"Has every one taken leave of their senses?" Mr. Weatherley demanded, in a startled tone. "These can't be this morning's letters. They're all about affairs I know nothing of. They're dated--yes, they're all dated July 1. I was here yesterday--I remember signing the cheques--May 4, it was. What the--" He stopped short. The office boy had performed his duty. Opposite to him stood the great calendar recording the date--July 2 stared him in the face. Mr. Weatherley put his hand to his forehead. "Come here, Chetwode, quickly," he begged. Arnold hurried over towards his employer. Mr. Weatherley had lost flesh and there were bags under his eyes. His appearance now was the appearance of a man who has received some terrifying shock. His hands clasped the sides of his chair. "I'm all right, Chetwode?" he gasped. "I haven't been ill or anything? This isn't a nightmare? The office seems all changed. You've moved the safe. The letters--I can't understand the letters! Give me the Day Book, quick." Arnold passed it to him silently. Mr. Weatherley turned over the pages rapidly. At May 4, he stopped. "Yes, yes! I remember this!" he exclaimed. "Twenty barrels of apples, Spiers & Pond. Fifty hams to Coswell's. I remember this. But what--" His finger went down the page. He turned over rapidly, page after page. The entries went on. They stopped at June 30. He shrank back in his chair. "Have I been ill, Chetwode?" he muttered. Arnold put his arm upon his employer's shoulder. "Not exactly ill, sir," he said, "but you haven't been here for some time. You went home on May 4--we've none of us seen you since." There was a silence. Very slowly Mr. Weatherley began to shake his head. He seemed suddenly aged. "Sit down, Chetwode--sit down quickly," he ordered, in a curious, dry whisper. "You see, it was like this," he went on, leaning over the table. "I heard a noise in the room and down I came. He was hiding there behind a curtain, but I saw him. Before I could shout out to the servants, he had me covered with his revolver. I suppose I'm not much to look at in a black tie and dress coat, wrong thing altogether, I know,--but Fenella was out so it didn't really matter. Anyway, he took me for the butler. 'It isn't you I want,' he said, 'it's your mistress and the others.' I stared at him and backed toward the door. 'If you move from where you are,' he went on, dropping his voice a little, 'I shall shoot you! Go and stand over in that corner, behind me. It's Mrs. Weatherley I want. Now listen. There's a ten-pound note in my waistcoat pocket. I'll give it to you to go and fetch her. Tell her that an old friend has called and is waiting to see her. You understand? If you go and don't bring her back--if you give the alarm--you'll wake up one night and find me by your bedside, and you'll be sorry.' You see, I remember every word he said, Chetwode--every word." "Go on, please!" Arnold exclaimed, breathlessly. Mr. Weatherley nodded slowly.