"I have not yet seen Mr. Weatherley," Arnold replied. "Up till the time when I left the office, he had not arrived." She set down the glass which she had been in the act of raising to her lips. For the first time she seemed to take this matter seriously. "What time was that?" she asked. "Ten minutes past twelve." She frowned. "It certainly does begin to look a little queer," she admitted. "Do you think that he has met with an accident?" "We have already tried the hospitals and the police station," he told her. She looked at him steadfastly. "You have an idea--you have some idea of what has happened," she said. "Nothing definite," Arnold replied, gravely. "I cannot imagine what it all means, but I believe that Mr. Weatherley has disappeared." CHAPTER XXVI ARNOLD BECOMES INQUISITIVE For several moments Fenella sat quite still. She was suddenly an altered woman. All the natural gayety and vivacity seemed to have faded from her features. There were suggestions of another self, zealously kept concealed. It was a curious revelation. Even her tone, when she spoke, was altered. The words seemed to be dragged from her lips. "You have some reason for saying this," she murmured. "I have," Arnold admitted. Just then the waiter entered the room, bringing in a portion of the lunch which they had ordered. Fenella rose and walked to a mirror at the other end of the apartment. She stood there powdering her cheeks for a moment, with her back turned to Arnold. When the waiter had gone, she returned, humming a tune. Her effort at self-rehabilitation was obvious. "You gave me a shock, my friend," she declared, sitting down. "Please do not do it again. I am not accustomed to having things put to me quite so plainly." "I am sorry," Arnold said. "It was hideously clumsy of me." "It is of no consequence now," she continued. "Please to give me some of that red wine and go on with your story. Tell me exactly what you mean!" "It is simply this," Arnold explained. "A few days ago, I noticed that Mr. Weatherley was busy writing for several hours. It was evidently some private matter and nothing whatever to do with the business. When he had finished, he put some documents into a small safe, locked them up, and, very much to my surprise, gave me the key." "This was long ago?" "It was almost immediately after Mr. Rosario's murder," he replied. "When he gave me the key, he told me that if anything unexpected should happen to him, I was to open the safe and inspect the documents. He particularly used the words 'If anything unexpected should happen to me, or if I should disappear.'" "You really believe, then," she asked, "that he had some idea in his mind that something was likely to happen to him, or that he intended to disappear?" "His action proves it," Arnold reminded her. "So far as we know, there is no earthly reason for his not having turned up at the office this morning. This afternoon I shall open the safe."