Whether happiness makes us good, is a question not yet decided, but it is quite certain that happiness makes us forget that we have been bad, and it seemed to Mr. Taynton, as he sat in his cool dining-room, and ate his lunch with a more vivid appetite than had been his for many months, it seemed that the man who had gambled with his client’s money was no longer himself; it was a perfectly different person who had done that.  It was a different man, too, who, so few days ago had connived at and applauded the sorry trick which Mills had tried to play on Morris, when (so futilely, it is true) he had slandered him to Sir Richard.  Now he felt that he—­this man that to-day sat here—­was incapable of such meannesses.  And, thank God, it was never too late; from to-day he would lead the honourable, upright existence which the world (apart from his partner) had always credited him with leading.

He basked in the full sunshine of these happy and comfortable thoughts, and even as the sun of midsummer lingered long on the sea and hills, so for hours this inward sunshine warmed and cheered him.  Nor was it till he saw by his watch that he must return from the long pleasant ramble on which he had started as soon as lunch was over, that a cloud filmy and thin at first began to come across the face of the sun.  Once and again those genial beams dispersed it, but soon it seemed as if the vapours were getting the upper hand.  A thought, in fact, had crossed Mr. Taynton’s mind that quite distinctly dimmed his happiness.  But a little reflection told him that a very simple step on his part would put that right again, and he walked home rather more quickly than he had set out, since he had this little bit of business to do before dinner.

He went—­this was only natural—­to the house where Mr. Mills’s flat was situated, and inquired of the porter whether his partner had yet returned.  But the same answer as before was given him, and saying that he had need of a document that Mills had taken home with him three days before he went up in the lift, and rang the bell of the flat.  But it was not his servant who opened it, but sad Superintendent Figgis.

For some reason this was rather a shock to Mr. Taynton; to expect one face and see another is always (though ever so slightly) upsetting, but he instantly recovered himself and explained his errand.

“My partner took home with him on Tuesday a paper, which is concerned with my business,” he said.  “Would you kindly let me look round for it?”

Mr. Figgis weighed this request.

“Nothing must be removed from the rooms,” he said, “till we have finished our search.”

“Search for what?” asked Mr. Taynton.

“Any possible clue as to the reason of Mr. Mills’s disappearance.  But in ten minutes we shall have done, if you care to wait.”

“I don’t want to remove anything.” said the lawyer.  “I merely want to consult—­”

At the moment another man in plain clothes came out of the sitting-room.  He carried in his hand two or three letters, and a few scraps of crumpled paper.  There was an envelope or two among them.