Hamish--gay, good-tempered, careless, though he was--ruled the office with a firm hand. There was no familiarity of manner there; the clerks liked him, but they had to defer to him and obey him. He was seated at his desk, deep in some accounts, on this same morning--the one mentioned in the last chapter--when one of the clerks entered, and said that Mr. Arthur Channing was asking to speak to him: for it was Mr. Hamish Channing’s good pleasure not to be interrupted indiscriminately, unless a clerk first ascertained whether he was at liberty to be seen. Possibly Hamish feared treachery might be abroad. Arthur entered. Hamish pushed his books from him, and stretched himself. “Well, old fellow! you seem out of breath.” “I came down at a pace,” rejoined Arthur. “College is just over. I say, Hamish, a disagreeable thing has happened at Galloway’s. I have never seen him put out as he is now.” “Has his hair taken a change again, and come out a lovely rose colour?” “I _wish_ you would not turn everything into joke,” cried Arthur, who was really troubled, and the words vexed him. “You saw a letter on Jenkins’s desk last Friday--the afternoon, you know, that Yorke went off, and you remained while I went to college? There was a twenty-pound note in it. Well, the note has, in some mysterious manner, been abstracted from it.” Hamish lifted his eyebrows. “What can Galloway expect, if he sends bank-notes in letters?” “Yes, but this was taken before it left our office. Galloway says so. He sealed it with his private seal, and the letter arrived at his cousin’s intact, the seal unbroken--a pretty sure proof that the note could not have been in it when it was sealed.” “Who took it out?” asked Hamish. “That’s the question. There was not a soul near the place, that I can find out, except you and I. Yorke was away, Jenkins was away, and Mr. Galloway was away. He says some one must have come in while you were in the office.” “Not so much as a ghost came in,” said Hamish. “Are you sure, Hamish?” “Sure! I am sure they did not, unless I dropped asleep. _That_ was not an unlikely catastrophe to happen; shut up by myself in that dull office, amidst musty parchments, with nothing to do.” “Hamish, can you be serious for once? This is a serious matter.” “Mr. Martin Pope wants you, sir,” said the clerk again, interrupting at this juncture. Martin Pope’s face came in also, over the clerk’s shoulder. It was red, and he looked in a hurry. “Hamish, he has had a letter, and is off by the half-past eleven train,” spoke Martin Pope, in some excitement. “You must rush up to the station, if you want a last word with him. You will hardly catch him, running your best.” Up jumped Hamish, in excitement as great as his friend’s. He closed and locked the desk, caught his hat, and was speeding out of the office, when Arthur, to whom the words had been a puzzle, seized his arm. “Hamish, _did_ any one come in? It was Mr. Galloway sent me here to ascertain.”