‘That would have been equally impossible. I looked to all the fastenings myself the last thing. The doors were locked and barred, and those old-fashioned iron bars are no trifling defence.’ Lucius, too, was bewildered. Could Mr. Sivewright himself have disposed of this property? In so eccentric a man nothing need be surprising. Could he have crept down-stairs in the dead of the night to admit some dealer, disposed of his property, dismissed the man, and crept stealthily back to his bed? No, that was too wild a fancy. Despite of his eccentricities, Mr. Sivewright had plenty of common sense, and such a proceeding as that would have been the act of a madman. ‘Supposing any stranger to have obtained admittance to the house,’ said Lucius, after an interval of perplexed thought, ‘how could he have opened that chest without your key?’ ‘A stranger could not possibly have done it,’ said Wincher, with a stress upon the word ‘stranger.’ ‘Who else, then?’ ‘There is one who could have opened that chest easy enough, or any other lock in the place, supposing him to be alive; but I make no doubt he’s dead and gone ever so long ago.’ ‘Whom do you mean?’ ‘Mr. Ferdinand, my master’s son.’ Lucius gave a slight start at the sound of that unwelcome name, of all sounds the most hateful to his ear. ‘Then he—Ferdinand Sivewright—had a duplicate key, I suppose?’ ‘Yes, of most things about the place in Bond-street, except the iron safe: he never could get at that till he drugged his father, and stole the key out of his pocket while he was asleep. But other things, that were pretty easy to get at, he did get at, and robbed his father up hill and down dale, as the saying is. O, he was a thorough-paced scoundrel, though I’m sorry to say it, as he was our young missy’s father.’ ‘He had a duplicate key to that chest, you say?’