inquiries as to this mysterious assistant and found that I had to deal with one

of the coolest and most daring criminals in London. He was doing something in

the cellar—something which took many hours a day for months on end. What

could it be, once more? I could think of nothing save that he was running a

tunnel to some other building.


“So far I had got when we went to visit the scene of action. I surprised

you by beating upon the pavement with my stick. I was ascertaining whether the

cellar stretched out in front or behind. It was not in front. Then I rang the

bell, and, as I hoped, the assistant answered it. We have had some skirmishes,

but we had never set eyes upon each other before. I hardly looked at his face.

His knees were what I wished to see. You must yourself have remarked how worn,

wrinkled, and stained they were. They spoke of those hours of burrowing. The

only remaining point was what they were burrowing for. I walked round the

corner, saw the City and Suburban Bank abutted on our friend’s premises,

and felt that I had solved my problem. When you drove home after the concert I

called upon Scotland Yard and upon the chairman of the bank directors, with the

result that you have seen.”


“And how could you tell that they would make their attempt

to-night?” I asked.


“Well, when they closed their League offices that was a sign that they

cared no longer about Mr. Jabez Wilson’s presence—in other words,

that they had completed their tunnel. But it was essential that they should use

it soon, as it might be discovered, or the bullion might be removed. Saturday

would suit them better than any other day, as it would give them two days for

their escape. For all these reasons I expected them to come to-night.”


“You reasoned it out beautifully,” I exclaimed in unfeigned

admiration. “It is so long a chain, and yet every link rings true.”


“It saved me from ennui,” he answered, yawning. “Alas! I