girl in the street and dart away to commit a felony?”
“Exactly! There are certainly objections. But it is a formidable case which they have to meet.”
Mr. Sidney Johnson, the senior clerk, met us at the office, and received us with that respect which my companion’s card always commanded. He was a thin, gruff, bespectacled man of middle age, his cheeks haggard, and his hands twitching from the nervous strain to which he had been subjected.
“It is bad, Mr. Holmes, very bad! Have you heard of the death of the chief?”
“We have just come from his house.”
“The place is disorganized. The chief dead, Cadogan West dead, our papers stolen. And yet, when we closed our door on Monday evening we were as eflicient an office as any in the Government service. Good God, it’s dreadful to think of! That West, of all men, should have done such a thing!”
“You are sure of his guilt, then?”
“I can see no other way out of it. And yet I would have trusted him as I trust myself.”
“At what hour was the office closed on Monday?”
“At five.”
“Did you close it?”
“I am always the last man out.”
