He snatched up his bag and was marching off, when the door opened, and Monckton with a detective confronted him.

“No,” roared Bartley, furious in turn; “but you will stay to be examined.”

“Examined!”

“Searched, then, if you like it better.”

“No, don’t do that,” said the young fellow.  “Spare me such a humiliation.”

Bartley, who was avaricious, but not cruel, hesitated.

“Well,” said he, “I will examine the safe before I go further.”

Mr. Bartley opened the safe and took out the cash-box.  It was empty.  He uttered a loud exclamation.  “Why, it’s a clean sweep!  A wholesale robbery!  Notes and gold all gone!  No wonder you were in such a hurry to leave!  Luckily some of the notes were numbered.  Search him.”

“No, no.  Don’t treat me like a thief!” cried the poor boy, almost sobbing.

“If you are innocent, why object?” said Monckton, satirically.

“You villain,” cried Clifford, “this is your doing!  I am sure of it!”

Monckton only grinned triumphantly; but Bartley fired up.  “If there is a villain here, it is you. He is a faithful servant, who warned his employer.”  He then pointed sternly at young Bolton, and the detective stepped up to him and said, curtly, “Now, sir, if I must.”

He then proceeded to search his waistcoat pockets.  The young man hung his head, and looked guilty.  He had heard of money being put into an innocent man’s pockets, and he feared that game had been played with him.

The detective examined his waistcoat pockets and found—­nothing.  His other pockets—­nothing.

The detective patted his breast and examined his stockings—­nothing.

“Try the bag,” said Monckton.

Then the poor fellow trembled again.

The detective searched the bag—­nothing.

He took the overcoat and turned the pockets out—­nothing.

Bartley looked surprised.  Monckton still more so.  Meantime Hope had gone round from the lobby, and now entered by the small office, and stood watching a part of this business, viz., the search of the bag and the overcoat, with a bitter look of irony.

“But my safe must have been opened with false keys,” cried Bartley.  “Where are they?”

“And the numbered notes,” said Monckton, “where are they?”

“Gentlemen,” said Hope, “may I offer my advice?”

“Who the devil are you?” said Monckton.

“He is my new partner, my associate in business,” said the politic Bartley.  Then deferentially to Hope, “What do you advise?”

“You have two clerks.  I would examine them both.”

“Examine me?” cried Monckton.  “Mr. Bartley, will you allow such an affront to be put on your old and faithful servant?”

“If you are innocent, why object?” said young Clifford, spitefully, before Bartley could answer.

The remark struck Bartley, and he acted on it.