Martin Hewitt shrugged his shoulders. "Very well," he said, "if those are your instructions, I'll do my best. And so you sent for me at once, as soon as you discovered the loss?"
"Yes, at once."
"Without telling anybody else?"
"I haf tolt nobody."
"Did you look about anywhere for Denson—in the street, or what not?"
"No—what was the good? He was gone; there was time for him to go miles."
"Very good. And speaking of time, let me judge how far he may have gone. How long were you kept waiting?"
"Two hours and a quarter, very near—within five minutes."
"By your watch?"
"Yes—I looked often, to see if it was so long waiting as it seemed."
"Very good. Do you happen to have a piece of Denson's writing about you?"
Samuel looked round him. "There's nothing about here," he said, "but perhaps we can find—oh here—here's a post-card." He took the card from his pocket, and gave it to Hewitt.
"There is nothing else to tell me, then?" queried Hewitt. "Are you sure that you have forgotten
