Mr. Stott shook his head and made a choking noise in his throat. Presently he commanded his speech. “Covered over with black paper,” he said. “Who was it?” “A Chinaman and a woman,” said the other. “Why in hell didn’t you stop them?” snapped Carver. “A Chinaman and a woman,” repeated Stott miserably. “What was she like?” “I didn’t get near enough to see,” Mr. Stott made the confession without shame. “There ought to have been police here--lots of police--. It is disgraceful. I am going to write to the--” They left him quivering threats. Carver ran across the concrete garden, unlocked the door and switched on all the lights in the hall. Nothing, so far as he could see, had been disturbed. The door to the vault was locked, and had not been tampered with. Apparently the dining-room had. The fireplace of the house was a broad deep cavity lined with red brick, and pointed with a yellow cement. An electric radiator had replaced the stove, and Carter had made a very thorough examination both of the recess and of the wide chimney above. But he saw at a glance that his inspection had been short of perfect. One of the bricks had been taken out. It lay on the table, with its steel lid open, and Carver surveyed it thoughtfully. “That is one on me,” he said. “It looks like the face of a brick, doesn’t it? Look at that artistic cement pointing all round the edge? It isn’t cement at all, but steel. In fact, this must be about the only secret drawer in the house. I ought to have made more thorough enquiries from the builders.” The box was empty except for a tiny rubber band. They found its fellow on the table. “There was something of importance in that box which has been taken out; probably a bundle of papers, more likely two bundles. The rubber bands suggest two. Anyway, they’re gone.” He glanced around the room. “And the green lacquer box has gone,” he said. “I know it was here, because I put it on the mantelshelf with my own hands.” He opened the door leading to the vault and satisfied himself that nobody had gained admission to the underground room. “We had better go along and see this police critic,” he said grimly. It appeared that he had done Mr. Stott an injustice, for greatly fearing, he had crossed the road whilst the people were in the house, and he had made honest attempts to find a policeman, having sent the toothachy Eline on that errand, which was successful, if the success was somewhat belated, for the policeman arrived with her whilst the Inspector was talking to the merchant. “I not only crossed the road,” said Mr. Stott, “but I went inside the garden. They must have seen me, for the light in the dining-room went out suddenly, and they came flying down the steps together.” “And passed you, of course?” “They did not pass me,” explained Mr. Stott emphatically, “because I was on the other side of the road before they were out of the gate. I do not think anything would have passed me.”