Oppenshaw did not beat about the bush. When he heard what Brownlow wanted he said frankly he did not know where Mr. Pettigrew was; he only knew that he had been staying at the Charing Cross Hotel. Mudd, the manservant, was with him.
"It's only right that you should know the position," said Oppenshaw, "as you say you are the chief clerk and all responsibility rests on you in Mr. Pettigrew's absence." Then he explained.
"But if he's like that, where's the use of finding him?" said the horrified Brownlow. "A man with mind disease!"
"More a malady than a disease," put in Oppenshaw.
"Yes, but—like that."
"Of course," said Oppenshaw, "he may at any moment turn back into himself again, like the finger of a glove turning inside out."
"Perhaps," said the other hopelessly, "but till he does turn——"
At that moment the sound of a telephone-bell came from outside.
"Till he does turn, of course, he's useless for business purposes," said Oppenshaw; "he would have no memory, for one thing—at least, no memory of business."
The servant entered.