The manager’s face expressed blank astonishment, anger, incredibility.
George Chard’s face was pale and anxious.
This was a serious matter. The manager’s influence might avert the anger of the directors from his own head, but would not it descend upon George?
Might he not be held responsible? He had slept upon the premises that night, as usual, and during that night the money must certainly have been removed.
These ideas flashed through his mind instantly, but the thought that he might be directly accused of dishonesty had not yet occurred to him.
At first the two men had refused to credit their senses. They hurriedly unlocked the other safe, pulled out the ledgers, opened the drawers, counted their petty cash, which had not apparently been touched, and in a sort of forlorn hope checked their previous day’s figures.
The money was undoubtedly gone.
The manager sank into a chair and wiped his forehead with a trembling, nervous hand.
George went round the room, examined the fastenings of the windows, turned and re-turned the key in the lock of the outside door leading into the street.
“Whoever has done it,” he cried, “must have come in by the front way. They could not get through the back without me hearing them.”