“I had hoped the affair begun and ended with my individual loss,” muttered Mr. Stuyvesant under his breath. The stately president and the inscrutable detective still maintained their silence. Suddenly the latter moved. Turning towards Mr. Sylvester, he requested him to step with him to the window. “I want to have a look at your several employees,” whispered he, as they thus withdrew. “I want to see them without being seen by them. If you can manage to have them come in here one by one upon some pretext or other, I can so arrange that screen under the mantel-piece, that it shall not only hide me, but give me a very good view of their faces in the mirror overhead.” “There will be no difficulty about summoning the men,” said Mr. Sylvester. “And you consent to the scheme?” “Certainly, if you think anything is to be gained by it.” “I am sure that nothing will be lost. And sir, let the cashier be present if you please; and sir,” squeezing his watch chain with a complacent air, as the other dropped his eyes, “talk to them about anything that you please, only let it be of a nature that will necessitate a sentence or more in reply. I judge a man as much by his voice as his expression.” Mr. Sylvester bowed, and without losing his self-command, though the short allusion to Bertram had greatly startled him, turned back to the table where Mr. Folger was still standing in conversation with the director. “I will not detain you longer,” said he to the paying teller. “Your discretion will prevent you from speaking of this matter, I trust.” Then as the other bowed, added carelessly, “I have something to say to Jessup; will you see that he steps here for a moment?” Mr. Folger again nodded and left the room. Instantly Mr. Gryce bustled forward, and pulling the screen into the position he thought best calculated to answer his requirements, slid rapidly behind it. Mr. Stuyvesant looked up in surprise. “I am going to interview the clerks for Mr. Gryce’s benefit,” exclaimed Mr. Sylvester. “Will you in the meantime look over the morning paper?” “Thank you,” returned the other, edging nervously to one side, “my note-book will do just as well,” and sitting down at the remote end of the table, he took out a book from his pocket, above which he bent with very well simulated preoccupation. Mr. Sylvester called in Bertram and then seated himself with a hopeless and unexpectant look, which he for the moment forgot would be reflected in the mirror before him, and so carried to the eye of the watchful detective. In another instant Jessup entered.