Missing financier

The cook, who had just gone up to bed, saw him on the doorstep, and heard him let himself in. He climbed up the stairs, leaving his greatcoat on the hall peg and his umbrella in the stand—you remember how it rained last night, Eh? He just undressed and went to his bed. Next morning he wasn't not present there. That's all," said Lee abruptly, with a slight flick of the hand.

"It isn't all, it isn't all. Boss, go on please, I know that it is not even half of the story," pleaded Lord Edward.

"But actually, this is all I know! When his man came to call him he simply was not there. The bed had been slept in. His pyjamas and all his clothes were there, the only odd thing being that they were thrown rather untidily on the ottoman at the foot of the bed, instead of being neatly folded on a chair, as is Sir Smith Han's habbit. It seemed looking at the clothes, as if he had been rather agitated or unwell. No clean clothes were missing, no suit, no boots—nothing. The boots he had worn were in his dressing-room as usual. He had washed and cleaned his teeth and done all the usual things, he did everyday. The housemaid was down- stairs and was cleaning the hall at half-past six, and can assure that nobody came in or out after that. So one is forced to assume that a respectable middle-aged Mr. Smith, the financier either went mad between twelve and six a.m. and walked quietly out of the house in just a birthday suit on a November chill night, or else was spirited away like the lady in the 'Ingoldsby Legends,' just the body and bones, leaving only a heap of crumpled clothes behind him."