It is either lost or mislaid. Of course, I can't identify them."
"That is awkward. Wouldn't the banker of whom you bought them
be able to give you the numbers?"
"Yes, but I don't know where they were bought. I had at the
time in my employ a clerk and book-keeper, a steady-going
and methodical man of fifty-odd, who made the purchase, and
no doubt has a list of the numbers of the bonds."
"Then where is your difficulty?" asked Roland Reed, in surprise.
"Go to the clerk and put the question. What can be simpler?"
"But I don't know where he is."
"Don't know where he is?" echoed Reed, in genuine surprise.
"No; James Harding--this is his name--left my employ a year since,
having, through a life of economy, secured a competence,
and went out West to join a widowed sister who had for
many years made her residence there. Now, the West is a
large place, and I don't know where this sister lives, or where
James Harding is to be found."
"Yet he must be found. You must send a messenger to look
for him."
"But whom shall I send? In a matter of this delicacy I don't
want to employ a professional detective. Those men sometimes
betray secrets committed to their keeping, and work up a false
clue rather than have it supposed they are not earning their money.
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