“I know you haven’t,” snapped Morrice. He was in a very angry mood to-day, and inclined to let his temper run away with him. “But I also know that gentlemen of your profession cast your net wide when you start, in the hope of catching some very unlikely fish. Of course, I could have opened it and cast it upon Croxton, if I were so disposed. But where is my motive for robbing myself? I can understand certain circumstances which might induce a man to commit such an act, and cleverly provide a scapegoat. Men set fire to their own warehouses to get the insurance money. Why? Because they are on the verge of bankruptcy and that money will save them. A desperate man might steal his own money for similar reasons, to place it beyond the reach of his creditors, so that he should not go forth to the world a beggar. But these motives are absent in my own case. I am more than solvent; I don’t wish to speak in any boasting spirit, but I have more money than I know what to do with.” Lane thought for such a practical man of the world, and possessing, as he did, such a clear logical brain, he was indulging in rather superfluous observations. Besides, he had referred to one aspect of the situation as it affected himself—the absence of financial embarrassment. If one chose to argue with him, one could cite from the annals of crime instances of more than one other motive that had impelled men to commit crimes which they artfully fixed upon innocent persons, whom for some subtle reason they wished to remove from their path, or on whom they desired revenge. The next words, however, showed why the banker had volunteered such an elaborate defence of himself. “I am therefore eliminated, at any rate to my own satisfaction.” His tone was still angry, as if he inwardly resented Lane’s rather lukewarm attitude. “There is only left this young man whom I have treated as a son, whom I have loaded with benefits, whom I have preserved from the consequences of his criminal acts, his dastardly ingratitude to me. He alone, beyond myself, knew the secret of this safe’s mechanism, therefore he alone could open it, unless, which of course is possible, he employed a confederate whom he took into his confidence. Is that common-sense or not, Mr. Lane?” he concluded in a slightly calmer tone. “Perfectly common-sense so far as it carries us, Mr. Morrice,” was the detective’s judicial reply. “So far as it carries us,” cried Morrice with a slight return of his previous explosive manner. “I do not understand you.” Lane smiled. It was a slightly superior smile, prompted by the thought that these clever business men, excellent and keen as they were in their own pursuits, did not exhibit that logical mind which is the great equipment of a trained investigator. “By that expression I mean simply this, that when you definitely assume Mr. Croxton’s guilt you are acting on the presumption that nobody but you and he knows the secret of this mechanism. Can you prove that?”