"I said, go back, sir--go back! The office is closed," said the old man fiercely; and there was something menacing in the manner of his approach, as he backed his junior to the closed door, and unlocked it and pointed to the street. "Mr Crampton--" began Harry. The old man looked at him as if he could have struck him down, waved him aside, and closed and locked the door. Harry stood for a few moments thinking. What could he do to gain an entrance there, and have a quiet search of the place? The only plan open seemed to be to wait until Crampton had gone away. He had just come to this conclusion, after walking a short distance along the street and returning, when a fresh shock awaited him. Van Heldre's front door was open, and Duncan Leslie came out, walking quickly towards him, but not noticing whom he approached till they were face to face. "Ah, Mr Vine," he said, holding out his hand; "I had some thought of coming up to you." "What for?" "What for? Surely at a time like this there ought not to be a gap between friends. I am afraid you misunderstood me the other night. I am very sorry. There is my hand." But trembling with that other anxiety, Harry Vine had still the old sting of jealousy festering in his breast. Leslie had just come from Van Heldre's; perhaps he had been talking with Madelaine even there; and, ignoring the proffer, Harry bowed coldly and was passing on, but Leslie laid his hand upon his arm. "If I have been more in the wrong than I think, pray tell me," said Leslie. "Come, Vine, you and I ought not to be ill friends." For a moment the desire was upon him to grasp the extended hand. It was a time when he was ready to cling to any one for help and support, and the look in his eyes changed. "Ah, that's better!" said Leslie frankly. "I want to talk to you." Why not go with him? Why not tell Leslie all, and ask his help and advice? He needed both sorely. It was but a moment's fancy, which he cast aside as mad. What would Leslie say to such a one as he? And how could he take the hand of a man who was taking the place which should be his? Leslie stood still in the narrow seaport street for a few moments, looking after Harry, who had turned off suddenly and walked away. Volume 2, Chapter VI. ON THE RACK. How was he to pass that day? At home in a state of agony, starting at every word, trembling at every knock which came to the door? He felt that he could not do that, and that he must be engaged in some way to crush down the thoughts which were fermenting in his brain. Certain now that he had lost the locket in the slight struggle in the office, he literally determined to leave no stone unturned, and walked once more down to the beach, where he went on searching, till glancing up he saw Poll Perrow, the old fish-woman, resting her arm on the rail at the edge of the cliff, looking down at him, and apparently watching him.