‘It was lost,’ said Bommaney. ‘I lost it, Heaven knows how. I’ve thought a thousand times,’ he said, through his clenched teeth, ‘that that young Barter must have had it.’ ‘Young Barter, sir?’ said Hornett. Then Bommaney told all he knew of the story of his own loss, and at a certain point in the narrative Hornett started and made a step forward. He remembered the night well enough--he had reason to remember it. An appointment for the theatre that evening had led him to call upon a brother clerk in Gable Inn, and he had seen young Mr. Barter leaving his chambers in what had struck him at the time as being an odd and stealthy fashion. He had remarked it for the moment, and had forgotten it afterwards, as men forget a thousand things of the sort which have no interest personal to themselves. But now he saw young Mr. Barter’s figure with a singular distinctness, and the face turned round in the gaslight was again as visible as it had been at the moment. He thought he read a meaning in it now. But for this slight confirmation of his employer’s story he would probably have disbelieved it, but the accidental character of the clue weighed with him, an apparent touch of romance in it gave it a value beyond its merits. ‘Could you tell me, sir,’ he asked, ‘exactly what time it was when you left Mr. Barter’s office?’ ‘No,’ said Bommaney, suddenly weary after his outburst of self-exculpation, ‘I don’t know. It was after banking hours. It was dark; he had to light the gas. What if I could? What would that have to do with it?’ ‘Well, you see, sir,’ Hornett answered, ‘I’m not likely to forget that evening. Of all the evenings of my life, sir, I made a call at Gable Inn myself, sir, at Number One. If young Mr. Barter had found the notes he wouldn’t care to face you again, and he mightn’t have answered your knock at the door, though he might have heard it.’ ‘Any fool could tell me that,’ said Bommaney roughly. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I’ve noticed, sir,’ said Hornett, with marked humility, as if he apologised for having said anything, ‘that young Mr. Barter is a gentleman who goes about in rather a large way, and noisy way, sir. He’s a biggish man, as it is, and to look at him at first you’d fancy that he was bigger than he is. He talks very loud and cheery, sir, and he bangs things about a good deal.’ ‘Well?’ said Bommaney, irritated by these slow preliminaries, ‘what about it all?’ He could see that his late clerk was leading to a point of some sort, and listened with a growing impatience.