What was said in the short interview that followed, is unimportant. Mr. Jessup, the third teller, was one of those clear eyed, straightforward appearing men whose countenance is its own guarantee. It was not necessary to detain him or make him speak. The next man to come in was Watson, and after he had gone, two or three of the clerks, and later the receiving teller and one of the runners. All stopped long enough to insure Mr. Gryce a good view of their faces, and from each and all did Mr. Sylvester succeed in eliciting more or less conversation in response to the questions he chose to put. With the disappearance of the last mentioned individual, Mr. Gryce peeped from behind the screen. “A set of as honest-looking men as I wish to see!” uttered he with a frank cordiality that was scarcely reflected in the anxious countenances about him. “No sly-boots among them; how about the janitor, Hopgood?” “He shall be summoned at once, if you desire it,” said Mr. Sylvester, “I have only delayed calling him that I might have leisure to interrogate him with reference to his duties, and this very theft. That is if you judge it advisable in me to tamper with the subject unassisted?” “Your nephew can help you if necessary,” replied the imperturbable detective. “I should like to hear what the man, Hopgood, has to say for himself,” and he glided back into his old position. But Mr. Sylvester had scarcely reached out his hand to ring the bell by which he usually summoned the janitor, when the agent of Hicks, Saltzer & Co. came in. It was an interruption that demanded instant attention. Saluting the gentleman with his usual proud reserve, he drew his attention to the box lying upon the table. “This is yours, I believe, sir,” said he. “It was found in our vaults this morning in the condition in which you now behold it, and we are anxious to know if its contents are all correct.” “They have been handled,” returned the agent, after a careful survey of the various papers that filled the box, “but nothing appears to be missing.” Three persons at least in that room breathed more easily. “But the truth is,” the gentleman continued, with a half smile towards the silent President of the bank, “there was nothing in this box that would have been of much use to any other parties than ourselves. If there had been a bond or so here, I doubt if we should have come off so fortunately, eh? The lock has evidently been wrenched open, and that is certainly a pretty sure sign that something is not right hereabouts.” “Something is decidedly wrong,” came from Mr. Sylvester sternly; “but through whose fault we do not as yet know.” And with a few words expressive of his relief at finding the other had sustained no material loss, he allowed the agent to depart. He had no sooner left the room than Mr. Stuyvesant rose. “Are you going to question Hopgood now?” queried he, nervously pocketing his note-book. “Yes sir, if you have no objections.”