ell's. I remember this. But
what--"

His finger went down the page. He turned over rapidly, page after
page. The entries went on. They stopped at June 30. He shrank back
in his chair.

"Have I been ill, Chetwode?" he muttered.

Arnold put his arm upon his employer's shoulder.

"Not exactly ill, sir," he said, "but you haven't been here for some
time. You went home on May 4--we've none of us seen you since."

There was a silence. Very slowly Mr. Weatherley began to shake his
head. He seemed suddenly aged.

"Sit down, Chetwode--sit down quickly," he ordered, in a curious,
dry whisper. "You see, it was like this," he went on, leaning over
the table. "I heard a noise in the room and down I came. He was
hiding there behind a curtain, but I saw him. Before I could shout
out to the servants, he had me covered with his revolver. I suppose
I'm not much to look at in a black tie and dress coat, wrong thing
altogether, I know,--but Fenella was out so it didn't really matter.
Anyway, he took me for the butler. 'It isn't you I want,' he said,
'it's your mistress and the others.' I stared at him and backed
toward the door. 'If you move from where you are,' he went on,
dropping his voice a little, 'I shall shoot you! Go and stand over
in that corner, behind me. It's Mrs. Weatherley I want. Now listen.
There's a ten-pound note in my waistcoat pocket. I'll give it to you
to go and fetch her. Tell her that an old friend has called and is
waiting to see her. You understand? If you go and don't bring her
back--if you give the alarm--you'll wake up one night and find me by
your bedside, and you'll be sorry.' You see, I remember every word
he said, Chetwode--every word."

"Go on, please!" Arnold exclaimed, breathlessly.

Mr. Weatherley nodded slowly.

"Yes," he said, "I shall tell you all about it. I remember every
word that was spoken; I can see the man at this moment. I didn't
move from where I was, but I was a little annoyed at being taken for
Groves, and I told him so. 'If you're a burglar,' I said, 'you've
found your way into trouble. I'm the master of the house and Mrs.
Weatherley is my wife. Perhaps you'll tell me now what you want with
her?' He looked at me and I suppose he decided that I was telling
the truth. 'Your wife,' he said slowly, 'is looking for trouble. I'm
not sure that it hasn't come. You know she was a friend of
Rosario--Rosario the Jew?' 'I know that they were acquainted,' I
said. He laughed then, and I be