And yet there had never till now occurred anything definite to take hold of, nor was it till this October morning, when I saw the manager's desk broken and the empty cash-box on the floor, that it came over me that McCrane was even a worse fellow than I had taken him for.
He had been most mysterious about his holidays this year.

He was to have taken them in May, among the first batch, but suddenly altered his arrangements, giving no reason, and requesting to be allowed to go in September.

September came, and still he clung to his desk.

Finally another change was announced: McCrane would start for his fortnight's holiday on the second Thursday of October.
These changes were all arranged so mysteriously, and with such an unusual show of eagerness on McCrane's part, and as the time itself drew near he exhibited such a mixture of self-satisfaction, concealment, and uneasiness, that no one could fail to observe it.

Add to this that during the last day or two he had made more than one mistake in his addition, and had once received a reprimand from the manager for inattention, at which he vaguely smiled--and you will hardly wonder that my first words on that eventful morning--the first of his long-expected holiday--were-- "Michael McCrane has bolted!" The manager when he arrived took the same view as I did.
"I don't like this, Samuels," said he; "not at all, Samuels." When Mr Trong called any one by his name twice in one sentence it was a certain sign that he meant what he said.
"How much was there in the box ?" I inquired.
"L23 5 shillings 6 pence," said the manager, referring to his petty cash account.