"Left--left Cunnington's?" gasped Max Barclay, staring open-mouthed at Mr Warner, the buyer.

"Yes, sir. She left suddenly yesterday morning," repeated the dapper little man with the pen behind his ear.

"But this is most extraordinary--to leave at a moment's notice! I thought she was so very comfortable here. She always spoke so kindly of you, and for the consideration with which you always treated her."

"It was very kind of her, I'm sure," replied the buyer; "but it is the rule here--a moment's notice on either side."

"But why? Why has she left?"

Warner hesitated. He, of course, knew the truth, but he was not anxious to speak it.

"Some little misunderstanding, I think."

"With you?"

"Oh, dear no. She was called down to the counting-house yesterday morning, and she did not return."

"Then she's been discharged--eh?" asked Max in a hard voice.

"I believe so, sir. At least, it would appear so."

"And are they in the habit of discharging a.s.sistants in this manner-- throwing them out of a home and out of employment at a moment's notice?

Is Mr Cunnington himself aware of it?"

"It would be Mr Cunnington himself who discharged her," was the buyer's answer. "No other person has authority either to engage or discharge."

"But there must be a reason for her dismissal!" exclaimed Max.

"Certainly. But only Mr Cunnington knows that."

"Can I see him?"

"Well, at this hour he's generally very busy indeed; but if you go down to the counting-house in the next building, and ask for him, he may give you a moment."

"Thank you, Mr Warner," Barclay said, a little abruptly, and, turning on his heel, left the department.

"She hasn't told him evidently," remarked one girl-a.s.sistant to the other. "I'm sorry Rolfie's gone. She wasn't half a bad sort. She was old Warner's favourite, too, or her young gentleman would never have been allowed to talk to her in the shop. If you or I had had a young man to come and see us as she had, we'd have been fired out long ago."

"I wonder who her young man really is," remarked the second girl, watching him as he strode out, a lithe figure in a well-cut suit of grey tweeds.

"Well, he's a thorough gentleman, just like her brother," remarked her companion. "I saw him in his motor-boat up at Hampton the Sunday before last. He's completely gone on her. I wonder what'll happen now. I don't think much of the new girl; do you? Does her hair awfully badly."

Unconscious of the criticism he had evoked, Max Barclay descended the stairs, pa.s.sed through the long shops--crowded as they always were in the afternoon--into the adjoining building, and sought audience of the t.i.tular head of the great firm.

After waiting for some time in an outer office he was shown in. The moment he asked his question Mr Cunnington grasped the situation.

"I very much regret, sir, that it is not my habit to give information to a second party concerning the dismissal of any of my a.s.sistants. If the young lady applies for her character, she is perfectly ent.i.tled to have it."

"But I apply for her character," said Max promptly.

"You are not an employer, sir. She has not applied to you for a situation."

"No; but I may surely know the reason she has left your service?" Max pointed out. "Her brother, who is abroad just now, is my most intimate friend."

Mr Cunnington stroked his dark beard thoughtfully, but shook his head, saying:

"I much regret, Mr Barclay, that I am unable to give you the information you seek. Would it not be better to ask the young lady herself?"

"But she has left, and I have no idea of her address!" exclaimed Barclay. "Can you furnish me with it?"

The head of Cunnington's, Limited, took up the telephone receiver and asked for a certain Mr Hughes, of whom he made inquiry if Miss Rolfe had left her address.

There was a wait of a few moments, then Mr Cunnington turned and said:

"The young lady left no address. She was asked, but refused to give one."

Max's heart sank within him. She had been dismissed at an instant's notice, and was lost to him. He turned upon Mr Cunnington in quick anger and said:

"So I am to understand that you refuse me all information concerning her?"

"I merely adhere to my rule, sir. Any dismissal of my a.s.sistants is a matter between myself and the person dismissed. I am not called upon to give details or reasons to outsiders. I regret that I am very busy, and must wish you good afternoon."

Max Barclay bit his lip. He did not like the brisk, business-ike air of the man.

"I shall call upon Mr Statham, whom I happen to know," he said. "And I shall invoke his aid."

"You are perfectly at liberty to do just as you like, my dear sir. Even Mr Statham exercises no authority over the a.s.sistants in this establishment. It is my own department and I brook no interference."

Max did not reply, but left the office and strode out into Oxford Street, pushing past the crowd of women around the huge shop-windows admiring the feminine finery there displayed so temptingly.

Marion--his Marion--had disappeared. She had been dismissed--in disgrace evidently; probably for some petty fault or for breaking one of the hundred rules by which every a.s.sistant was bound. He had always heard Mr Cunnington spoken of as a most lenient, and even generous, employer, yet his treatment of Marion had been anything but just or humane.

When he thought of it his blood boiled. Charlie was away, he knew. He had telephoned to his rooms that very morning, but his man had replied that his master had left hurriedly for the Continent--for Paris, he thought.

At the corner of Bond Street he halted, and glanced at his watch.

Should he try and find Charlie by telegraph or should he take the bull by the horns and go and see old Sam Statham. His well-beloved had disappeared. Would the old financier a.s.sist him to discover the truth?

He was well aware that for a comparative stranger to be deceived in that big house in Park Lane was exceptional. Old Levi had his orders, and few among the many callers ever placed their foot over the carefully-guarded threshold. Still, he resolved to make the attempt, and, with that object, jumped into a taxi-cab which happened at the moment to be pa.s.sing.

Alighting at the house, he presented his card to old Levi, who opened the door, and asked the favour of a few moments' conversation with Mr Statham? The old servant scrutinised the card closely, and took stock of the visitor, who, noticing his hesitation, added: "Mr Statham will remember me, I believe."

Levi asked him into the hall, with a dissatisfied grunt, and disappeared, to return a few moments later, and usher the visitor into the presence of the millionaire.

Old Samuel, who had been dozing over a newspaper in the his easy-chair near the fireplace, rose, and, through his spectacles, regarded his visitor with some suspicion. The blinds were drawn, shading the room from the afternoon sun, therefore Max found the place was in comparative darkness after the glare outside.

In a few moments, however, when his eyes grew accustomed to the semi-darkness, he saw the old fellow wave his hand in the direction of a chair, saying:

"I'm very glad you called, Mr Barclay--very glad. Indeed, curiously enough, I intended to write to you only yesterday upon a business matter, but I was too busy."

Barclay seated himself, full of surprise that the great financier should wish to consult him upon any business matter.