The girl’s replies to his questions had rather disposed of a somewhat fantastic theory that had formed itself in rather nebulous shape in his astute brain, accustomed to weigh all sorts of possibilities and probabilities, to search for unusual and far-reaching motives. Had Morrice engineered this theft, not for the ordinary sordid reasons, but with the object of fixing upon the innocent secretary a stigma that would effectually remove him from his niece’s society? But then again, a man who could in cold blood conceive such a scheme would be more than the vilest criminal. It would be impossible that one of such good repute, for even his enemies and rivals credited Morrice with the highest integrity, should stoop to such sinister methods. “Well, Miss Sheldon,” he said as the interview drew to a close, “I will not disguise that I am very disappointed with the result of my visit to Scotland Yard. When I found those strange finger-marks on the safe, I thought we were on the right track. Now, I have got to start again from the beginning, and I am afraid it will be a long time before I shall make any considerable headway. I shall do my best, but it may be that in the end I shall be beaten. I think you said you would be going abroad very shortly.” “Yes, we start for Mürren a week before Christmas for the winter sports. I was so looking forward to it, but now——” The girl’s voice faltered and she could not finish her sentence. “I quite understand,” said Mr. Lane soothingly. “All the same it will be better for you to get away for a time from these painful associations. I will, of course, keep in touch with you to the day of your departure, and communicate to you anything of importance. If you don’t hear from me, you will know that so far I have nothing to tell you. You will, of course, acquaint Mr. Morrice with the rather puzzling information about the man Thomas, that while the finger-prints are undoubtedly his, he is and has been for the last two years in prison.” It all seemed very hopeless, she thought, as she rose to leave. It was useless to ask Lane if he had formed any theory; she had seen enough of the man to know that he would not say a word till he felt himself justified in speaking. “One little thing before you go, Miss Sheldon. Will you kindly let me know your aunt’s maiden name, and, if you possess them, any particulars of her family.” Rosabelle did not know much beyond the fact that she was a Miss Larchester; that her sister, no longer living, the mother of Archie Brookes, had married a younger brother of Sir George. She was not quite sure but she fancied that, as a girl, Mrs. Morrice’s home had been in Sussex, but she did not know in what part. The lady very seldom alluded to her past life. Her Christian name was Lettice. Mr. Lane entered the scanty information in his notebook, then, after Rosabelle’s departure, he rang up White’s Club and inquired for a Mr. Sellars. In a few moments this gentleman was speaking to him.