“Have his letters yet arrived?” was inquired by one.
“He always takes them from the post-office himself,” answered the clerk.
“What is his usual hour for coming to his office in the morning?”
“He is generally here by this time—often much earlier.”
These interrogations, addressed to the clerk by one of those present, excited doubts and questions in the minds of others.
“It is rather singular that he should be absent at this particular time,” said Markland, giving indirect expression to his own intruding suspicions.
“It is very singular,” said another. “He is the medium of information from the theatre of our operations, and, above all things, should not be out of the way now.”
“Where does he live?” was inquired of the clerk.
“At No.—, Fourteenth street.”
“Will you get into a stage and ride up there?”
“If you desire it, gentlemen,” replied the young man; “though it is hardly probable that I will find him there at this hour. If you wait a little while longer, he will no doubt be in.”
The door opened, and two more of the parties interested in this bursting bubble arrived.
“Where is Fenwick?” was eagerly asked.
“Not to be found,” answered one, abruptly, and with a broader meaning in his tones than any words had yet expressed.
“He hasn’t disappeared, also!”
Fearful eyes looked into blank faces at this exclamation.
“Gentlemen,” said the clerk, with considerable firmness of manner, “language like this must not be used here. It impeaches the character of a man whose life has thus far been above reproach. Whatever is said here, remember, is said in his ears, and he will soon be among you to make his own response.”
The manner in which this was uttered repressed, for a time, further remarks reflecting on the integrity of the agent. But, after the lapse of nearly an hour, his continued absence was again referred to, and in more decided language than before.
“Will you do us one favour?” said Mr. Markland, on whose mind suspense was sitting like a nightmare. He spoke to the clerk, who, by this time, was himself growing restless.
“Any thing you desire, if it is in my power,” was answered.
“Will you go down to the post-office, and inquire if Mr. Fenwick has received his letters this morning?”
“Certainly, I will.” And the clerk went on the errand without a moment’s delay.
“Mr. Fenwick received his letters over two hours ago,” said the young man, on his return. He looked disappointed and perplexed.
“And you know nothing of him?” was said.
“Nothing, gentlemen, I do assure you. His absence is to me altogether inexplicable.”
“Where’s Fenwick?” was now asked, in an imperative voice, by a new comer.
“Not been seen this morning,” replied Markland.