Mr. Gideon Lane rose to receive her, a tall, good-looking man with nothing particularly remarkable about his appearance; with his clean-shaven face and strong, resolute expression he might have been taken for an actor, there was certainly nothing about him to suggest an unraveller of mysteries. The most striking features in an agreeable countenance were his eyes, which were piercing and brilliant. “I remember Mr. Croxton perfectly,” said the detective. “He was the confidential secretary of Mr. Morrice, and struck me as much above the ordinary young man in intelligence and quickness of perception. I hope he is quite well,” he finished politely. This remark gave Rosabelle an easy opening. “He is quite well in health, Mr. Lane, but exceedingly unhappy, lying as he is at the moment under the stigma of a terrible accusation.” Mr. Lane gathered from these serious words that the girl had come upon a grave errand. His face reflected her concern at once. “I am very sorry to hear it, Miss Sheldon. I took rather a liking to the young man, he seemed so open and frank. Well, please tell me all the details, I take it you want my assistance in the matter. And please conceal nothing from me, if you want me to give you of my best. Let me know everything that tells against him, you will naturally inform me of everything in his favour.” The shrewd man of the world divined immediately that there was a close bond between this charming girl and the accused man, and he put her at once at her ease by adding: “I need hardly tell you that what you say will never be divulged; you are as safe with me as if you were in the confessional.” He had a very ingratiating manner with him, this calm, self-possessed man who looked more like an actor than a detective. Rosabelle felt very much at home with him, and at once launched forth in her narrative of the details of that eventful morning, as they had been told her by her lover. Mr. Lane listened to her attentively without interruption. He judged it best to let her tell her story her own way, more particularly as she told it very well, without redundance or repetition. His questions would come later. When she had finished, he sat silent for some time, while the girl regarded him anxiously. “It is, of course, too early for you to form any opinion?” she asked in a faltering voice, feeling the prolonged silence somewhat of a strain upon her nerves. He shook his head. “A great deal too early, Miss Sheldon. Of course, it is easy to say at first blush, upon the evidence before us, those articles could only have been abstracted by one of two persons, Mr. Morrice or his secretary.” “And it would be absurd to think that my uncle stole his own property,” cried the girl swiftly. A rather non-committal smile illumined the calm face of the detective. “From your point of view, it would be absurd, as you most rightly say. From mine, it would be so very difficult to discover a plausible motive for such an act.”