Franklin disappeared, and Mr. Longcluse, with a stern frown, was staring vaguely at the varnished boot, as if it could tell something about its missing companion. His brain was already at work. What the plague was the meaning of this manœuvre about his boot? And why on earth, think I, should he make such a fuss and a tragedy about it? Charles followed Mr. Franklin up the stairs. "What's all this about my boot?" demanded Mr. Longcluse, peremptorily. "_Who_ has got it?" "A man called for it this morning, Sir." "What man?" "I think he said he came from Mr. Armagnac's, Sir." "You _think_. Say what you _know_, Sir. What _did_ he say?" said Mr. Longcluse, looking dangerous. "Well, Sir," said the man, mending his case, "he did say, Sir, he came from Mr. Armagnac's, and wanted the right boot." "What right boot?--_any_ right boot?" "No, Sir, please; the right boot of the pair you wore last night," answered the servant. "And _you_ gave it to him?" "Yes, Sir, 'twas me," answered Charles. "Well, you mayn't be quite such a fool as you look. I'll sift all this to the bottom. You go, if you please, this moment, to Monsieur Armagnac, and say I should be obliged to him for a line to say whether he this morning sent for my boot, and got it--and I must have it back, mind; _you_ shall bring it back, you understand? And you had better make haste." "I made bold, Sir," said Mr. Franklin, "to send for it myself, when you sent me down for Charles; and the boy will be back, Sir, in two or three minutes." "Well, come you and Charles here again when the boy comes back, and bring him here also. I'll make out who has been playing tricks." Mr. Longcluse shut his dressing-room door sharply; he walked to the window, and looked out with a vicious scowl; he turned about, and lifted up his clenched hand, and stamped on the floor. A sudden thought now struck him. "The right foot? By Jove! it may not be the one." The boot that was left was already in his hand. He was examining it curiously. "Ay, by heaven! The right _was_ the boot! What's the meaning of this? Conspiracy? I should not wonder." He examined it carefully again, and flung it into its corner with violence. "If it's an accident, it is a very odd one. It is a suspicious accident. It may be, of course, all right. I daresay it _is_ all right. The odds are ten, twenty, a thousand to one that Armagnac has got it. I should have had a warm bath last night, and taken a ten miles' ride into the country this morning. It must be all right, and I am plaguing myself without a cause." Yet he took up the boot, and examined it once more; then, dropping it, went to the window and looked into the street--came back, opened his door, and listened for the messenger's return. It was not long deferred. As he heard them approach, Mr. Longcluse flung open his door and confronted them, in white waistcoat and shirt-sleeves, and with a very white and stern face--face and figure all white.