' Ryley suggested quietly, approaching the safe, of which
the key was in the lock.

'Never mind, now! Never mind, now!' Stanway stopped him. 'I don't want
to be bothered now. Later on in the afternoon, before Mr. Twemlow
comes.... Did you write and ask him to call at four thirty?'

'Yes,' said Ryley, departing without a sign on his face, the model
clerk.

'Fool!' whispered Stanway. It would have been impossible for Ryley to
breathe without irritating his employer, and the fact that his plebeian
cousin's son was probably the most reliable underling to be got in the
Five Towns did not in the slightest degree lessen Stanway's dislike of
him; it increased it.

Stanway had been perfectly aware that the little ledger was in his
safe, and as soon as Ryley had shut the door he jumped up, unlatched the
safe, removed the book, and after tearing it in two stuck first one half
and then the other into the midst of the fire.

'That ends it, anyhow!' he thought, when the leaves were consumed.

Then he selected some books of cheque counterfoils, a number of
prospectuses of companies, some share certificates (exasperating relic
of what rich dreams!), and a lot of letters. All these he burnt with
much neatness and care, putting more coal on the fire so as to hide
every trace of their destruction. Then he opened a drawer in the desk,
and took out a revolver which he unloaded and loaded again.

'I'm pretty cool,' he flattered himself.

He was the sort of flamboyant man who keeps a loaded revolver in
obedience to the theory that a loaded revolver is a necessary and proper
part of the true male's outfit, like a gold watch and chain, a gold
pencil case, a razor for every day in the week, and a cigar-holder with
a bit of good amber to it. He had owned that revolver for years, with no
thought of utilising the weapon. But in justice to him, it must be said
that when any of his contemporaries--Titus Price, for instance--had
made use of revolvers or ropes in a particular way, he had always
secretly justified and commended them.

He put the revolver in his hip-pocket, the correct location, and donned
his 'works' hat. He did not reflect. Memories of his past life did not
occur to him, nor visions of that which was to come. He did not feel
solemn. On the contrary he felt cross with everyone, and determined to
pay everyone out; in particular he was vexed, in a mean childish way,
with Uncle Meshach, and with himself for having fancied for a m