A summer overcoat had filled out the number, and his investigation was incomplete.
Why was that one coat lacking?
He was sure he had seen it the night before lying on the bed with the others.

Was it still there, or had it been stowed away in drawer or closet, irrespective of its danger from moths, for a reason he would give his eyeteeth to know but dared not inquire into till he had clinched his friendship with this old woman so thoroughly that he could ask her anything--which certainly was not the case as yet.
The absence of the one coat he wanted most to see afflicted him sorely.
He told Mrs.Weston, on her return, how the line had fallen and how he had replaced it, but for all his wits, he could not get any further.

With the close of the day's work and the reappearance of Mr.Roberts, he slipped away to the village, to avoid an encounter of the results of which he felt very doubtful.

His dinner would not be ready till after Mr.
Roberts had been served, and the three hours which must necessarily elapse before that happy moment looked very long and very unproductive to him, especially as he had found no answer as yet to the question which so grievously perplexed him.
He had paced the main street twice and had turned into a narrow lane ending in the smallest of gardens and the most infinitesimal of houses, when the door of this same house opened and a man came out whose appearance held him speechless for a moment--then sent him forward with a quickly beating heart.

It was not the man himself that produced this somewhat startling effect; it was his clothes.