Walter stepped into the room boldly, but with a fast-beating heart. A gentleman with a head as white as snow and with a very stiff manner, was standing on the rug before the fire, as he entered. ‘Do you want me, Mr Armytage?’
The senior partner turned his eyes upon the clerk. ‘Yes, Tiltcroft; I want you.’
Looking round, Walter noticed for the first time that they were not alone. Seated at a table, with his back to the window, so that his face was in shade, was a gentleman, writing quickly with a quill-pen. This gentleman had jet-black hair, cut somewhat short; and there was a tuft of black whisker on a level with each ear. His hat was on the table, and beside the hat was lying a thick oaken stick.
Walter had made this observation in a rapid glance, when Mr Armytage added: ‘What news have you brought from Silas Monk’s house?—Has Silas been there?’
‘No, sir; not for twenty-four hours.’
‘Ah! Now, tell me, were you not the last to leave the office yesterday?’
When Mr Armytage put this question, the noise of the pen suddenly ceased. Was the gentleman with the jet-black hair listening? Walter could not look round, because the senior partner’s eyes were fixed upon him. But he felt inclined to think that the gentleman was listening very attentively, being anxious to record the answer. ‘I was the last, sir, except Silas Monk,’ was Walter’s reply.
The pen gave a short scratch, and stopped.
‘Except Silas, of course,’ said Mr Armytage. ‘Did you, after leaving Silas, go straight home?’
‘No, sir.’