“One question more. Who is the man to attend to those boxes? I mean to ask, which of the men in your employ is expected to procure a box out of the vaults when it is called for, and put it back in its place when its owner is through with it?” “Hopgood usually does that business, the janitor of whom we have just been speaking. When he is upstairs or out of the way, any one else whom it may be convenient to call.” “The janitor, then, has free access to the boxes at all times, night and day?” “In one sense, yes, in another, no. Should he unlock the vaults at night, the watchman would report upon his proceedings.” “But there must be time between the closing and opening of the bank, when the janitor is alone with the vaults?” “There is a space of two hours after seven in the morning, when he is likely to be the sole one in charge. The watchman goes home, and Hopgood employs himself in sweeping out the bank and preparing it for the business of the day.” “Are the watchman and the janitor on good terms with one another?” “Very, I believe.” The detective looked thoughtful. “I should like to see this Hopgood,” said he. But just then the door opened and Mr. Folger came in, looking somewhat pale and disturbed. “We are in a difficulty,” cried he, stepping up to the table where they sat. “I have found two of the boxes unlocked; that belonging to Hicks, Saltzer and Co., and another with the name of Harrington upon it. The former has been wrenched apart, the latter opened with some sort of instrument. Would you like to see them, sir?” This to Mr. Sylvester. With a start that gentleman rose, and as suddenly reseated himself. “Yes,” returned he, carefully avoiding his nephew’s eye; “bring them in.” “Hicks, Saltzer and Co., is a foreign house,” remarked Mr. Stuyvesant to the detective, “and do not send for their box once a fortnight, as I have heard Mr. Sylvester declare. Mr. Harrington is on an exploring expedition and is at present in South America.” Then in lower tones, whose sternness was not unmixed with gloom, “The thief seems to have known what boxes to go to.” Bertram flushed and made some passing rejoinder; Mr. Sylvester and the detective alone remained silent. The boxes being brought in, Mr. Gryce opened them without ceremony. Several papers met his eye in both, but as no one but the owners could know their rightful contents, it was of course impossible for him to determine whether anything had been stolen from them or not. “Send for the New York agent of Hicks, Saltzer and Co.,” came from Mr. Sylvester, in short, business-like command. Bertram at once rose. “I will see to it,” said he. His agitation was too great for suppression, the expression of Mr. Stuyvesant’s eye, that in its restlessness wandered in every direction but his own, troubled him beyond endurance. With a hasty move he left the room. The cold eye of the detective followed him. “Looks bad,” came in laconic tones from the paying teller.