“Then I forgive you, dear. No, don’t kiss me. You’ll spoil the set of my hat, and make the driver turn round. And—and—oh Alan,” she suddenly dropped her bantering tone and became anxious. “I do hope Yarbury’s Bank is in existence. Where did you tell the man to drive to?” “Monks Lane, Cheapside, dear. As he is doing so, thank heaven _that_ is yet in existence. So much we have to be thankful for.” In Cheapside, and at the entrance of a narrow side street which the driver assured them was the lane in question, they alighted, and walked down it after the taxi had been dismissed. Both Marie and Alan crooked their necks staring upward to see the much-desired name; but not finding it, the lawyer asked an office-boy who came out of a near building if he could direct him to Yarbury’s Bank. To the relief of the couple, an answer came terse and sharp, that it was number twenty, just round the corner, which meant that the place was situated where the lane suddenly, so to speak, crooked an elbow. “Oh thank goodness!” murmured Marie, when they came face to face with a very dingy building, black with age and grime, and wedged in between two tall houses which overtopped it considerably. “It’s Yarbury’s!” “Sure enough,” replied Fuller, staring hard at the wire blinds—half blinds they were—which displayed the magic name in dull gold letters. “Cheer up, Marie; since the bank is here, we are certain to find the treasure.” “I hope so,” answered the girl doubtfully, “but I shall believe nothing until I see the gems with my very own eyes.” Alan laughed, and led the way into a broad and low room of vast proportions filled with mahogany counters, protected by shining brass railings, and a number of desks, high and low, with shaded electric lamps over each; for the place was darkish even at noon. A number of clerks were busy with the usual business of the bank, and two or three customers were paying in, and drawing out money. On inquiring if the manager could be seen, a message was sent and an answer received that the great man would accord an interview to the strangers. Alan sent in his card and that of Miss Inderwick, and after another short delay the two were conducted into a fair-sized room at the very back of the building, to be welcomed by an elderly gentleman with white hair and a brisk expression. He was small and neat and very well dressed, and his manners were scrupulously polite. Yet as he placed a couple of chairs for his visitors, Alan noticed that he cast a curious glance at Marie. “What can I do for you?” he asked, addressing himself to Fuller. “You are the manager of Yarbury’s Bank?” inquired Alan rather unnecessarily, but anxious to be quite sure of his ground. “Certainly. Berwick is my name, and I have been in charge for some years.” “It is a very old bank, isn’t it?” asked Marie timidly. “Very, my dear young lady!” “One hundred and fifty years more or less,” put in Fuller suddenly.