“Yes,” said Bertram with a short sigh. “But it will come in time. It cannot be but that our efforts must finally succeed. I have just had a new idea; that of putting the watchman on the hunt for Hopgood. They are old friends, and he ought to know all the other’s haunts and possible hiding-places.” “If Fanning could have helped us, he would have told us long ago. He knows that Hopgood is missing and that we are ready to pay well for any information concerning him.” “But they are old cronies, and possibly Fanning is keeping quiet out of consideration for his friend.” “No; I have had a talk with Fanning, and there was no mistaking his look of surprise when told the other had run away under suspicion of being connected with a robbery on the bank’s effects. He knows no more of Hopgood than we do, or his wife does, or the police even. It is a strange mystery, and one to which I fear we shall never obtain the key. But don’t let me discourage you; after a suitable time Mr. Stuyvesant will—” He paused, for that gentleman was approaching him. “There is a man outside who insists upon seeing me; says he knows there has just been a wedding here, but that the matter he has to communicate is very important, and won’t bear putting off. The name on his card is Cummins; I am afraid I shall have to admit him, that is, if you have no objection?” Mr. Sylvester and Bertram at once drew back with ready acquiescence. They had scarcely taken their stand at the other end of the apartment, when the man came in. He was of robust build, round, precise and business-like. He had taken off his hat, but still wore his overcoat; his face in spite of a profusion of red whiskers and a decided pair of goggles, was earnest and straightforward. He walked at once up to Mr. Stuyvesant. “Your pardon,” said he, in a quick tone. “But I hear you have been somewhat exercised of late over the disappearance of certain bonds from one of the boxes in the Madison Bank. I am a detective, and in the course of my duty have come upon a few facts that may help to explain matters.” Mr. Sylvester and Bertram at once started forward; this was a topic that demanded their attention as well as that of the master of the house. The man cast them a quick look from behind his goggles, and seeming to recognize them, included them in his next question. “What do you think of the watchman, Fanning?” “Think? we don’t think,” uttered Mr. Stuyvesant sharply. “He has been in the employ of the bank for twelve years, and we know him to be honest.” “Yet he is the man who stole your bonds.” “Impossible!” “The very man.” Mr. Sylvester stepped up to him. “Who are you, and how do you know this?”