I knew well that they had found nothing among the clothing or papers that Henry had left behind. I had searched through these myself, and the sole document that could bear on the mystery was at that moment fast in my inside pocket. I was inclined to scout the idea that Henry Wilton had hidden anything under the carpet, or in the mattress, or in any secret place. The threads of the mystery were carried in his head, and the correspondence, if there had been any, was destroyed. As I was engaged in putting the room to rights, the door swung back, and I jumped to my feet to face a man who stood on the threshold. “Hello!” he cried. “House-cleaning again?” It was Dicky Nahl, and he paused with a smile on his face. “Ah, Dicky!” I said with an effort to keep out of my face and voice the suspicions I had gained from the incidents of the visit to the Borton place. “Entirely unpremeditated, I assure you.” “Well, you're making a thorough job of it,” he said with a laugh. “Fact is,” said I ruefully, “I've been entertaining angels--of the black kind--unawares. I was from home last night, and I find that somebody has made himself free with my property while I was away.” “Whew!” whistled Dicky. “Guess they were after you.” I gave Dicky a sidelong glance in a vain effort to catch more of his meaning than was conveyed by his words. “Shouldn't be surprised,” I replied dryly, picking up an armful of books. “I'd expect them to be looking for me in the book-shelf, or inside the mattress-cover, or under the carpet.” Dicky laughed joyously. “Well, they did rather turn things upside down,” he chuckled. “Did they get anything?” And he fell to helping me zealously. “Not that I can find out,” I replied. “Nothing of value, anyhow.” “Not any papers, or anything of that sort?” asked Dicky anxiously. “Dicky, my boy,” said I; “there are two kinds of fools. The other is the man who writes his business on a sheet of paper and forgets to burn it.” Dicky grinned merrily. “Gad, you're getting a turn for epigram! You'll be writing for the _Argonaut_, first we know.” “Well, you'll allow me a shade of common sense, won't you?” “I don't know,” said Dicky, considering the proposition doubtfully. “It might have been awkward if you had left anything lying about. But if you had real good sense you'd have had the guards here. What are you paying them for, anyhow?” I saw difficulties in the way of explaining to Dicky why I had not ordered the guards on duty. “Oh, by the way,” said Dicky suddenly, before a suitable reply had come to me; “how about the scads--spondulicks--you know? Yesterday was pay-day, but you didn't show up.” I don't know whether my jaw dropped or not. My spirits certainly did. “By Jove, Dicky!” I exclaimed, catching my breath. “It slipped my mind, clean. I haven't got at our--ahem--banker, either.” I saw now what that mysterious money was for--or a part of it, at all events. What I did not see was how I was to get it, and how to pay it to my men.