Yes, Mr. Simmons did know. Sir George was in the habit of getting his book every month from the bank, and after examining it, returning it in about three weeks to be made up for the following month. He kept it with his cheque-book and the paying-in slips in one of the top drawers of his writing-table. Sometimes the drawer was locked, more frequently not, for in some matters where the vast majority of men were cautious, the mysterious baronet was singularly careless. At the present moment Mr. Simmons did not know whether it was locked or not, but it would probably be locked before he went away. “That doesn’t present much difficulty,” said Lane with a calmness that took away his companion’s breath. “If it is not a very complicated lock, and it’s not likely to be if the writing-table is an ordinary sort of one; I can easily pick it.” Mr. Simmons pursed his lips in perplexity. “But that’s burglary, isn’t it, and spells quod if were caught?” The detective smiled. “’Pon my soul, I’m not very sure. We have to do this sort of thing sometimes, but we don’t run any very great risk, because the people we do it to have so much to conceal that they daren’t take action. I’m not proposing to take away anything, you know.” But Mr. Simmons evidently did not like the prospect. He was perfectly unscrupulous in a small way, would not have objected to certain petty pilferings sanctioned by custom and tradition amongst certain members of his profession. One of his grievances against the baronet was that he counted his cigars and his bottles of wine; there was never a chance of getting a free smoke or drink. But this looked a bigger thing than he expected. He thought very deeply for a few seconds, while Lane cursed him in his heart for a faint-hearted rogue, who let his inclination wait upon his fears. “Look here,” he said at length. “We haven’t said anything yet about terms. If I do it—and mind you, I’m not very gone on it—what’s the price? It ought to be a good one.” Lane named a liberal sum, and, truth to tell, it did make the valet’s mouth water, but he was a greedy fellow, and he was determined to try for a bit more. So for a few minutes they haggled till a compromise was effected. But still Simmons was torn in two between his greed and his fear of detection and would not say positively that he would assist. The detective was a man of resource, he saw that he must adopt different tactics with this cowardly rogue and relieve him from his apprehensions. “Look here, my friend, I can see you are in a blue funk; you are afraid of what I am certain won’t happen, that Sir George will return unexpectedly, walk into his flat and find me at work. Of course, he has got his key.” Mr. Simmons wanted to get that money in his possession, and his greed sharpened his wits.