without a trace

Butler runs over to Bagman’s door to tell him that people are eating pancakes but, feeling guilty that he has perhaps strayed too far from his appointed role as protector of propriety, knocks first this time. Unlatched, it swings open from the pressure of the knock, and Butler realizes with a sinking sensation that the room is empty. My God, what have I done? Impulsively buttoning his collar, he walks over to see if Bagman’s computer might give him a clue. Just the blank Google search page. Butler hurries out, pausing only to straighten the pencils on Bagman’s desk, setting them out parallel to each other in order of height.