The vault door, wrenched out of all shape and hanging by one hinge, the burglar's tools, the books and papers scattered upon the floor around, were quite answer enough without a word from the wretched Frank, who stood trembling by his side. The detective surveyed the scene grimly. "I was born a day too late, it seems," was all he said. Then, turning toward his youthful prisoner, he gazed intently upon his face. "You and your friends have made a clean job of it here, young man," he said, at length. Frank stared at him dumbly. Could he hope to win the hand of Edna Callister after such a fatal slip as this? What was he to do? What should he say? Ah, if he had but heeded the warning voice of that mother who had knelt before him in the snow! But no! He had for the meanest of motives, money, been willing to violate the confidence and trust reposed in him by the officers of the bank, and this was his reward. Not without his fair share of natural shrewdness, Frank at once perceived that his only hope lay in silence and a strict adhesion to the story he had told, which to a certain extent was true. He had come to the bank with Cutts--as for his reason for so doing, he determined to keep that to himself, for the present, at least. "Well," said the detective, "why don't you speak?" "Because I've nothing to say. I've told you all I know." "Do you persist in the statement that you came here with Mr. Cutts?" "I do." "For what reason?" "I've already told you that." "To see that all was right about the bank?" "Yes." "Is that your business?" "Not particularly. We had been spending the evening together, and happened to be passing, and I thought I would try the door." "Mistake added to wrong doing." Lies never yet availed any man in an emergency. Better by far would it have been for the boy if he had confessed his fault and told the simple truth. "And upon entering you found things as we see them now?" continued the detective, with an incredulous air. "Yes." "Do you carry a key to those doors?" "Yes. Both the cashier and myself have keys." "Suppose you give them to me." Frank motioned toward his pocket, into which Detective Hook now thrust his hand, drawing forth the keys, and embracing the opportunity to search the boy thoroughly at the same time, but finding, as a matter of course, nothing to further indicate any connection with the affair. He examined the keys attentively, and turning, tried them in the lock of the door. One of them fitted perfectly. The detective appeared surprised. "You told the truth, then, my boy," he said, regarding the handsome face of the youth before him meditatively as he spoke. "I don't know what to make of this. Either you are other than what you seem to be, or I've been most outrageously sold."