“I’m afraid that young man takes his duties very lightly, Inspector,” he said. “I had to give him leave to go to the inquest this morning, of course, and Mr. Lewis too—very inconvenient to me, we have only a small staff here, as you see, but naturally the claims of the law must be met—and he has not returned. Simply absented himself. It’s very—galling, Inspector. That is the word—galling.” He breathed heavily and pulled at the long points of his moustache.

“Tell me about Mr. Harper,” said Mallett confidentially. “Has he been with you long?”

“Four or five years,” answered Browne. “And between you and me, sir, he has been a most unsatisfactory young man. Most unsatisfactory. It was the late Mr. Inglewood who engaged him, out of friendship for his father, I understood. And from respect to Mr. Inglewood’s memory, more than anything else, I kept him on. He was a fine gentleman, Mr. Inglewood,” went on the house agent, shaking his bald head dolefully. “He had a wonderful way with the better-class clients, if you follow me. It was a great loss to the firm when he was taken.”

He stared at his desk, contemplating the ghosts of vanished better-class clients, till Mallett recalled him to his surroundings with: “And Mr. Harper?”

“Ah, Mr. Harper, just so. His father was ruined, I understand, in that big bank failure some years ago—you would know the name, Inspector——”

“Fanshawe?” put in Mallett.

“Fanshawe—yes. And what made matters worse, Mr. Inglewood told me, Fanshawe was an old friend of the late Mr. Harper. And he ruined him, simply ruined him.”

“That was very hard luck,” said the inspector.

“Very. Oh, I was sorry for the young man, I assure you. That is why I kept him on here. Besides, there was always the chance that he might bring some of his better-class friends here as clients. But he didn’t. And hard luck doesn’t excuse his being so shockingly careless in his work as he’s been. This Daylesford Gardens matter, for instance. That has been a bad business for us, Inspector. Why, there’s three pound two and sixpence owing to Miss Penrose for dilapidations, and how we’re going to collect it from the tenant now, I don’t know.”

“But you were telling me about Mr. Harper,” Mallett interrupted.

“Exactly. Now, for instance, I had your Sergeant Frant round here yesterday asking to see the lease which Mr. James signed. Could Mr. Harper find it? He could not. He thought he’d put it somewhere, he said, but we searched high and low and it wasn’t to be found. Now I call that sort of thing galling, Inspector.”

“Now we are on that subject,” said Mallett, “have you any letters or documents signed by Mr. James at all?”