“I should have thought not,” offensively returned Mr. Alfred Dove. “You must possess some assurance, young man, to come after a place in a respectable office. Security, or no security, we can’t admit one into ours, who lies under the accusation of being light-fingered.” It was the man all over. Hamish had said, “Don’t go to Dove and Dove’s.” Mr. Alfred Dove stood with his finger pointing to the door, and the two clerks stared in an insolent manner at Arthur. With a burning brow and rising spirit, Arthur left the room, and halted for a moment in the passage outside. “Patience, patience,” he murmured to himself; “patience, and trust in God!” He turned into the street quickly, and ran against Mr. Huntley. For a minute he could not speak. That gentleman detected his emotion, and waited till it was over. “Have you been insulted, Arthur?” he breathed. “Not much more so than I am now getting accustomed to,” was the answer that came from his quivering lips. “I heard they wanted a clerk, and went to offer myself. I am looked upon as a felon now, Mr. Huntley.” “Being innocent as the day.” “I am innocent, before God,” spoke Arthur, in the impulse of his emotion, in the fervency of his heart. That he spoke but the solemn truth, it was impossible to doubt, even had Mr. Huntley been inclined to doubt; and Arthur may be excused for forgetting his usual caution in the moment’s bitterness. “Arthur,” said Mr. Huntley, “I promised your father and mother that I should do all in my power to establish your innocence. Can you tell me how I am to set about it?” “You cannot do it at all, Mr. Huntley. Things must remain as they are.” “Why?” “I cannot explain why. I can only repeat it.” “There is some strange mystery attaching to this.” Arthur did not gainsay it. “Arthur, if I am to allow the affair to rest as I find it, you must at least give me a reason why I may not act. What is it?” “Because the investigation could only cause tenfold deeper trouble. You are very good to think of helping me, Mr. Huntley, but I must fight my own battle. Others must be quiet in this matter--for all our sakes.” Mr. Huntley gazed after Arthur as he moved away. Constance first! Arthur next! What could be the meaning of it all? Where did the mystery lie? A resolution grew up in Mr. Huntley’s heart that he would fathom it, for private reasons of his own; and, in the impulse of the moment, he bent his steps there and then, towards the police-station, and demanded an interview with Roland Yorke’s _bête noire_, Mr. Butterby. But the cathedral is not quite done with for the afternoon.