"They think at Scotland Yard it must inevitably have been one of the clerks in your room, Bede," said Mr. Greatorex. "One would think it, but that it seems so very unlikely," answered Bede. "Brown and Jenner have been with us quite long enough for their honesty to be proved; and the other two are gentlemen." "Their theory is this; that someone, possessing easy access to your private room, opened the desk with a false key." "For the matter of that, the clerks on our side the house could obtain nearly if not quite as easy access to Bede's room through its other door," observed Frank Greatorex. "Yes. But you forget, Frank, that none of them on our side the house knew of the cheque having been drawn out and left there. Jelf will be in by-and-by." The morning's letters, recently delivered, lay before Mr. Greatorex in a stack, and he began to look at them one by one before opening; his common custom. He came to one addressed to Bede, marked "Private" on both sides, and tossed it to his son! Bede opened it. There was an inner envelope, sealed, and, addressed and marked just like the outer one, which Bede opened in turn. Frank Greatorex, standing near his brother, was enabled to see that but a few lines formed its contents. Almost in a moment, before Bede could have read the whole, he crushed the letter together and thrust it into his pocket. Frank laughed. "Your correspondent takes his precautions, Bede. Was he afraid that Mrs. Bede----" The words were but meant in jest, but Frank did not finish them. Bede turned from the room with a kind of staggering movement, his face blanched, his whole countenance livid with some awful terror. Frank simply stared after him, unable to say another word. "What was that?" cried Mr. Greatorex, looking up at the abrupt silence. "I don't know," said Frank. "Bede seems moonstruck with that letter he has had. It must contain tidings of some bother or other." "Then rely upon it, it is connected with his wife," severely spoke Mr. Greatorex.