The chairman motioned to the high official.

“If you would be good enough to open the box, sir,” he said.  “Our duty is now concluded.”

As the high official laid his hand on the lid the other men gathered round with craning necks and expectant eyes.  The lid was lifted:  somebody sighed deeply.  And Spargo pushed his own head and eyes nearer.

The box was empty!

Empty, as anything that can be empty is empty! thought Spargo:  there was literally nothing in it.  They were all staring into the interior of a plain, time-worn little receptacle, lined out with old-fashioned chintz stuff, such as our Mid-Victorian fore-fathers were familiar with, and containing—­nothing.

“God bless my soul!” exclaimed the chairman.  “This is—­dear me!—­why, there is nothing in the box!”

“That,” remarked the high official, drily, “appears to be obvious.”

The chairman looked at the secretary.

“I understood the box was valuable, Mr. Myerst,” he said, with the half-injured air of a man who considers himself to have been robbed of an exceptionally fine treat.  “Valuable!”

Myerst coughed.

“I can only repeat what I have already said, Sir Benjamin,” he answered.  “The—­er late Mr. Marbury spoke of the deposit as being of great value to him; he never permitted it out of his hand until he placed it in the safe.  He appeared to regard it as of the greatest value.”

“But we understand from the evidence of Mr. Criedir, given to the Watchman newspaper, that it was full of papers and—­and other articles,” said the chairman.  “Criedir saw papers in it about an hour before it was brought here.”

Myerst spread out his hands.

“I can only repeat what I have said, Sir Benjamin,” he answered.  “I know nothing more.”

“But why should a man deposit an empty box?” began the chairman.  “I—­”

The high official interposed.

“That the box is empty is certain,” he observed.  “Did you ever handle it yourself, Mr. Myerst?”

Myerst smiled in a superior fashion.

“I have already observed, sir, that from the time the deceased entered this room until the moment he placed the box in the safe which he rented, the box was never out of his hands,” he replied.

Then there was silence.  At last the high official turned to the chairman.

“Very well,” he said.  “We’ve made the enquiry.  Rathbury, take the box away with you and lock it up at the Yard.”

So Spargo went out with Rathbury and the box; and saw excellent, if mystifying, material for the article which had already become the daily feature of his paper.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MR. AYLMORE IS QUESTIONED