“I don’t mind a ‘fiver,’” was Lane’s answer; he was not disposed to trust the valet too much. If he got as much as ten pounds safely into his hands he might back out at the last moment and leave the detective in the lurch. “I won’t give it you before all these people; you never know who’s looking. We’ll leave here in about half an hour, and I’ll hand it over when we’re safe out of the street.” About eleven o’clock the next morning he received a further surprise in connection with this most puzzling case. A note was sent round to him from Mr. Morrice: “DEAR SIR,—Another development! On opening my safe this morning I found that the packet of papers abstracted in the first robbery has been put back, also the bundle of Swiss notes. I suppose the thief found they were of no use to him and obligingly returned them. Come round as soon as you can. I shall be in all day. “Yours faithfully, “RUPERT MORRICE.” CHAPTER XIII AUNT AND “NEPHEW”! There was not very much to discuss when Lane did get to Deanery Street. Certain inexplicable things had happened for which, at present, there seemed no accounting. Somebody seemed to be doing what he liked with this wonderful safe, abstracting and replacing property when he chose, without hindrance, in a house full of people. One novel feature on this occasion was the total absence of finger-prints. They had been carefully rubbed out. Morrice seemed greatly perturbed, as was quite natural under the circumstances; but Lane noticed that there was a considerable difference in his demeanour on this occasion from the last, when he had insisted, with some display of temper, upon the certainty of Croxton’s guilt. Lane had been a little nettled at the time—at the cocksure attitude of this hard-headed man of business who, however great his success in his own particular line, did not seem to possess a very great logical faculty, and could not forbear putting a rather pertinent question. “Are you quite as sure as you were, Mr. Morrice, that your late secretary is the thief?” Morrice shrugged his shoulders. It was easy to see that he was in a subdued mood; there was no fear of further explosions to-day. “I admit there are complications in this infernal business that perplex one extremely. But I don’t think that, so far, I can see any particular reasons for altering my previous opinion. You can’t get over the insurmountable fact that Croxton and myself were the only two persons who knew the secret of the mechanism. He may not be the actual purloiner, I admit; he may have passed on his knowledge to a confederate with whom he shares the spoil.” Lane let fall only a few words in answer to these observations, but they were very significant ones. “Don’t forget, Mr. Morrice, that you lost the original key or memorandum, as you call it, of the workings.” But the financier was an obstinate person, as many strong-minded men are. When he had once formed a theory, he did not give it up in a hurry.