“I see. Well, it’s years ago now—quite twenty years, sergeant. Grice was my clerk. He must have been three or four and twenty at the time. A sharp young fellow. His parents kept a little bookshop in the North Street—they’re both dead now. Do you want to know why he left me?” “If you please, sir.” “I’m sorry to say I had to dismiss him; I ought to have prosecuted him, but I didn’t. He robbed me, sergeant. For the sake of his parents, who were respectable people and implored me not to put him in prison, I spared him. He left Frattenbury at once, and, so far as I know, he’s never entered it again.” “Do you know where he went?” “I believe he emigrated—the best thing he could do. But, mind you, I’ve never seen him since.” “Have you ever heard of him, sir?” “In a way. A rumour reached me some time ago that he was dead, but I can’t vouch for it.” “We should like to get hold of him if he’s alive,” said the detective, after a short pause. The lawyer took a sip at his glass, and replied in his dry, precise manner: “If you really want him, sergeant, I’d do anything I can in the matter. Why not advertise for him? You’re quite welcome to use my name in an advertisement—unless you think if he _is_ alive and sees the advertisement it might frighten him? But, pray do what you think best. If you like to step into my office in the morning I can show you his record—and I may have notes about him you might like to see. Any way, I’m quite at your service.” “That is very kind of you, sir. We may try advertising.” “Do—by all means. I hope it may be successful—if you want him. Good evening, sergeant. Come to my office in the morning, then.” When the detective had departed, the lawyer lighted a cigarette and slowly finished his whisky; then he took up a newspaper he had laid down on the table when Colson came in, and was studying it when the maid announced: “Dr. Hazell, sir.” “Come in, Hazell.” The little doctor entered. He was a bit flustered. “Good evening, Norwood. I haven’t come in to stay. I say, you remember when I was dining here some nights back Sir Peter told us about ‘Virginian Reefs’—said they were good, don’t you know?” “Well?” “I hope to the Lord you won’t get any, Norwood.” The lawyer laughed his dry, short laugh. “Why?” “I was fool enough to buy five hundred of ’em, and they’re down to fifteen shillings in to-night’s paper.” “Perhaps they’ll pick up,” said Norwood. “Sir Peter seemed to think so.” “The worst of it is there’s another report. Not the one Sir Peter spoke of, you know—and it’s a bad one. I can’t afford to lose the money—I shall have to cut the loss. I’ve been a damn fool, Norwood.” “I’m sorry,” said the lawyer, “but I’m afraid you have.” “Well, at all events, I thought I’d warn you. Good night. I’ve got a patient to see.” “Good night, Doctor. Thank you very much.”