id sharply, "and
they want to know just what happened here on Tuesday night. Tell them
all you know, please."

Young Wilson's pale face went a queer drab shade like newly baked bread.
He began to tremble visibly.

"Happened, sir--happened?" he stammered. "How should I know what
happened? I--I only got there just in time and--"

"Yes, yes. We know just when you got there, Mr. Wilson," said Cleek,
"but what we want to know is what induced you to go down into the vaults
when you fetched the inspector? It seemed a rather unnecessary journey
to say the least of it."

"I heard a cry--at least--"

"Right through the closed door of a nine-inch concrete-walled vault,
Wilson?" struck in Mr. Brent promptly. "Simmons had been shut in there
by myself, Mr. Headland, and--"

"Shut in, Mr. Brent? Shut in, did you say? Then how did Mr. Wilson here,
and the inspector enter?"

Young Wilson stretched out his hand imploringly.

"The door was open," he stammered. "I swear it on my honour. And the
safe was open, and--and the notes were gone!"

"What notes?" It was Mr. Brent's voice which broke the momentary
silence, as he realized the significance of the admission. For answer
the young man dropped his face into his shaking hands.

"Oh, the notes--the L200,000! You may think what you like, sir, but I
swear I am innocent! I never touched the money, nor did I touch my--Mr.
Simmons. I swear it, I swear it!"

"Don't swear too strongly, or you may have to 'un-swear' again," struck
in Cleek, severely. "Mr. Narkom and I would like to have a look at the
vault itself, and see the body, if you have no objection."

"Certainly. Wilson, you had better come along with us, we might need
you. This way, gentlemen."

Speaking, the manager rose to his feet, opened the door of his private
office, and proceeded downstairs by way of an equally private staircase
to the vaults below. Cleek, Mr. Narkom and young Wilson--very much
agitated at the coming ordeal--brought up the rear. As they passed the
door leading into the bank, for the use of the clerks, old Calcott came
out, and paused respectfully in front of the manager.

"If you excuse me, sir," he said, "I thought perhaps you might like to
see this."

He held out a Bank of England L5 note, and Mr. Brent took it and
examined it critically. Then a little cry broke from his lips.

"A. 541063!" he exclaimed. "Good Heavens, Calcott, where did this come
from? Who--?"

Calcott rubbed his old hands