"You were here at this hour, I believe," continued Mr Merrett, "but you
had left the office between 9 and 9:45."
"No, sir. I have not left the office since I arrived at half-past
eight."
Mr Merrett touched the bell.
"Send Hawkesbury here," he said to Doubleday.
Hawkesbury appeared, and at Mr Merrett's bidding, after being shown the
cheque, repeated once more his story in the hearing of the stranger.
It did not vary from the former version, and included the statement that
I had quitted the office at the time alleged.
"Did you leave the office at all?" inquired Mr Barnacle.
"No," said Hawkesbury.
"Not at all?"
"No, I said so," replied he.
"And no one came to see you here?"
"No."
"Your friend Masham did not?"
Hawkesbury, much offended to be thus catechised, made no reply.
Mr Barnacle coolly repeated the question.
"No--he did not!"
"What were you doing all the time?"
"I was working."
"Yes, what particular work were you engaged in?"
"I told you--I was balancing the petty-cash."
"Did you finish it?"
"Nearly."
Mr Barnacle touched the bell, and Doubleday appeared.
"Doubleday, go to Hawkesbury's desk and bring me the petty-cash book and
box."
Hawkesbury turned pale and broke out into a rage.
"What is this for, Mr Barnacle? I am not going to stand it! What
right have you to suspect me?"
"Give Doubleday the key," repeated Mr Barnacle.
"No," exclaimed Hawkesbury, in a white heat. "I will not, I will fetch
the book myself. He doesn't know where to find it. He has no business
to go to my desk."
"Remain where you are, Hawkesbury," said Mr Barnacle.
"What right have you to search my desk? I have private things in it.
Uncle Merrett, are you going to allow this?"
"Mr Barnacle has a perfect right to see the petty-cash account," said
Mr Merrett, looking, however, by no means pleased.
"Why don't you examine his desk?" said Hawkesbury, pointing to me; "he
is the one to suspect, not me. Why don't you search his desk?"
"I have no objection to my desk being searched," said I, feeling a good
deal concerned, however, at the thought of the mess that receptacle was
in.
"It is only fair," said Mr Barnacle. "This gentleman will search both,
I dare say. Doubleday, show this gentleman both desks."
It was a long, uncomfortable interval which ensued, Hawkesbury breaking
out in periodical protests against his desk being examined, and I
wondering where and how to look for help. The partners meanwhile stood
and talked together in a whisper at the window.
At length the gentleman, who, it had dawned on me, was not a bank
official, but a detective, returned with Doubleday, who carried in his
hands a few books and papers.
The petty-cash book and box were first delivered over, and without
examination consigned to the safe.
"These letters were in the same desk," said the detective, laying down
the papers on the table. They appeared to be letters, and in the
address of the top one I instantly recognised the handwriting of the
letter sent to Mary Smith, which I still had in my pocket.
Hawkesbury made an angry grasp at the papers. "They are private
letters," he exclaimed, "give them up! What right have you to touch
them?"
"Hawkesbury," said Mr Barnacle, "in a case like this it is better for
you to submit quietly to what has been done. Nothing in these papers
that does not concern the matter in hand is likely to tell against you.
Is that all, officer?"
"That's all in that desk," said the detective. "In the other young
gentleman's desk the only thing besides business papers and litter was
this key."
A key? What key could it be? It was the first I had seen of it!
"Let me look at it," said Mr Merrett, suddenly, as the detective laid
it on the table.
It was handed to him, and his face changed as he took it. He turned for
a moment to show it to Mr Barnacle and whisper something. Then he
said, "This is my key of the safe, which I left last night in the pocket
of my office coat in this room!"