“So you married me for my money,” he said, and laughed. It was not without its amusing side, this situation. “By Heaven, what a comedy--what a comedy!” He laughed again. “My poor child,” he said, with unaccustomed irony, “I am sorry for you, for you have secured neither husband nor money!” She looked up at him quickly. “Nor money,” she repeated. There was only interest that he saw in her eyes. There was no hint of disappointment. He knew the truth, more than she had told him: it was not she who desired a fortune, it was this mother of hers, this domineering, worldly woman. “No husband and no money,” he repeated savagely, in spite of the almost yearning desire which was in him to spare her. “And worse than that”--with two rapid strides he was at the desk which separated them, and bent across it, leaning heavily--“not only have you no husband, and not only is there no money, but----” He stopped as if he had been shot. The girl, looking at him, saw his face go drawn and grey, saw the eyes staring wildly past her, the mouth open in tragic dismay. She got up quickly. “What is it? What is it?” she whispered in alarm. “My God!” His voice was cracked; it was the voice of a man in terror. She half bent her head, listening. From somewhere beneath the window arose the soft, melancholy strains of a violin. The music rose and fell, sobbing and pulsating with passion beneath the magic of the player’s fingers. She stepped to a window and looked out. On the edge of the pavement a girl was playing, a girl whose poverty of dress did not hide her singular beauty. The light from the street lamp fell upon her pale face, her eyes were fixed on the window where Gilbert was standing. Edith looked at her husband. He was shaking like a man with fever. “The ‘Melody in F,’” he whispered. “My God! The ‘Melody in F’--and on my wedding day!” CHAPTER V. THE MAN WHO DESIRED WEALTH Leslie Frankfort was one of a group of three who stood in the inner office of Messrs. Warrell & Bird before a huge safe. There was plenty to attract and hold their attention, for the floor was littered with tools of every shape and description. The safe itself bore evidence of a determined assault. A semi-circle of holes had been burnt in its solid iron door about the lock. “They did that with an oxyhydrogen blow-pipe,” said one of the men. He indicated a number of iron tubes which lay upon the ground with the rest of the paraphernalia. “They made a thorough job of it. I wonder what disturbed them.” The eldest of the men shook his head. “I expect the night watchman may have alarmed them,” he said. “What do you think, Frankfort?” “I haven’t got over my admiration for their thoroughness yet,” said Leslie. “Why, the beggars must have used about a couple of hundred pounds’ worth of tools.” He pointed to the kit on the ground. The detective’s gaze followed his extended finger. He smiled.