"I assure you, sir," exclaimed Frank, plucking up a spirit, "that I am just what I tell you, as any officer of the bank can testify, if you will take the trouble to ask. The janitor of this building knows me. Were it only daylight, I could prove my identity in a dozen ways. What has become of Cutts and those who were with him, I am sure is more than I can tell, but I----" "Ha! Then there were others here besides Cutts and yourself?" A deep flush overspread the countenance of the boy. Here was a fatal slip. Until now he had relied upon Cutts' desire to shield himself to be cautious in what he might say, but as for Ed Wilson and Jim Morrow, who were nothing more or less than two very fast young clerks in a neighboring steamship office, he saw instinctively that he could hope to exercise no control whatever with them. But there was no use in trying to conceal anything from the keen eyes of the detective, now fixed upon him as though seeking to read his inmost thoughts. "Yes, there were two other fellows with us," he answered, with evident reluctance. "Who were they?" "Acquaintances of mine." "And their names?" "Wilson and Morrow." "Hem! And they, likewise, seem to have disappeared, most unluckily for you." "So it seems," said Frank, gloomily. "I'm sure I don't understand it any more than you." "We'll understand it better by and by," replied the detective, quietly. "Meanwhile, think the matter over, if you will allow me to offer my advice, and make up your mind to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. You'll find it will pay you better in the end." "Schneider," he added, turning abruptly to the policeman who had been a silent witness to the scene, "take this young man to the New Church street station, and let him be held until I come." "Very good, Mr. Hook," replied the officer. Without another word he took Frank by the arm and led him through the hall and out into the street. The snow was still falling, sidewalk and roofs, church-yard and wall, everything within range of the eye, was clothed in a mantle of white. "Now, den, de nex' question is how ve not our necks already preak," muttered the officer, with a strong German accent, as he moved heavily down the sloping sidewalk toward New Church street, which skirts the rear of the burial ground at the bottom of the hill. For he was a clumsy man, and had evidently no wish to measure the length of his Teutonic form upon the slippery walk beneath his feet. "Keep close beside me, young feller," he added, releasing his hold upon Frank's arm, the better to steady himself by aid of the hand-rail separating the sidewalk from the sunken areas before the basement shops with which this block on Rector street is lined. "You notings can do mit tem pracelets on your hands, so dere's no use in trying to run." "I'm not running to-night," replied Frank, shortly. "Lead on, I shall follow; you need have no fear."