"No!" cried Paul, with energy, "I left it on that table, and nowhere else. Come, Mr. Craig, this must be some jest of yours. You have removed the box since you entered the office, and are doing this to frighten me." "Was there any box on yonder table when we entered this room, Morisson?" said Craig, addressing himself to the clerk. "No, sir." "You see, my dear Lisimon, it must be you who are jesting. Were you any other than the beloved protege of my respected client, Don Juan Moraquitos, I should positively begin to be alarmed." "Jesting!" exclaimed Paul; "I swear to you that before leaving this office last night, I locked the cash-box containing the dollar bills and placed it upon that table. Search where you will, Morisson," he said, looking at the clerk, who, at a whispered order from his employer, had begun to search the office, "unless there has been witchcraft about, you will find it there and nowhere else, for there I left it." "Come, come, Mr. Lisimon," said Craig, in an altered tone, "this is really too absurd. We no longer believe in magic, or the juggleries of the fiend. You say you left the box in this apartment last night. It must therefore be here this morning, if you have spoken the truth." "If I have spoken the truth!" echoed Paul, the hue of his cheeks changing from pale to crimson. "Not a creature has entered this room since you left it," continued Silas; "for there is but one key to the door, and that has been in your possession until within the last ten minutes. The boy Marcus sleeps in the office; call him, Morisson." The mulatto lad made his appearance. "Marcus," said his master, "did any one enter this room last night?" "No, massa, the door was locked." "I know that; and no one entered by any means whatever?" "No one, massa, unless de debil go through de keyhole." "When Mr. Lisimon left this office last night, had he anything in his hand?" "Noting, massa." "But he might have had something in his pocket," muttered Silas, in an undertone. Paul Lisimon turned upon his employer with indignant fury. "Mr. Craig," he exclaimed, "could you dare to insinuate--" "No, Mr. Lisimon, it is rather too late in the day for insinuations," answered the attorney, with a sardonic laugh, "you were left in charge of a sum of money; you were told to place it in this room to which no one but yourself had access. The fact is only too clear; you have disgraced the bounty of your patron; you are a thief!" "A thief!" shrieked Paul. The lawyer's gold-headed bamboo cane stood in one corner of the office; before the clerk, Morisson, could interpose, Paul Lisimon snatched this cane in his convulsed grasp, and bounding upon Silas Craig, struck him across the face.