Then, with a friendly “good-day,” the singer went out, and Mr. Horner, rubbing his hands with an air of great satisfaction, retired to Mr. Boniface’s room. The afternoon passed on just as hundreds of afternoons had passed before it, with the usual succession of customers, the usual round of monotonous work; there was nothing to mark it in any way, and no sense of coming evil made itself felt. In the most prosaic manner possible, Frithiof went out for the few minutes’ stroll in the streets which he called tea-time. He was in good spirits, and as he walked along he thought of the days by the sea, and of the boating which he had so much enjoyed, living it all over again in this hot, dusty London, where June was far from delightful. Still, it was something to be out in the open air, to get a few moments of leisure and to stretch one’s legs. He walked along pretty briskly, managing to get some little enjoyment out of his short respite, and this was well; for it was long before he could enjoy anything again in that unconcerned, free-hearted way. Yet nothing warned him of this; quite carelessly he pushed open the double swing-doors and re-entered the shop, glancing with surprise but with no special concern at the little group behind the counter. Mr. Horner was finding fault about something, but that was a very ordinary occurrence. A thin, grave-looking man stood listening attentively, and Mr. Boniface listened too with an expression of great trouble on his face. Looking up, he perceived Frithiof, and with an exclamation of relief came toward him. “Here is Mr. Falck!” he said; “who no doubt will be able to explain everything satisfactorily. A five-pound note has somehow disappeared from your till this afternoon, Frithiof; do you know anything about it?” “It was certainly in the till when I last opened it,” said Frithiof; “and that was only a few minutes before I went out.” “Very possibly,” said Mr. Horner. “The question is whether it was there when you shut it again.” The tone even more than the words made Frithiof’s blood boil. “Sir,” he said furiously, “do you dare to insinuate that I—” But Mr. Boniface laid a hand on his arm and interrupted him. “Frithiof,” he said, “you know quite well that I should as soon suspect my own son as you. But this note has disappeared in a very extraordinary way, while only you and Darnell were in the shop, and we must do our best to trace it out. I am sure you will help me in this disagreeable business by going through the ordinary form quietly.”