The public examination did not turn out to be a very formidable ordeal. Lord Alistair, who was at his best when he was on his defence against the Philistines, came through it with flying colours. The advocate engaged by his creditors to bully him in the approved professional style bullied in vain. The bankrupt’s answers were in the lightest vein of good-natured irresponsibility. He declared that he kept no accounts, had no idea what he spent, only bought the things his tradesmen teased him to buy, and felt confident of his ability to pay for everything if these unwise proceedings had not been sprung upon him. The creditors present began to fear they were unwise, it being evident that they could not hope to recover from Lord Alistair even enough to pay their demolished barrister. In the end they were glad to adjourn the examination in the hope that the Duke of Trent might yet be induced to make an offer on his brother’s behalf. Before he went home Alistair had the gratification of seeing his name once more on the news-bills of the evening papers, but this time accompanied by editorial compliments, such as “Insolvent’s Witty Replies,” “Calls his Creditors Unwise,” and so on. It was a brilliant victory, and the middle class had never been made to look more ridiculous. Alistair got back to Chelsea sooner than he expected, and found the house empty. After letting himself in with his latchkey, he rang the bell to ask if the mistress of the house had left any message for him, but no one answered the summons. The household arrangements were so irregular that there was nothing very surprising in all the servants being out together. Nevertheless, one of those subtle sensations which we call presentiments warned Alistair that the emptiness of the house was a sign of crisis. He took the trouble to go down into the kitchens. There, as he had already foreboded, he found everything lying about in disorder. The dirty plates and dishes from lunch were heaped up in the sink, and the fire in the range had died out. He could find no shoes or umbrellas or other belongings of the servants, such as they would be likely to keep downstairs. Already convinced that the servants had deserted the house, or been dismissed in a body, he mounted to the top floor, and had his judgment confirmed by the state of the attics. All the trunks were gone. The beds had been made, no doubt in the forenoon, before the crash, but everything else wore an untidy and dismantled air. The homely dressing-tables looked bare without the presence of brushes, and there was dirty water in one of the wash-stand basins. Several drawers stood half out of the various chests, showing bits of paper, broken buttons, and an odd glove.