"Not quite," answered he, smiling; "considering that you had to make it good."
"Well, Lennard, I dare say the mystery will be solved some time or other. Robberies, like murders, generally come out. The worst is, we cannot feel assured that other losses may not follow."
"Not they," returned Lennard, too confidently. "This one has been enough for us."
"Did it ever strike you, Lennard, that Mr. Brightman had been in failing health lately?"
"Often," emphatically spoke Lennard. "I think he had something on his mind."
"On his mind? I should say it was on his health. There were times when he seemed to have neither energy nor spirits for anything. You don't know how much business he has of late left to me that he used to do himself."
"Well," contended Lennard, "it used to strike me he was not at ease; that something or other was troubling him."
"Yes, and now that this fatal termination has ensued, we see that the trouble may have been health," I maintained. "Possibly he knew that something was dangerously wrong with him."
"Possibly so," conceded Lennard.
He was leaving the room for his own, when a clerk met him and said that Sir Edmund Clavering was asking for Mr. Strange. I bade him show up Sir Edmund.