H. de Vere Stacpoole and Margaret Stacpoole

“ The horrible irregularity of the whole of this business was poisoning Brownlow's mind—hunting for the head of a firm who ought to be at his office and who held possession of a client's vitally important document. ”

“ He's a hard worker.”
“It's not mental strain,” said Balls. “He's alive as you or me and as keen, and he doesn't overwork. It's something else.”
“Well, I wish it would stop,” said Brownlow, “for I'm nearly worried to death with clients writing to see him and trying to invent excuses, and my work is doubled.”
“So's mine,” said Balls. He went out and Brownlow continued his business. He had not been engaged on it for long when Morgan, the office boy, appeared.
“Mr. Tidd, sir, to see Mr. Pettigrew.”
“Show him in,” said Brownlow. ”

“ He was a month away then.”
“Oh, Lord!” said Balls, who had only joined the office nine months before and who knew nothing of last year's escapade. “A month more of this sort of bother—a month!”
“Yes,” said Brownlow. “I had it to do last year, and he left no address, same as now.” Then, after a moment's pause, “I'm worried about him. I can't help it. There was a strange thing happened last year. I've never told it to a soul before. He called me in one day to his room and he showed me a bundle of bank notes. ”