"By the way," I said. "What's happened to Orkins? I haven't seen him round the premises since Olinski and McGinity left, shortly after breakfast?"
"Ah!" said Henry. "That reminds me of another strange occurrence. Orkins has gone—gone for good."
"Well, that's a queer thing, isn't it?"
"Decidedly queer," Henry concurred. "He came to me quite unexpectedly this morning and resigned; said he was leaving at once. No explanation, simply that he was going and wanted his back pay. I remonstrated about his not giving the usual two weeks' notice, but he was adamant, so I paid him off and let him go."
"Leaving you no address?"
"No address at all. What do you make of it?"
"It certainly looks queer," I replied. "But I've been rather suspicious of Orkins from the very start."
"Why?" asked Henry.
"It's always been my opinion," I replied, "that he was mixed up in some secret, something that we know nothing about. He was too crafty and reticent to suit me."
"The mere fact that he was crafty and reticent doesn't prove anything," said Henry.