Another minute, and a stranger had entered the office. And yet, not quite a stranger; for Bede Greatorex had seen him some few years before, and Hurst and Roland Yorke knew him at once. It was Mr. Butterby; more wiry than he used to be, more observant about the keen eyes. He had come in reference to the loss of the cheque, and saluted Mr. Bede Greatorex who looked surprised and not best pleased to see him. Jelf, the officer expected, was a man in whom Bede had confidence; of this one's skill he knew nothing.
"It was Sergeant Jelf whom we desired to see," said Bede, speaking with curt sharpness.
"It was," amicably replied Mr. Butterby. "Jelf got a telegram this morning, and had to go off unexpected. I'm taking his place for a bit."
"Have you changed your abode from Helstonleigh to London?"
"Only tempory. My headquarters is always at Helstonleigh. And now about this matter, Mr. Bede Greatorex?"
"I think we need not trouble you. It can wait until Sergeant Jelf returns."
"It might have to wait some time then," was Mr. Butterby's answer. "Jelf is off to Rooshia first; St. Petersburgh; and it's hard to say how long he'll stay there or where he may have to go to next. It's all right, sir; I've been for this ten minutes with Mr. Greatorex, have learnt the particulars of the case, and got his instructions."
Bede Greatorex bit his lip. This man, associated in his mind with that past trouble--the death of John Ollivera, who had been so dear to him, who was so bitterly regretted still--was rather distasteful to Bede than otherwise, and for certain other reasons he would have preferred Jelf. There seemed however no help for it, as his father had given the man his instructions.
Mr. Butterby turned his attention on the clerks. As a preliminary step to proceedings, he peered at them one by one under his eyebrows, while apparently studying the maps on the walls. Hurst favoured him with a civil nod.
"How d'ye do, Butterby?" said Roland Yorke. "You don't get much fatter, Butterby."