He ushered the Bradys into the private office and they there beheld Ronald Mason, the broker's nephew, sitting at his desk. About thirty years of age, his tall, thin figure clad in stylish clothing, Ronald Mason was a clean-shaven individual, with hard features. He had cold, gray eyes, and a haughty, overbearing appearance. When the detectives came in, they saw him bending a queer, searching look at them, and he then asked in low tones: "Well, gentlemen, what can I do for you to-day?" Neither of the detectives were favorably impressed with his appearance. They had seen the odd look he gave them, and set him down for a tricky and dangerous man to deal with. Old King Brady took him in hand by saying: "You are Mr. Mason, I believe?" "That is my name, Mr. Brady." "We have heard that your uncle has mysteriously disappeared." "That's correct. We've reported the matter to the police. I presume you are here to get information about him, ain't you?" "Yes. What do you know about the case?" "Simply this: Last Monday he left this office at five o'clock and proceeded to the Union Club. At about eight o'clock, after his dinner, a telegram was brought in to him. He showed some agitation, put on his hat, took his umbrella and hastily departed. No one seems to know where he went. That was the last we've seen or heard of him since. We informed the police and nothing has yet come of it." "Did he have any domestic or business trouble?" "None that I'm aware of." "Ever speak of suicide?" Mason assumed a very mysterious air, bent near the detectives and replied: "Yes! Several times. And I fear he has kept his threat at last." The Bradys were startled at this unexpected reply. CHAPTER V. THE PICTURE ON THE WALL. Ronald Mason was keenly watching the effect his words produced upon the detectives, and he noted their looks of astonishment. When Old King Brady recovered from the shock, he demanded: "Can you tell me why your uncle contemplated suicide?" "Yes. He was afflicted with an incurable disease. He never told any one about it except me. He had the consumption." "I see," said the old detective, nodding. "It made him despondent?" "Yes. He sometimes had no desire to live, only to perish in the end of a lingering malady, which was bound to prove fatal, anyway." "Didn't his daughter know anything about it?" "Not a thing. He kept it a secret from her so she would not worry." "Presuming he killed himself, who would benefit by his death?" "His daughter and I. We are his only relatives." "You are his nephew, I believe?" "Well, yes. By adoption, but not by blood." "How do you mean?" "I was his dead sister's adopted child. Legally, I'm his nephew." "Since he vanished, have you been conducting his business?" "Oh, yes. I'm capable of doing it. In fact, even when he was here I've been in the habit of attending to most all of it. He recently hasn't done much more than sign checks." "Since he vanished, have you been here every day?"