Here, it seemed to Bales, was another case as free from a clue to the criminal as that of the murder at Montem. He felt as if his skill were specially challenged, and he resolved at once to delay his return to London. “You will really not be offended at my meddling in this case?” he said to the Brazencrook chief. “Not at all--not at all. I question whether Mr. Flooks really put any money on the counter. These professionals, as they call themselves, are up to so many dodges for advertising and all that sort of thing. If he did put any money on the counter, I suppose the fact of a parson condescending to speak to him flurried him, and he forgot where he was, because they have been preaching against his entertainment.” The superintendent was quite friendly in his conduct towards Mr. Bales, and said he should be glad if he hit the mark in this business better than he had done in that other little affair. Mr. Bales, after paying Mr. Flooks a private business visit, and seeing several letters referring to £280 (which was really a payment to Flooks for the goodwill, scenery, &c., of a small music-hall establishment at Severntown), went to his lodgings, reported himself for two days further leave of absence, lit a cigar, and quietly thought over the story he had just heard. There was clearly nothing in the Brazencrook officer’s idea about Flooks having lost no money: there was the transaction before him accounting for the receipt of £280 out of the £300. Could the cashier himself be the thief? No. The curate?--the receiver? No. Had the job been done by a professional thief? He thought not. He could not exactly say why. He thought that this was a case of sudden temptation and robbery. This was his theory: the receiver had been busy at his desk; Flooks, the Casino proprietor, flurried, as the policeman had said, by talking to a parson--had been engrossed in the clerical conversation; a third party had come in on business, and had walked out again unobserved with the notes in his pocket. Under such circumstances, the thief would naturally become worried and nervous, when he got into the street, as to his next step. What would he be likely to do? Brazencrook was a large town--a town of some eighty thousand inhabitants--a busy, bustling place. What would the fellow do--slink away? If he were a professional thief, no doubt he would. But a new hand--there was a cab-stand close by, and he would call a cab--of course he would, Bales repeated to himself. He made inquiries at once. There were only two flys on the stand, and the drivers had not taken a fare that morning. “Drive me to the next stand,” said Bales, stepping into the first cab.