Mr. Forde felt he could not endure being treated in this way any longer, so he walked across to Mr. Werner's office, where he asked young Carless, once in Mortomley's Thames Street Warehouse, if his master was in. "He has not come yet," was the answer; and had Mr. Forde been looking at the clerks' faces instead of thinking of Mr. Werner's shortcomings, he would have noticed an expression on them which might well have puzzled his comprehension. "I will wait for him," and Mr. Forde made a step towards the inner office as if intending to take up a position there. "Better sit down here," said one of the senior clerks, offering him a chair; "the inner office is locked." "Locked! who locked it?" asked Mr. Forde angrily. "Mr. Werner, when he left yesterday," was the reply. Ten minutes passed, quarter of an hour struck, then the manager said, "It does not seem of much use my waiting here. Tell Mr. Werner to come round to me the instant he arrives--the instant, remember. What are you looking at each other for in that manner?" he continued, shouting at them passionately. "Do you mean to do what I tell you or not?" All the clerks but one drew back a little abashed; they had silently countenanced the perpetration of a grim practical joke, which, while the clock went on ticking, seemed to grow flat and stale and unprofitable to each of them save Carless. He it was who now answered. "Perhaps you are not aware that our governor is dead." "You had better take care, sir," said Mr. Forde. "I do not know whether Mr. Werner has granted you a licence for impertinence, but if he has--by--he shall rue it and you too." "It is true though," interposed a man sitting in a dark part of the office, who had not hitherto spoken, but remained, his head supported by his hands, reading 'The Times.' "What is true," demanded the manager. "That Mr. Werner is dead. I had occasion to go to his house this morning and found that he died last night." "It is a lie; it is a ---- put off. He is gone like that villain Kleinwort; but he need not think to escape me. I will find him if he is above ground!" "You won't have far to go then," was the reply. "He is lying stiff and safe enough in his own study." "And he is gone to a land with which we have no extradition treaty," observed Carless, as Mr. Forde banged the door behind him. "Hold your tongue, do," entreated the 'Times'' student, who, having been in a fashion confidential clerk to Mr. Werner, had some comprehension how the matter stood. "Our governor has been badgered into his grave, and I only hope they will call me on the inquest that I may be able to state my belief." "And he was not half a bad sort, the governor," said Carless, shutting up the day-book. "I say let's all go to the funeral," suggested a third; and so these young men wrote their employer's epitaph.