“He is a very busy man,” returned Paula simply, and was silent, struck by some secret dread she could not have explained. Suddenly she rose; she had found an envelope beneath her plate, addressed to herself. It was bulky and evidently contained a key. Hastening behind the curtains of the window, she opened it. The key was to that secret study of his at the top of the house, which no one but himself had ever been seen to enter, and the words that enwrapped it were these: “If I send you no word to the contrary, and if I do not come back by seven o’clock this evening, go to the room of which this is the key, open my desk, and read what I have prepared for your eyes. “E. S.” XXXVII. THE OPINION OF A CERTAIN NOTED DETECTIVE. “But still there clung One hope, like a keen sword on starting threads uphung.” —REVOLT OF ISLAM. “Facts are stubborn things.”—ELLIOTT. Meanwhile Mr. Stuyvesant hasted on his way down town and ere long made his appearance at the bank. He found Mr. Sylvester and Bertram seated in the directors’ room, with a portly smooth-faced man whose appearance was at once strange and vaguely familiar. “A detective, sir,” explained Mr. Sylvester rising with forced composure; “a man upon whose judgment I have been told we may rely. Mr. Gryce, Mr. Stuyvesant.” The latter gentleman nodded, cast a glance around the room, during which his eye rested for a moment on Bertram’s somewhat pale countenance, and nervously took a seat. “A mysterious piece of business, this,” came from the detective’s lips in an easy tone, calculated to relieve the tension of embarrassment into which the entrance of Mr. Stuyvesant seemed to have thrown all parties. “What were the numbers of the bonds found missing, if you please?” Mr. Stuyvesant told him. “You are positively assured these bonds were all in the box when you last locked it?” “I am.” “When was that, sir? On what day and at what hour of the day, if you please?” “Tuesday, at about three o’clock, I should say.” “The box was locked by you? There is no doubt about that fact?” “None in the least.” “Where were you standing at the time?” “In front of the vault door. I had taken out the box myself as I am in the habit of doing, and had stepped there to put it back.” “Was any one near you then?” “Yes. The cashier was at his desk and the teller had occasion to go to the safe while I stood there. I do not remember seeing any one else in my immediate vicinity.” “Do you remember ever going to the vaults and not finding some one near you at the time or at least in full view of your movements?” “No.” “I have informed Mr. Gryce,” interposed Mr. Sylvester, with a ring in his deep voice that made Mr. Stuyvesant start, “that our chief desire at present is to have his judgment upon the all important question, as to whether this theft was committed by a stranger, or one in the employ and consequently in the confidence of the bank.”