“Oh, by a process known to myself. Did you come down on purpose to escort me home to dinner? Very polite of you!”
“I came to ask you to go round by Mr. Galloway’s office, and to call in and see him. He will not take your word at second hand.”
“Take my word about what?” asked Hamish.
“That the office had no visitors while you were in it the other day. That money matter grows more mysterious every hour.”
“Then I have not time to go round,” exclaimed Hamish, in—for him—quite an impatient accent. “I don’t know anything about the money or the letter. Why should I be bothered?”
“Hamish, you must go,” said Arthur, impressively. “Do you know that—so far as can be ascertained—no human being was in the office alone with the letter, except you and I. Were we to shun inquiry, suspicion might fall upon us.”
Hamish drew himself up haughtily, somewhat after the fashion of Roland Yorke. “What absurdity, Arthur! steal a twenty-pound note!” But when they came to the turning where two roads met, one of which led to Close Street, Hamish had apparently reconsidered his determination.
“I suppose I must go, or the old fellow will be offended. You can tell them at home that I shall be in directly; don’t let them wait dinner.”
He walked away quickly. Arthur pursued the path which would take him round the cathedral to the Boundaries. He bent his head in thought. He was lost in perplexity; in spite of what Mr. Galloway urged, with regard to the seal, he could not believe but that the money had gone safely to the post-office, and was stolen afterwards. Thus busied within himself, he had reached the elm-trees, when he ran up against Hopper, the bailiff. Arthur looked up, and the man’s features relaxed into a smile.
“We shut the door when the steed’s stolen, Mr. Arthur,” was his salutation. “Now that my pockets are emptied of what would have done no good to your brother, I come here to meet him at the right time. Just to show folks—should any be about—that I did know my way here; although it unfortunately fell out that I always missed him.”