COUNT SABATINI VISITS
There was an air of subdued excitement about the offices of Messrs. Samuel Weatherley & Company from nine until half-past on the following morning. For so many years his clerks had been accustomed to see Mr. Weatherley stroll in somewhere about that time, his cigar in his mouth, his silk hat always at the same angle, that it seemed hard for them to believe that this morning they would not hear the familiar footstep and greeting. Every time a shadow passed the window, heads were eagerly raised. The sound of the bell on the outside door brought them all to their feet. They were all on tiptoe with expectation. The time, however, came and passed. The letters were all opened, and Mr. Jarvis and Arnold were occupying the private office. Already invoices were being distributed and orders entered up. The disappearance of Mr, Weatherley was a thing established.
Mr. Jarvis was starting the day in a pessimistic frame of mind.
"You may take my word for it, Chetwode," he said solemnly to his companion, after he had finished going through the letters, "that we shall never see the governor again."
"Have you heard anything?" he asked.
Mr. Jarvis admitted gloomily that he had heard nothing.
"It's my belief that nothing more will be heard," he added, "until his body's found."
"Rubbish!" Arnold declared. "Mr. Weatherley wasn't the sort of man to commit suicide."
Mr. Jarvis looked around the office as though he almost feared that the ghost of his late employer might be listening.