But Shirley shook his head at the closed door through which Neale had vanished.
"They're carpeting Neale about it, anyhow," he answered. "Gabriel'll want to know the whys and wherefores, you bet. But Neale won't tell us anything—he's too thick with Horbury."
Neale, entering the partners' room, found them in characteristic attitudes. The senior partner sat at his desk, stern, upright, his eyes burning a little more fiercely than usual: the junior, his slouch hat still on his head, his hands thrust in his pockets, lounged against the mantelpiece, staring at his uncle.
"Now, Neale," said Gabriel Chestermarke. "What do you know about this? Have you any idea where Mr. Horbury is?"
"None," replied Neale. "None whatever!"
"When did you see him last?" demanded Gabriel. "You often see him out of bank hours, I know."
"I last saw him here at two o'clock on Saturday," replied Neale. "I have not seen him since."
"And you never heard him mention that he was thinking of going away for the week-end?" asked Gabriel.
"No!" replied Neale.
He made his answer tersely and definitely, having an idea that the senior partner looked at him as if he thought that something was being kept back. And Gabriel, after a moment's pause, shifted some of the papers on his desk, with an impatient movement.
"Ask Mr. Horbury's housekeeper to step in here for a few minutes," he said.
