Portman's business room at the back of the house was large, but dark and depressing, its two windows, which were heavily barred, looking on to the blank wall of a warehouse. A large desk and a safe gave it a business aspect, but the room was crowded with costly furniture which fancy might suppose had once belonged to some unfortunate debtor who had been unable to satisfy Mr. Portman's demands. Some good pictures hung upon the walls, and in a recess opposite the door stood an old chest heavily clamped with iron. The key, which might have hung at the waist of a medieval jailer, so huge was it, was in the lock, which was evidently out of order. When I turned the key the lid would not open. Looking through the drawers in the desk, I found several letters which showed that Mr. Portman's business was often with well-known people--men one would not expect to find associated with him in any way--and the sums involved were often so large that only a rich man could deal with them. Mrs. Eccles answered my questions without any hesitation. Whatever the world might think of Mr. Portman, she appeared to have a genuine affection for him. She had noticed no change in him recently; he had appeared to her to be in his usual health and spirits. "When you went for the tray and found the door locked, did you think he had anyone with him?" I asked. "I didn't hear anyone, but I can't say I listened. It was not the first time I had found the door locked and been told to go back presently for the tray." "A friend was to dine with him on the following night. Did the friend come?" "No." "What was his name?" "Mr. Portman did not mention it." "Did you prepare the dinner?" "No." "Why not?" I asked. "You did not communicate with the police until five days later, so you must have been expecting your master to return." "It's difficult to say exactly what I expected," Mrs. Eccles answered, "but I never thought about preparing the dinner. When he didn't return I began to think something was wrong, because I've never known him to be away even for a night without letting me know." "Why didn't you give information sooner?" "Sooner? Why, I keep on asking myself whether I've done right in giving it at all. The master might walk in at any moment, and I don't know what he'd say if he did." The clerk seemed to think that Mr. Portman had been worried recently. He had had several pieces of business which the youth said had not progressed too smoothly. He knew practically nothing about these various items of business, but he gave me the names of half a dozen people who had called upon Mr. Portman during the past week or two. "He was close, you know," the youth went on; "didn't give much away about his doings." "Then why do you think he has been worried recently?" I asked. "He's been snappy with me," was the answer; "but by the way he spoke the other night when he went out I thought everything must have come right."