Ritter broke down completely and turned appealingly to Mr. Dixon.

“Oh, sir,” he pleaded, “it isn’t so bad, I assure you.  I was tempted, I confess, and hid the drawings; but they are still in the office, and I can give them to you—­really, I can.”

“Indeed?” Hewitt went on.  “Then, in that case, perhaps you’d better get them at once.  Just go and fetch them in; we won’t trouble to observe your hiding-place.  I’ll only keep this door open, to be sure you don’t lose your way, you know—­down the stairs, for instance.”

The wretched Ritter, with hanging head, slunk into the office opposite.  Presently he reappeared, looking, if possible, ghastlier than before.  He looked irresolutely down the corridor, as if meditating a run for it, but Hewitt stepped toward him and motioned him back to the private room.

“You mustn’t try any more of that sort of humbug,” Hewitt said with increased severity.  “The drawings are gone, and you have stolen them; you know that well enough.  Now attend to me.  If you received your deserts, Mr. Dixon would send for a policeman this moment, and have you hauled off to the jail that is your proper place.  But, unfortunately, your accomplice, who calls himself Hunter—­but who has other names besides that—­as I happen to know—­has the drawings, and it is absolutely necessary that these should be recovered.  I am afraid that it will be necessary, therefore, to come to some arrangement with this scoundrel—­to square him, in fact.  Now, just take that pen and paper, and write to your confederate as I dictate.  You know the alternative if you cause any difficulty.”

Ritter reached tremblingly for the pen.

“Address him in your usual way,” Hewitt proceeded.  “Say this:  ’There has been an alteration in the plans.’  Have you got that?  ’There has been an alteration in the plans.  I shall be alone here at six o’clock.  Please come, without fail.’  Have you got it?  Very well; sign it, and address the envelope.  He must come here, and then we may arrange matters.  In the meantime, you will remain in the inner office opposite.”

The note was written, and Martin Hewitt, without glancing at the address, thrust it into his pocket.  When Ritter was safely in the inner office, however, he drew it out and read the address.  “I see,” he observed, “he uses the same name, Hunter; 27 Little Carton Street, Westminster, is the address, and there I shall go at once with the note.  If the man comes here, I think you had better lock him in with Ritter, and send for a policeman—­it may at least frighten him.  My object is, of course, to get the man away, and then, if possible, to invade his house, in some way or another, and steal or smash his negatives if they are there and to be found.  Stay here, in any case, till I return.  And don’t forget to lock up those tracings.”

* * * * *

It was about six o’clock when Hewitt returned, alone, but with a smiling face that told of good fortune at first sight.