"I think not," Mr. Bell answered. "But there's one on the floor below, just opposite the lift--I see the bill on the door every day as I come up." "We'll try that, then. I'll rake out every ventilator in this palatial edifice before I'll call myself beaten. Come, call the housekeeper. Is there a speaking tube? Tell him to bring a light." The housekeeper came, wonderingly, with a watch-man's oil-lantern, and we all went to the floor below. Opposite the lift was a glass door from which a bill had recently been torn. "Why, it's let!" said Mr. Bell. "Yes, sir," assented the housekeeper. "Let a day or two ago to a Mr. Catherton Hunt. Or, at least, a deposit was paid." "But see--the door's not locked," Hewitt observed, pushing it open. "I think we'll trespass on Mr. Catherton Hunt's new offices, since they seem quite empty, and he hasn't taken possession. Come--ventilators!" It was a small office--an outer room of moderate size, and one smaller inner room. Hewitt at once attacked the ventilators in the larger apartment--there were two of them--but retired disappointed from each. There was one ventilator only in the small room. Hewitt tilted the lid, which was at about the level of his eyes, thrust in his hand, and drew forth a bundle of folded papers; thrust in his hand again and drew forth another bundle; did it again, and drew forth more! Mr. Bell fell upon the first bundle almost as a dog falls upon a bone; and now he snatched eagerly at each successive paper or bundle, till Hewitt raked the grating with his stick, and declared that there were no more. "Is that all?" he asked. Mr. Bell went tremblingly from paper to paper, and, at last, said that he believed it really was. "I can verify it by the list upstairs," he added, "if you are sure there are no more." "No more," repeated Hewitt, rattling his stick in the ventilator again. "Let us go and verify, by all means." We sent the puzzled housekeeper away, and returned to the office above, and presently Mr. Bell, now beginning so far to recover from his amazement as to express incoherent gratitude, reported that the bonds were correct and complete to the last and least. "Very well," said Hewitt, "then my part of the business is done, though I must say I've had luck, or rather, Brett has had it for me. But the police must come on now. I think, Mr. Bell, we'll go along to Scotland Yard when we leave here. They'll be wanting to see Mr. Catherton Hunt, I expect, whoever he is--and somebody in your office, too, if I'm not sadly mistaken." "Who?" gasped Mr. Bell. "That, perhaps, you can help to point out. See here--do you know whose figures they are?" and Hewitt produced the small slip of paper containing the cypher. "They're very small," remarked Mr. Bell, putting on his glasses; "very small indeed; but I think--why they're Henning's, I do believe!"