"i am waiting for that, mr. yorke."

but for the presence of bede greatorex, who sat at his desk in the front office, roland might have retorted on mr. brown that he might wait, for he felt in just as bad a humour as it was well possible for roland, or anybody else, to feel. ceasing his covert grumbling to hurst, who had the convenient gift of listening and writing away by steam at one and the same time, roland's pen resumed its task.

never, since roland had joined the house of greatorex and greatorex, did he remember it to have been so pressed as now, as far as bede's room was concerned. there was a sudden accumulation of work, and hands were short. little jenner had been summoned into yorkshire by the illness of his mother, and mr. bede greatorex had kindly said to him, "don't hurry back if you find her in danger." they could not borrow help from the other side, for it happened that a clerk there was also absent.

thus it fell out that not only mr. brown had to stay in the office the previous night until a late hour, but he detained roland in it as well, besides warning that gentleman that he must take twenty minutes for his dinner at present, and no more. this was altogether an intense grievance, considering that roland had fully purposed to devote a large amount of leisure time to arthur channing. one whole day, and this one getting towards its close, and roland had not set eyes on arthur. since the moment when he left him at the door of the hotel in norfolk street, the last evening but one, roland had neither seen nor heard of him. he was resenting this quite as much as the weight of work: for when his heart was really engaged, anything like slight or neglect wounded it to the core. somewhat of this feeling had set in on the first night. after startling the street and alarming the inmates of the house, through the bell and knocker, to find that arthur channing had left his hotel and not come to him, was as a very pill to roland. he had been kept all closely at work since, and arthur had not chosen to come in search of him.

whatever impression might have been made on the mind of bede greatorex by the police officer's communication, now nearly two days old, he could not but estimate at its true value the efficiency of mr. brown as a clerk. in an emergency like the present, mr. brown did that which roland was fond of talking of--put his shoulder to the wheel. whatever the demands of the office, mr. brown showed himself equal to them almost in his own person; this, combined with his very excellent administrative qualities, rendered him invaluable to bede greatorex. in a silent, undemonstrative kind of way, mr. brown had also for some months past been on the alert to watch for those mistakes, inadvertent neglects, forgetfulness in his master, which the reader has heard complained of. so far as he was able to do it, these were at once silently remedied, and nothing said. bede detected this: and he knew that many a night when mr. brown stayed over hours in the office, working diligently, it was to repair some failure of his. once, and once only, bede spoke. "why are you so late tonight, mr. brown?" he asked, upon going into the office close upon ten o'clock and finding mr. brown up to his elbows in work. "i'm only getting forward for the morning, sir," was the manager's quiet answer. but bede, though he said no more, saw that the clerk had taken some unhappy error of his in hand, and was toiling to remedy it and avert trouble. so that, whatever might be mr. brown's private sins, bede greatorex could scarcely afford to lose him.

once more, for perhaps the five hundredth time, bede glanced from his desk at mr. brown opposite. no longer need, though, was there to glance with any speculative view; that had been set at rest. the eyes that had so mystified bede greatorex, bringing to him an uneasy, puzzling feeling, which wholly refused to elucidate itself, tax his memory as he would, were at length rendered clear eyes to him. he knew where and on what occasion he had seen them: and if he had disliked and dreaded them before, he dreaded them ten times more now.

"ah, how do you do, mr. channing?"

bede, leaving his desk, had been crossing the office to his private room, when hamish entered. they shook hands, and stood talking for a few minutes, not having met since bede returned from his continental tour. just as a change for the worse in bede struck mr. butterby's keen eye, so, as it appeared, did some change in hamish channing strike bede.

"are you well?" he asked.

"as well as london and its hard work will let me be," replied hamish, with one of his charming smiles, which really was gay and light, in spite of its tinge of sadness. "it is of no use to dream of green fields and blue waves when we cannot get to them, you know."

"that's rest--when you can sit down in the one and idly watch the other," remarked bede. "but to go scampering about for a month or two at railroad speed, neither body nor eye getting holiday, wears out a man worse than working on in london, mr. channing."

with a slow, lingering gaze at hamish's refined face, which was looking strangely worn, and, so to say, etherealised, bede passed on to his room hamish turned to the desk of hurst and roland yorke.

"how are you?" he asked of them conjointly.

"as well as cantankerous circumstances and people will let me be," was the cross reply of roland, without looking up from his writing.

hamish laughed.

"just because i wanted a little leisure just now, i've got double work put on my shoulders," went on roland. "you remember that time at old galloway's, hamish, when jenkins and arthur were both away together, throwing all the work upon me? well, we've got a second edition of that here."

"who is away?" inquired hamish.

"little jenner. and he is good for three of us any day in point of getting through work. the result is, that mr. brown"--giving a defiant nod to the gentleman opposite--"keeps me at it like a slave. but for arthur's being in london, i'd not mind some extra pressure, i'd be glad to oblige, and do it. not that arthur misses me, if one may judge by appearances," he continued in a deeply-injured tone. "i would not be two days in a strange place without going to see after him."

"have you not seen arthur, then?" inquired hamish.

"no, i have not seen him," retorted roland, with emphasis. "he has been too much taken up with you and other friends, to think of me. perhaps he has gone over to gerald's interests: and his theory is, that i'm nobody worth knowing. mother jenkins has had her best gown on for two days, expecting him. live and learn--and confound it all! i'd have backed arthur channing, for faith and truth, against the world."

hamish laughed slightly: any such interlude as this in roland's generally easy nature, amused him always.

"you and i and mrs. jenkins are in the same box, old fellow, for arthur has not been to me."

"oh, hasn't he?" was roland's answer, delivered with lofty indifference, and an angry shake of the pen, which blotted his work all over. "it's a case of gerald, then. perhaps he is taking him round to the tower, and the waxwork, and the wild beasts--as i thought to do."

"i expect it is rather a case of business," remarked hamish. "you know what arthur is: when he has work to do, that supersedes all else. still i wonder he did not come round last night. we waited dinner until half-past seven."

roland was occupied in trying to repair the damage he had wilfully made, and gave no answer.

"i came in now to ask you for news of him, roland. where is he staying?"

"he has not called yet to see annabel," broke in roland. "and that i do think shameful."

"where is he staying?"

"staying! why at the place in norfolk street. he told you where."

"yes," assented hamish, "but he is not staying there. i have just come from the hotel now."

"who says he is not?"

"the people at the hotel."

"oh, they say that, do they?" retorted roland, turning his resentment on the people in question. "they are nice ones to keep an hotel."

"they say he is not there, and has not been there."

"then, hamish, i can tell you that he is there. didn't i take him down to it that night from your house, and see him safe in? didn't he order his missing portmanteau to be sent to the place as soon as it turned up? they had better tell me that he is not there!"

"what they say is this, roland. that arthur went there, but left again the same night, never occupying his bed at all: and they can give me no information as to where he is staying. i did not put many questions, but came off to you, thinking you would know his movements."

"and that is just what i don't know. arthur has not chosen to let me know. he is at the hotel safe enough: why, he was expecting letters and telegrams and all kinds of things there! they have mistaken the name and given you the wrong answer."

hamish did not think this. he stood in silence, feeling a little puzzled. and in that moment a faint shadow, not of evil yet, but of something or other that was wrong, first dawned on his mind.

"i want to find him," said hamish. "if it shall turn out that he is really not at the hotel and they can give me no information, i shall not know where to look for him or what to think. but for your being busy, roland, i would have asked you to go back with me to norfolk street."

roland looked across at mr. brown, the light of eagerness illumining his face. he did not ask to go, but it was a strong silent appeal. not that he had any doubt on the score of arthur; but the walking to norfolk street was in prospective a very delightful interlude to the evening's hard work. but no answering look of assent did he receive.

"we'd be back in an hour, brown, and i'd set to work like a brick. or in less than that if we take a cab," briskly added roland. "i have some money to pay for one; i've gone about since yesterday morning with a sovereign in my pocket, on the chance of standing treat for some sights, in case i found the chance of going out with arthur channing. didn't mrs. j. read me a lecture on not spending it in waste when she handed it over!"

"if you would promise to be back within the hour, mr. yorke, and really set to work with a will, you should go with mr. channing," was the manager's answer, who had of course heard the whole colloquy. in roland's present restless temper, he was likely to retard work more than to advance it, especially if denied the expedition to norfolk street: as nobody knew better than mr. brown. roland could work with a will; and no doubt would on his return, if allowed to go. so that it was policy to let him.

"oh, thank you, brown; that is generous," said he gratefully, as he leaped off his stool and got his hat. "i'll work away till morning light for you if it's necessary, and make no mistakes."

but arthur was not to be found at the hotel in norfolk street. and the tale told there was rather a singular one. of course roland, darting in head-foremost in his impetuous way, demanded to see mr. arthur channing, and also what they meant by denying that he was staying at it. the waiter came forward in the absence of the principal, and gave them the few particulars (all he knew) that hamish had not before stayed to ask. in fact, hamish had thought that arthur must have taken some prejudice against the hotel and so quitted it for another. the following was the substance of the tale.

mr. arthur channing had written from helstonleigh to desire that a room should be prepared for him, and any letters that might come addressed to him be taken care of. upon his arrival at the hotel (which must have been when roland left him at it) he was informed that his room was ready, and asked if he would like to see it. presently, he answered, and went into the coffee-room. the man (this same one telling the story) left him in it reading his letters, after supplying him with writing materials, arthur saying that when he wanted anything he would ring. it was an exceedingly quiet hotel, not much frequented at any time; the three or four people staying in it were out that evening, so that arthur was quite alone. by-and-by, the man said, he went in again, and found the room empty. from that time they had neither seen nor heard of arthur.

this was the substance of the account, and it sounded somewhat incredible. had arthur been like roland yorke for instance, liable to dart about in random impetuosity, without the smallest concern for others, it might have been thought that he had taken himself off in a freak and forgotten to give notice; but arthur was not likely to do such a thing. hamish stood quietly while he listened to this: roland had put himself upon a table, and sat there pulling fiercely at his whiskers, his long legs dangling downwards.

"i came with him to the door my own self," burst forth roland before the man had well finished, as if that were a disputed point. "i watched him come right into it. that was at eight o'clock."

"yes, sir; it was about that time, sir, that mr. arthur channing got in," answered the waiter, who gave them his name as binns.

"and when i came down, an hour later, you told me mr. arthur channing had gone out; you know you did," spoke roland, who seemed altogether out of his reckoning at the state of affairs, and wanted to blame somebody. "you never said he had gone for good."

"well, sir, but how was i to think he had gone for good?" mildly inquired the waiter. "it have puzzled the house sir: we don't know what to suppose. towards eleven o'clock, when the gentleman did not come in, i began to think the chambermaid must have showed him to his room, being tired, perhaps; but she said she had not, and we went up and found the room unoccupied. we have never heard of him at all since, gentlemen."

the shadow looming over hamish grew a little darker. he began to think all this was very strange.

"the railway people were to have sent his portmanteau here," cried roland; who, when much put out, could not reason at all, and spoke any thought that came uppermost.

"yes, sir, the portmanteau came the next morning, sir. i carried it up to his room, sir, and it is there still."

"what! unopened!" exclaimed hamish. "i mean, has mr. arthur channing not come here to claim it?"

"no, sir; it's waiting for him against he do."

it grew serious now. whatever abode arthur might have removed to, he would not fail to claim his portmanteau, as common sense told hamish roland, hearing the answer, began to stare.

"have you any idea how long he remained in, writing?" asked hamish.

"no, sir. it might have been half-past eight or so, when i came back into the room, and found him gone. but i don't think he had written at all, sir, for the ink and things was on the table just as i placed them; they didn't seem to have been used."

"were many letters waiting for him?"

"four or five, sir. and there was a bit of a mishap with one of them, sir, for which i am very sorry. in taking them out of the rack to give to him, sir, i accidentally overlooked one, and left it in, so that mr. arthur channing never had it. it's in there now."

"be so kind as to bring it to me."

the man went for the letter, and gave it to hamish. it was in charles channing's handwriting, and bore the marseilles post-mark. a proof that charley had arrived there safely: which was a bit of gladness for hamish.

"i suppose you will not grumble at my opening this?" he said to the man, with a smile, as he took out his card and handed it to him. "i am mr. arthur channing's brother."

"oh, sir! i can see that by the likeness; no need to tell it to me," was the answer. "it's all right, sir, i'm sure. these other three letters have come since, sir. the big one by this morning's post, the other two later."

the big one, as the man called it, a thick, official-looking, blue envelope, was in mr. galloway's handwriting. roland knew the proctor's seal too well. that one hamish did not feel at liberty to open, but the others he did, and thought the circumstances fully justified it. running his eyes over charles's first, he found it had been written on board, as the steamer was nearing marseilles. it stated that he was feeling very much better for the voyage, and thought of staying quite a week in paris as he came through it. so far, that was good news; and now hamish opened the other two.

each of them, dated that morning, proved to be from a separate firm of solicitors in london and contained a few brief words of inquiry why mr. arthur channing had not kept the appointment with them on the previous day.

was arthur lost, then? hamish felt startled to tremor. as to poor roland, he could only stare in helpless wonder, and openly lament that he had been such a wicked jackanapes as to attribute unkindness to arthur.

"when i knew in my heart he was the best and truest man, the bravest gentleman the world ever produced, hamish. oh! i am a nice one."

remaining at the hotel would not help them, for the waiter could tell no more than he had told. hamish pointed to his address on the card already given, and they walked away up norfolk street in silence. roland broke it as they turned into the strand, his low voice taking a tone of dread.

"i say, hamish! arthur had a lot of money about him."

"a lot of money!" repeated hamish.

"he had. he brought it up from old galloway. you--you--don't think he could have been murdered for it?"

"hush, roland!"

"oh, well--but the roughs would not mind doing such a thing at port natal."