The young man bowed and withdrew. As he was passing out of the door, Mr. Octavius Crumpett said, “Do--ah, I understand, Mr. Jordan, that you have no palliation to offer, no words of contrition to express?” “None, sir,” said the young man. His voice was precise; his absence of gesture was that of a statue. At the top of the stairs William Jordan encountered James Dodson, who was ascending them. “My God, Luney, you must be mad!” cried his mentor, giving one half-tragic glance at the face of the young man. William Jordan passed down the stairs as though he had neither seen nor heard him. For a considerable time Mr. Octavius Crumpett meditated upon his course of action. He was a humane, enlightened, high-principled, liberal-minded gentleman; a notable product of that which a long-established society had achieved in the way of civilization. In respect and solicitude for his kind he yielded to none. But he was now face to face with the most sinister problem that a sheltered experience had ever been called upon to confront. As he sat revolving the matter in his thoughts, he seemed to feel that sterner and more forcible clay was required to grapple with an issue so momentous. In his enlightened desire to keep abreast of the foremost practice upon the subject, he rang his bell and summoned one upon whom, whose youth and subordinate rank notwithstanding, he had already learned to lean. “Mr. Dodson,” said Mr. Octavius Crumpett, with unmistakable horror and distress in his kind brown eyes, “I was justified in my conjecture. The money was left upon the table; it was abstracted--and--and by one employed in this house.” Mr. Dodson stood in a solemnity that paid homage to the occasion. “Mr. Dodson,” said Mr. Octavius Crumpett, after a long pause, which was fraught with embarrassment for both gentlemen, “I find myself upon the horns of a dilemma. I desire to be just to this great house whom a grave public scandal threatens; I desire to be just to my own humane feelings; yet above everything, Mr. Dodson, I feel that I ought to act in accordance with the best and latest modern opinion; in a word, Mr. Dodson, one is desirous of consulting the public welfare.” “I understand perfectly, sir,” said Mr. Dodson, with an air of weight that engaged the respectful attention of his good and large-minded employer. “I understand _perfectly_, sir, the position in which you are placed. It is one of great delicacy. One of great delicacy. I may say, sir, it is one of the--ah, _greatest_ possible delicacy. But if, sir, I might presume to speak----” By the decree of Fate, however, it was not given to Mr. Dodson to presume to speak, for at that moment the door was opened, and one scarcely less in distinction than Mr. Octavius Crumpett himself was announced. It was Sir Topman Murtle, K.C.B. Mr. Dodson withdrew in a respectful silence, in which much was expressed.