“Seems to me you’re getting pretty chummy with the governor,” he remarked; “or is it Mrs. Weatherley, eh?”

Arnold lifted his head and looked fixedly at Mr. Jarvis.  The latter suddenly remembered that he had come in to search among the letters for some invoices.  He busied himself for a moment or two, sorting them out.

“Well, well,” he said, “I hope the governor will soon be here, anyway.  There are a lot of things I want to ask him about this morning.”

A telephone bell at Arnold’s desk began to ring.  Arnold lifted the receiver to his ear.

“Is that Mr. Weatherley’s office?” a familiar voice inquired.

“Good morning, Mrs. Weatherley,” he replied.  “This is the office, and I am Arnold Chetwode.  We were just wondering what had become of Mr. Weatherley.”

“What had become of him?” the voice repeated.  “But is he not there?”

“No sign of him at present,” Arnold answered.

There was a short silence.  Then Mrs. Weatherley spoke again.

“He left here,” she said, “absurdly early—­soon after seven, I think it was—­to motor up.”

“Has the car returned?” Arnold asked.

“More than an hour ago,” was the prompt reply.

“I can assure you that he has not been here,” Arnold declared.  “You’re speaking from Bourne End, I suppose?”

“Yes!”

“Will you please ask the chauffeur,” Arnold suggested, “where he left Mr. Weatherley?”

“Of course I will,” she replied.  “That is very sensible.  You must hold the line until I come back.”

Arnold withdrew the receiver for a few minutes from his ear.  Mr. Jarvis had been listening to the conversation, his mouth open with curiosity.

“Is that about the governor?” he asked.

Arnold nodded.

“It was Mrs. Weatherley speaking,” he said.  “It seems Mr. Weatherley left Bourne End soon after seven o’clock this morning.”

“Soon after seven o’clock?” Mr. Jarvis repeated.

“The car has been back there quite a long time,” Arnold continued.  “Mrs. Weatherley has gone to make inquiries of the chauffeur.”

“Most extraordinary thing,” Mr. Jarvis muttered.  “I can’t say that I’ve ever known the governor as late as this, unless he was ill.”

Arnold put the receiver once more to his ear.  In a moment or two Mrs. Weatherley returned.  Her voice was a little graver.

“I have spoken to the chauffeur,” she announced.  “He says that they called first up in Hampstead to see if there were any letters, and that afterwards he drove Mr. Weatherley over London Bridge and put him down at the usual spot, just opposite to the London & Westminster Bank.  For some reason or other, as I dare say you know,” she went on, “Mr. Weatherley never likes to bring the car into Tooley Street.  It was ten minutes past nine when he set him down and left him there.”

Arnold glanced at the clock.