"It was put there," replied young Coney. "Next to that watch." "I know it was," I answered. I opened the drawer on the other side, but that was full of papers. I looked about on the desk; then on my own desk, even unlocking the drawers, though I had had the key in my own pocket; then on the tables and mantelpiece. Not a trace could I see of the canvas bag. "What bag is it?" inquired Dr. Dickenson, who, of course, had known nothing of this. "What was in it?" "A small canvas bag containing some gold that Mr. George Coney had wished to leave here until Monday," I answered. "'Twas one of our sample barley bags; I happened to have it in my pocket when I left home," explained the young man. "My father's initials were on it: S. C." "How much was in it?" asked Lennard. "Thirty pounds." "I fear you will be obliged to go without it, after all," I said, when I had turned everything over, "for it is not to be found. I will remit you thirty pounds on Monday. We send our spare cash to the bank on Saturday afternoons, so that I have not so much in the house: and I really do not know where Mr. Brightman has put the cheque-book. It is strange that he should have taken the bag out of the drawer again." "Perhaps it may be in one of his pockets," suggested the doctor. "Shall I search them?" "No, no," interposed George Coney. "I wouldn't have the poor gentleman disturbed just for that. You'll remit it to me, Mr. Strange. Not to my father," he added, with a smile: "to me." I went down with him, and there sat Leah at the bottom of the stairs, leaning her head against the banisters, almost under the hall lamp. "When did you come in, Leah?" I asked. She rose hastily, and faced me. "I thought you were out, sir. I have come in only this instant." "What is the matter?" I continued, struck with the white, strange look upon her face. "Are you ill?" "No, sir, not ill. Trouble is the lot of us all." I shook hands with George Coney as he got into his cab and departed, and then returned indoors. Leah was hastening along the passage to the kitchen stairs. I called her back again. "Leah," I said, "do you know what has happened to Mr. Brightman?" "No, sir," answered she. "What has happened to him?" "You must prepare for a shock. He is dead." She had a cloth and a plate in her hand, and laid them down on the slab as she backed against the wall, staring in horror. Then her features relaxed into a wan smile. "Ah, Master Charles, you are thinking to be a boy again to-night, and are playing a trick upon me, as you used to do in the old days, sir." "I wish to my heart it was so, Leah. Mr. Brightman is lying upon the floor in my room. I fear there can be no doubt that he is dead." "My poor master!" she slowly ejaculated. "Heaven have mercy upon him!--and upon us! Why, it's not more than three-quarters of an hour since I took up some water to him." "Did he ask for it?" "He rang the bell, sir, and asked for a decanter of water and a tumbler."