In the course of the morning, Francis Eversleigh, for the purpose of asking Silwood a question, went into the latter's room, and found it empty. It was evident, too, from the state in which it was, that Silwood had not been there that day. He at once leapt to the conclusion that Silwood had gone away--in plain terms, had absconded--an eventuality for which he was not altogether unprepared, as it had been part of the scheme Silwood had mooted to him after the confession of the defalcations, and also on the occasion of their interview at Ivydene. Still, this might not be the explanation, and Eversleigh, after a few seconds' thought, put on his hat and walked up to Silwood's private chambers in Stone Buildings. Here he found the door locked, and a sheet of paper pinned to it, on which was written, "Out of Town." His conjecture thus confirmed, it was none the less a terrible shock to Francis Eversleigh; even though he had anticipated it, it was nevertheless hard to bear. "He has left me to stand it all alone," he thought, but even as he said this to himself, his common sense reasserted itself. "But what will his flight benefit him? Ultimately he will be hunted down; he cannot escape the law; no one can." Then, hardly knowing what he was doing, he tried the door again, pulling at the handle with all his might, but it was to no purpose. He stood gazing gloomily at the closed door. "I have a great mind to have it broken open," he muttered. "I can easily frame some excuse for doing so--say he has forgotten something. But if I did have the door opened, what would be the use? What good would it do? It would not bring him back; it would not bring the money back. No, best leave it alone." Moving with slow, halting steps down the stairs, he kept asking himself the question, "What am I to do now?" His agony of mind was almost beyond human endurance as this question incessantly hammered on his brain, obscuring and dulling his powers. Then, in a muddled sort of way, he began to reason. First, he might go to the authorities and incriminate himself; but no one, he told himself, was required to do that; it was too much to expect any one to do. Second, he might destroy himself, and so make an end. Was this not the best course to pursue? With this idea in his mind, he remembered a shop in the Strand, in the window of which he had seen revolvers for sale. Why not buy one and be done with it all? "Why not?" he asked himself, and turned his face towards the Strand. But he had only gone a few paces when the thought of his wife and children was too poignant to allow him to proceed further with his desperate purpose, and so he faced about and returned to New Square, thinking, thinking of what he was to do. There was only one thing to do, he concluded, and that was to continue doing his work at the office as best he could till the crash came. It could not be long in coming, he reflected with indescribable bitterness, for was not Morris Thornton already overdue?