Morley looked a good deal surprised at the visit, and scarcely asked his employer to enter. Mr Lockyer, however, walked in and seated himself, and, after a few preliminary words, said abruptly— “John, was there anybody about the yard this afternoon?” How Morley looked it is impossible to say, for the light was only that of the fire, and his back was towards it. “No, sir,” he answered very readily. “Nor in the tool-house?” continued his employer. “No; it’s been lockit a’ day,” said Morley, decidedly. “You’re sure?” “Quite sure, sir.” There was an awkward pause, and then Morley, with a slight tremor in his tones, said— “Is there onything wrang?” “Yes; I left three notes—bank-notes for £50—in my desk when I went away to dinner, and they were gone when I got back half an hour ago.” “Impossible!” The man looked shocked and astonished, but there was nevertheless a something constrained or unusual in his manner which the builder did not like. “Naebody could get into the office by the tool-house,” Morley hastened to add; “that door hasna been open for years, and the key’s lost. Besides, there’s the shelves in the road.” “How could they get in, then?” cried Mr Lockyer. “The front door was locked, and the key in my pocket; and it’s not likely that they would pick the lock in broad daylight in the front street.” “Oh, thieves are clever now-a-days,” observed Morley; “they’re fit for onything.” “They may be, but that’s a little beyond the ordinary,” drily returned his master. “How were they to know I had left the money in my desk, or how long I would be away?” “Ah, that’s it!” said Morley. “Do _you_ know anything about it?” said Mr Lockyer at last, with an effort. “Me! Do you think I’m a thief?” said Morley, flushing up. “If you do, you’re welcome to search the house now.” “Oh, I daresay!” sneeringly returned his master, liking his yard-keeper’s manner less than ever. “It would be easy finding three notes, wouldn’t it, if you liked to hide them well? I might as well look for a needle in a haystack. No, no, Morley; I don’t say you took them, or that you didn’t, but they’re to be found, and I’ll leave that to the men that are bred to the trade—the police or the detectives.” “Yes, they’re the best hands at that,” said Morley feebly. No strong and indignant protestations of innocence; no hot words, or tears, or reproaches; nothing but that meaningless answer, and that look of guilt and fear. “The man’s a thief if looks are to be trusted,” thought the builder. “If it turns out so, I’ll never be kind to mortal being again.”