"I expressed the gravest surprise and concern, of course, and suggested that he, as manager, should take the documents to Scotland Yard and make a statement as to how they had been discovered. He wanted me to go with him, but I declined, saying that in my position I had no desire to be mixed up with any such unpleasant affair, and that he, as managing-director of the Ochrida Corporation, was the proper person to lodge information. The old fellow grew quite excited over it. He had several of the clerks up, and from them ascertained that the ledger in question had not been used since Sainsbury left. This, in conjunction with the fact that one of the letters was addressed to `Jack,' and in it a mention of meeting at Heath Street, proved most conclusively that the incriminating documents belonged to Sainsbury. Therefore, an hour later, after I had instructed Charlesworth what to tell them at Scotland Yard, I had the satisfaction of seeing him enter a taxi with the documents in his pocket. I continued to do some work in the office when, later on, as I expected, he returned with a detective who inspected the book, the desk in which it was kept, and who listened to the story of young Sainsbury's career." "And I suppose you gave the young man a very good character--eh?" asked the woman who had led such an adventurous life. "Oh, excellent!" was Rodwell's grim reply. "The officer went away quite convinced that Sainsbury was a spy." "Though you gave me the letters, I quite forgot to read them," said the woman. "Of what character were they? Pretty damning, I suppose?" "Damning--I should rather think they were!" answered the man who posed as the great British patriot, and hid his real profession beneath the cloak of finance and platform-speaking. "Two of them were letters which our friend Wentzel, at Aldershot, had received from the Insurance Company at Amsterdam--you know the little institution I mean, in the Kalverstraat. Wentzel is known as `Jack,' and in one of these he is addressed as such. So it came in very useful. The letter enclosed a Bank of England note for ten pounds." "The monthly payment of his little annuity--eh?" laughed the woman. "I understand. I had a letter only this morning from the same Insurance Company." "Well," laughed the man, "we all have dealings with the same office. I have had many. The organisation there is perfect--not a soul in the Censor's department suspects. Truly, one must admire such perfect organisation as that established by `Number Seventy.'"