“Found it?” he demanded tersely.

Rachel, strangely at a loss, hesitated and glanced at Louis as if for succour.

“No, I haven’t, Mr. Batchgrew,” she said.  “I haven’t, I’m sure.  And I’ve turned over every possible thing likely or unlikely.”

Mr. Batchgrew growled—­

“From th’ look of ye I made sure that th’ money had turned up all right—­ye were that comfortable and cosy!  Who’d guess as nigh on a thousand pound’s missing out of this house since last night!”

The heavy voice rolled over them brutally.  Louis attempted to withstand Mr. Batchgrew’s glare, but failed.  He was sure of the absolute impregnability of his own position; but the clear memory of at least one humiliating and disastrous interview with Thomas Batchgrew in the past robbed Louis’ eye of its composure.  The circumstances under which he had left the councillor’s employ some years ago were historic and unforgettable.

“I came in back way instead of front way,” said Thomas Batchgrew, “because I thought I’d have a look at that scullery door.  Kitchen’s empty.”

“What about the scullery door?” Louis lightly demanded.

Rachel murmured—­

“I forgot to tell you; it was open when I came down in the middle of the night.”  And then she added:  “Wide open.”

“Upon my soul!” said Louis slowly, with marked constraint.  “I really forget whether I looked at that door before I went to bed.  I know I looked at all the others.”

“I’d looked at it, anyway,” said Rachel defiantly, gazing at the table.

“And when you found it open, miss,” pursued Thomas Batchgrew, “what did ye do?”

“I shut it and locked it.”

“Where was the key?”

“In the door.”

“Lock in order?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, how could it have been opened from the outside?  There isn’t a mark on the door, outside or in.”

“As far as that goes, Mr. Batchgrew,” said Rachel, “only last week the key fell out of the lock on the inside and slid down the brick floor to the outside—­you know there’s a slope.  And I had to go out of the house by the front and the lamplighter climbed over the back gate for me and let me into the yard so that I could get the key again.  That might have happened last night.  Some one might have shaken the key out, and pulled it under the door with a bit of wire or something.”

“That won’t do,” Thomas Batchgrew stopped her.  “You said the key was in the door on the inside.”

“Well, when they’d once opened the door from the outside, couldn’t they have put the key on the inside again?”

“They?  Who?”

“Burglars.”

Thomas Batchgrew repeated sarcastically—­

“Burglars!  Burglars!” and snorted.

“Well, Mr. Batchgrew, either burglars must have been at work,” said Louis, who was fascinated by Rachel’s surprising news and equally surprising theory—­“either burglars must have been at work,” he repeated impressively, “or—­the money is still in the house.  That’s evident.”