
growled. "Why has Farnaby gone off without a word to anybody? Do you
know that?"

"I know no more than you do," the clerk answered coolly. "Don't fly into
a passion. I have got some facts for you, if you will only give me time.
Turn them over in your own mind, and see what they come to. Three days
ago I was short of postage-stamps, and I went to the office. Farnaby was
there, waiting at the desk where they pay the post-office orders. There
must have been ten or a dozen people with letters, orders, and what
not, between him and me. I got behind him quietly, and looked over his
shoulder. I saw the clerk give him the money for his post-office order.
Five pounds in gold, which I reckoned as they lay on the counter, and
a bank-note besides, which he crumpled up in his hand. I can't tell you
how much it was for; I only know it _was_ a bank-note. Just ask yourself
how a porter on twenty shillings a week (with a mother who takes in
washing, and a father who takes in drink) comes to have a correspondent
who sends him an order for five sovereigns--and a bank-note, value
unknown. Say he's turned betting-man