"For an affair of such tragic importance, Mr. Headland," he said, "it is singularly lacking in details. There is really nothing more to tell you than that at 6 o'clock, when I myself retired from the bank to my private rooms overhead, I left poor Simmons on guard over the safe; at half-past nine I was fetched down by the inspector on the beat, who had left young Wilson with the body. After that----" Cleek lifted a silencing hand. "One moment," he said. "Who is young Wilson, Mr. Brent, and why should he instead of the inspector have been left alone with the body?" "Wilson is one of the cashiers, Mr. Headland--a nice lad. It seems he found the bank's outer door unlatched, and called up the constable on the beat; as luck would have it the inspector happened along, and down they went into the vaults together. But as to why the inspector left young Wilson with the body instead of sending him up for me--well, frankly, I had never given the thing a thought until now." "I see. Funny thing this chap Wilson should have made straight for the vaults, though. Did he expect a murder or robbery beforehand? Was he acquainted with the fact that the notes were there, Mr. Brent?" "No. He knew nothing whatever about them. No one did--that is, no one but the head clerk, Mr. Calcott, myself, and old Simmons. In bank matters, you know, the less said about such things the better, and----" Mr. Narkom nodded. "Very wise, very wise indeed!" he said, approvingly. "One can't be too careful in money matters, and if I may say so, bank pay being none too high, the temptation must sometimes be rather great. I've a couple of nephews in the bank myself----" Cleek's eyes silenced him as though there had been a spoken word. "This Wilson, Mr. Brent," Cleek asked, quietly, "is he a young man?" "Oh--quite young. Not more than four or five and twenty, I should say. Came from London with an excellent reference, and so far has given every satisfaction. Universal favourite with the firm, and also with old Simmons himself. I believe the two used sometimes to lunch together, and were firm friends. It seems almost a coincidence that the old man should have died in the boy's arms." "He made no statement, I suppose, before he died, to give an idea of the assassin? But of course you wouldn't know that, as you weren't there." "As it happens I do, Mr. Headland. Young Wilson, who is frightfully upset--in fact, the shock of the thing has completely shattered his nerves, never very strong at the best of times--says that the old man just writhed and writhed, and muttered something about a rope. Then he fell back dead." "A rope?" asked Cleek in surprise. "Was he tied or bound then?" "That's just it. There was no sign of anything whatever to do with a rope about him. It was possibly a death delusion, or something of the sort. Perhaps the poor old chap was semi-conscious."