ylor-Brent jumped suddenly to his feet, all his self-possession
gone for the moment.

"Gad! I never thought of that. Hang it! man, you're making a bigger
puzzle of it than ever. You're not insinuating that that boy murdered
old Simmons, are you? I can't believe that."

"I'm not insinuating anything," responded Cleek blandly, "but I have to
look at things from every angle there is. When you got downstairs with
the inspector, Mr. Brent, did you happen to notice the safe or not?"

"Yes, I did. Indeed, I fear that was my first thought--it was natural,
with L200,000 Bank of England notes to be responsible for--and at first
I thought everything was all right. Then young Wilson told me that he
himself had closed the safe door.... What are you smiling at, Mr.
Headland? It's no laughing matter, I assure you!"

The queer little one-sided smile, so indicative of the man, travelled
for a moment up Cleek's cheek and was gone again in a twinkling.

"Nothing," he responded briefly. "Just a passing thought. Then you mean
to say young Wilson closed the safe. Did he know the notes had vanished?
But of course you said he knew nothing of them. But if they were there
when he looked in--"

His voice trailed off into silence, and he let the rest of the sentence
go by default. Mr. Brent's face flushed crimson with excitement.

"Why, at that rate," he ejaculated, "the money wasn't stolen until young
Wilson sent the inspector up for me. And we let him walk quietly out!
You were right, Mr. Headland, if I had only done my duty and told
Inspector Corkran at once--"

"Steady man, steady. I don't say it _is_ so," put in Cleek with a quiet
little smile. "I'm only trying to find light--"

"And making it a dashed sight blacker still, begging your pardon,"
returned Mr. Brent briskly.

"That's as may be. But the devil isn't always as black as he is
painted," responded Cleek. "I'd like to see this Wilson, Mr. Brent,
unless he is so ill he hasn't been able to attend the office."

"Oh he's back at work to-day, and I'll have him here in a twinkling."

And almost in a twinkling he arrived--a young, slim, pallid youngster,
rather given to over-brightness in his choice of ties, and somewhat
better dressed than is the lot of most bank clerks. Cleek noted the
pearl pin, the well-cut suit he wore, and for a moment his face wore a
strange look.

Mr. Naylor-Brent's brisk voice broke the silence.

"These gentlemen are from Scotland Yard, Wilson," he sa