Arthur entered. Hamish pushed his books from him, and stretched himself. “Well, old fellow! you seem out of breath.”
“I came down at a pace,” rejoined Arthur. “College is just over. I say, Hamish, a disagreeable thing has happened at Galloway’s. I have never seen him put out as he is now.”
“Has his hair taken a change again, and come out a lovely rose colour?”
“I wish you would not turn everything into joke,” cried Arthur, who was really troubled, and the words vexed him. “You saw a letter on Jenkins’s desk last Friday—the afternoon, you know, that Yorke went off, and you remained while I went to college? There was a twenty-pound note in it. Well, the note has, in some mysterious manner, been abstracted from it.”
Hamish lifted his eyebrows. “What can Galloway expect, if he sends bank-notes in letters?”
“Yes, but this was taken before it left our office. Galloway says so. He sealed it with his private seal, and the letter arrived at his cousin’s intact, the seal unbroken—a pretty sure proof that the note could not have been in it when it was sealed.”
“Who took it out?” asked Hamish.
“That’s the question. There was not a soul near the place, that I can find out, except you and I. Yorke was away, Jenkins was away, and Mr. Galloway was away. He says some one must have come in while you were in the office.”
“Not so much as a ghost came in,” said Hamish.
“Are you sure, Hamish?”