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Updated: June 11, 2025
I have two shillings and a penny ha'penny in my pocket, which has to last me till Saturday, and I earn my twenty-eight shillings a week in old Weatherley's counting-house as honestly as you earn your wage by thundering from Labor platforms and articles in the Clarion. My clothes are part of the livery of civilization. The journalist who reports a Lord Mayor's dinner has to wear them.
"Then I should think it was quite time he began," Arnold declared. "You are not going to suggest, I suppose, that financial embarrassments had anything to do with Mr. Weatherley's disappearance?" Mr. Jarvis started. To him the suggestion sounded sacrilegious. "My dear Chetwode," he said, "you must indeed be ignorant of the resources of the firm when you make such a suggestion!
Weatherley's right-hand man for a great many years," Arnold said, introducing him; "Count Sabatini, Mr. Weatherley's brother-in-law." Mr. Jarvis shook hands solemnly. "I am glad to know you, sir," he declared. "I have not had the pleasure of seeing much of Mrs. Weatherley, but my connection with the firm is a very old one." "Is there any news," asked Sabatini, "of our esteemed friend?" Mr.
Weatherley's energy did not evaporate with the departure of his confidential clerk. He motioned Arnold to a chair, and for another three-quarters of an hour he dictated replies to the letters which he had sorted out for personal supervision. When at last this was done, he leaned back in his seat, fetched out a box of cigars, carefully selected one and lit it.
Anyway, she's not nearly so good-looking close to." Mr. Jarvis proceeded to inform the inquirer through the telephone that Mr. Weatherley was unfortunately not to be found at the moment. Arnold, with Mr. Weatherley's cheque book in his hand, knocked at the door of the private office and closed the door carefully behind him. As he stood upon the threshold, his heart gave a sudden leap. Mr.
"There isn't anything to tell," Arnold assured her. "I was asked here to fill up. I am an employee of Mr. Weatherley's." She turned in her chair to look at him. Her surprise was obvious. "Do you mean that you are his secretary, or something of that sort?" she demanded. "I am a clerk in his office," Arnold told her. She was evidently puzzled, but she asked him no more questions. At that moment Mrs.
Weatherley?" Sabatini smiled. "Ah! well," he said, "I am afraid that as yet I have not fully appreciated that incident. In France it is by no means unusual that a man should take a hurried journey from his family. I, perhaps, have not sufficiently taken into account Mr. Weatherley's exactness and probity of life.
My wife, who is an enthusiastic student of electro-biology, is disposed to believe that Weatherley's mind, overweighted by the knowledge of his forgery, was in some occult manner, and unconsciously to himself, constrained to act upon my own senses. I prefer, however, simply to narrate the facts. I may or may not have my own theory about those facts.
Weatherley's. Count Sabatini, folding up his newspaper, made a leisurely descent. The cashier looked at him curiously. "Wonder who it is," he remarked. "Looks like some sort of a foreigner." "It is Mrs. Weatherley's brother," Arnold told him. Mr. Jarvis was deeply interested. A moment later a card was brought in. "Gentleman wishes to see Mr. Chetwode." "You can show him in," Arnold directed.
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