"Yet, when he went out later that evening, he stopped in the doorway to say good night." "He did, and you might have knocked me down with a feather," said the youth. "I don't remember his ever doing such a thing before. I'd put some letters which had come during the afternoon on his table, and the news in them must have been good. He'd had some worrying business on hand, I know." "That would certainly account for his cordiality," said Quarles. "Really, I sympathize with you. Practically, I suppose, you have little to do but answer the door when the bell rings." "If the office bell rings I pull this catch," the youth said, "and the client walks in. The front door has a spring on it and closes itself. Sometimes a fool will ring the office bell when it's Mrs. Eccles he wants, and that's annoying." "Very," laughed the professor. "Did any clients call that day?" "No. A chap wanting to sell some patent office files came and wasted my time for a quarter of an hour; swore that the governor had seen him two or three months ago and told him to call. A rotten patent it was, too." "He showed them to you?" "Had a bag full of them. Wanted me to buy the beastly things. I had to be rude to him to get rid of him." "Did you go to the door with him?" "Not much!" the youth answered. "I just pulled this catch and told him he would find the door open, and the sooner he got out of it the better. He would have liked to borrow a bob or two, I fancy, but I wasn't parting." "Did you tell Mr. Portman he had called?" "I never worried him with callers of that sort." Then Quarles became impressive. "I suppose you have no idea where Mr. Portman is? To your knowledge nothing has happened which would account for his absence?" "Nothing. If you want my opinion--I should say he's dead, had an accident, most likely, and no papers on him to say who he was." "One more question," said Quarles, "in strict confidence, mind. Is Mrs. Eccles honest?" "As daylight," was the prompt reply. "Would she have put the police on this business if she hadn't been?" "I never thought of that," said Quarles humbly. "Your brain is young and mine is old." "Makes a difference, no doubt," said the youth. "And my memory is like a sieve," the professor went on. "I've already forgotten whether this file seller was a clean-shaven chap or wore a beard." "Don't worry about that," said the youth, "because I didn't describe him. He was an old chap with a gray beard, and had lost most of his teeth, I should think, by the way he talked." "Poor fellow. Poor fellow! I expect I should have been fool enough to give him a bob." "I expect you would," laughed the youth, in his superior wisdom.