It was not in the door, where he had left it; but this did not startle him. His thoughts appeared to be still abstracted by the subject which had occupied them since the affray, and he was walking mechanically about the office. He went to the safe as much from the force of habit as for any reason, for he always secured it when he was about to leave.
"Charles!" he called, raising one of the ground-glass windows between the office and the banking-room.
The door opened, and one of the younger clerks presented himself.
"Bring me the key of this safe from the drawer in the vault."
Charles bowed, and Mr. Checkynshaw continued to walk back and forth, absorbed in thought.
"The key of the safe is not in the drawer, sir," replied the clerk.
The banker tried the safe door, and then felt in all his pockets. The safe was locked, but he had not the key. He went to the vault himself, but with no better success than the clerk had had.
"The puppy!" muttered the banker. "He has stolen that key!"
Mr. Checkynshaw's lips were compressed, and his teeth were set tight together. He paced the room more rapidly than before.
"Fudge!" exclaimed he, after he had worked himself into a state of partial frenzy, as the hard muscles of his face suddenly relaxed, and something like a smile rested upon his lips. "He couldn't have done it."