I was not so sure of that, for, supposing the thief to be Poulson, that worthy had already got three days’ start. As yet, however, I was by no means certain that there had been any thief in the case. When I had got from the organ-grinder a description of the land of houses in which he lived, I found that it was one well known to me as one of the ricketiest buildings in the quarter, and I quickly formed a theory, from his description of the place and circumstances, that seemed to offer the only feasible explanation. He had thrust the bag of money into a hole inside the chimney; that hole might have been deeper than he thought; might have led into another chimney; and so, in thrusting in the treasure, it was possible he might have sent it tumbling down, like a gift from heaven, into some wretched abode beneath. I said little of this idea at the moment, but anxiety to test the matter induced me to go with the queer pair to the organ-grinder’s garret. It was a poor place, and very small. There was a bed at one side, and a window jutting out on the slates. This window was fastened with two thick screw nails on the inside, and had not been opened for years. I tried with all my strength to open it, but it did not yield in the slightest. The place was very tidy and clean, considering that no woman ever got within the door. I turned to the fire-place, beside which stood a square board very much papered over on one side, but showing clean white wood and two cross spars on the other. This fitted the fire-place exactly. Directed by the organ-grinder I reached up inside the fire-place and soon touched a recess in the wall of the chimney. It was a mistake to call it a hole; it was a mere ledge in the wall on which a bag of money might have rested easily, but in which it could scarcely be said to be hidden. There was no soot in the chimney, and my fingers were not even soiled by the inspection. My theory, of course, was completely knocked on the head, but I immediately formed another.