“Well, sir! what then?” said Mr. Bradshaw abruptly.  While he spoke—­while his eye met Mr. Farquhar’s—­the hinted meaning of the latter flashed through his mind; but he was only made angry to find that such a suspicion could pass through any one’s imagination.

“I suppose I may go, sir,” said Watson respectfully, an uneasy consciousness of what was in Mr. Farquhar’s thoughts troubling the faithful old clerk.

“Yes.  Go.  What do you mean about the dividends?” asked Mr. Bradshaw impetuously of Mr. Farquhar.

“Simply, that I think there can have been no forgetfulness—­no mistake on Mr. Benson’s part,” said Mr. Farquhar, unwilling to put his dim suspicion into words.

“Then, of course, it is some blunder of that confounded Insurance Company.  I will write to them to-day, and make them a little brisker and more correct in their statements.”

“Don’t you think it would be better to wait till Richard’s return?  He may be able to explain it.”

“No, sir!” said Mr. Bradshaw sharply.  “I do not think it would be better.  It has not been my way of doing business to spare any one, or any company, the consequences of their own carelessness; nor to obtain information second-hand, when I could have it direct from the source.  I shall write to the Insurance Office by the next post.”

Mr. Farquhar saw that any further remonstrance on his part would only aggravate his partner’s obstinacy:  and, besides, it was but a suspicion,—­an uncomfortable suspicion.  It was possible that some of the clerks at the Insurance Office might have made a mistake.  Watson was not sure, after all, that the certificates had been deposited in box A, 24; and when he and Mr. Farquhar could not find them there, the old man drew more and yet more back from his first assertion of belief, that they had been placed there.

Mr. Bradshaw wrote an angry and indignant reproach of carelessness to the Insurance Company.  By the next mail one of their clerks came down to Eccleston; and, having leisurely refreshed himself at the inn, and ordered his dinner with care, he walked up to the great warehouse of Bradshaw & Co., and sent in his card, with a pencil notification, “On the part of the Star Insurance Company,” to Mr. Bradshaw himself.

Mr. Bradshaw held the card in his hand for a minute or two without raising his eyes.  Then he spoke out loud and firm—­

“Desire the gentleman to walk up.  Stay!  I will ring my bell in a minute or two, and then show him upstairs.”

When the errand-boy had closed the door, Mr. Bradshaw went to a cupboard where he usually kept a glass and a bottle of wine (of which he very seldom partook, for he was an abstemious man).  He intended now to take a glass, but the bottle was empty; and, though there was plenty more to be had for ringing, or even simply going into another room, he would not allow himself to do this.  He stood and lectured himself in thought.