“All the same,” said Chisholm doggedly, “that’s how it’s been.  And the bank at Peebles has the numbers of the notes that Phillips carried off in his little bag—­and I’ll trace those fellows yet, Mr. Lindsey.”

“Good luck to you, sergeant!” answered Mr. Lindsey.  He turned to me when Chisholm had gone.  “That’s the police all over, Hugh,” he remarked.  “And you might talk till you were black in the face to yon man, and he’d stick to his story.”

“You don’t believe it, then?” I asked him, somewhat surprised.

“He may be right,” he replied.  “I’m not saying.  Let him attend to his business—­and now we’ll be seeing to ours.”

It was a busy day with us in the office that, being the day before court day, and we had no time to talk of anything but our own affairs.  But during the afternoon, at a time when I had left the office for an hour or two on business, Sir Gilbert Carstairs called, and he was closeted with Mr. Lindsey when I returned.  And after they had been together some time Mr. Lindsey came out to me and beckoned me into a little waiting-room that we had and shut the door on us, and I saw at once from the expression on his face that he had no idea that Sir Gilbert and I had met the night before, or that I had any notion of what he was going to say to me.

“Hugh, my lad!” said he, clapping me on the shoulder; “you’re evidently one of those that are born lucky.  What’s the old saying—­’Some achieve greatness, some have greatness thrust upon them!’—­eh?  Here’s greatness—­in a degree—­thrusting itself on you!”

“What’s this you’re talking about, Mr. Lindsey?” I asked.  “There’s not much greatness about me, I’m thinking!”

“Well, it’s not what you’re thinking in this case,” he answered; “it’s what other folks are thinking of you.  Here’s Sir Gilbert Carstairs in my room yonder.  He’s wanting a steward—­somebody that can keep accounts, and letters, and look after the estate, and he’s been looking round for a likely man, and he’s heard that Lindsey’s clerk, Hugh Moneylaws, is just the sort he wants—­and, in short, the job’s yours, if you like to take it.  And, my lad, it’s worth five hundred a year—­and a permanency, too!  A fine chance for a young fellow of your age!”

“Do you advise me to take it, Mr. Lindsey?” I asked, endeavouring to combine surprise with a proper respect for the value of his counsel.  “It’s a serious job that for, as you say, a young fellow.”

“Not if he’s got your headpiece on him,” he replied, giving me another clap on the shoulder.  “I do advise you to take it.  I’ve given you the strongest recommendations to him.  Go into my office now and talk it over with Sir Gilbert by yourself.  But when it comes to settling details, call me in—­I’ll see you’re done right to.”

I thanked him warmly, and went into his room, where Sir Gilbert was sitting in an easy-chair.  He motioned me to shut the door, and, once that was done, he gave a quick, inquiring look.