He stopped short. The office boy had performed his duty. Opposite to him stood the great calendar recording the date—July 2 stared him in the face. Mr. Weatherley put his hand to his forehead.
"Come here, Chetwode, quickly," he begged.
Arnold hurried over towards his employer. Mr. Weatherley had lost flesh and there were bags under his eyes. His appearance now was the appearance of a man who has received some terrifying shock. His hands clasped the sides of his chair.
"I'm all right, Chetwode?" he gasped. "I haven't been ill or anything? This isn't a nightmare? The office seems all changed. You've moved the safe. The letters—I can't understand the letters! Give me the Day Book, quick."
Arnold passed it to him silently. Mr. Weatherley turned over the pages rapidly. At May 4, he stopped.
"Yes, yes! I remember this!" he exclaimed. "Twenty barrels of apples, Spiers & Pond. Fifty hams to Coswell's. I remember this. But what—"
His finger went down the page. He turned over rapidly, page after page. The entries went on. They stopped at June 30. He shrank back in his chair.
"Have I been ill, Chetwode?" he muttered.
Arnold put his arm upon his employer's shoulder.
"Not exactly ill, sir," he said, "but you haven't been here for some time. You went home on May 4—we've none of us seen you since."