He nodded “Good-morning” straight into the eyes of each and found his way out with the astonishing certainty of movement that made so many forget his infirmity.  Possibly he was not desirous of encountering Draycott’s embarrassed gratitude again, for in less than a minute they heard the swirl of his departing car.

“Never mind, my dear sir,” Mr. Carlyle assured his client, with impenetrable complacency.  “Never mind. I will remain instead.  Perhaps I had better make myself known to Sir Benjamin at once.”

The director turned on him the pleading, trustful look of a cornered dormouse.

“He is in the basement,” he whispered.  “I shall be in the boardroom—­if necessary.”

Mr. Carlyle had no difficulty in discovering the centre of interest in the basement.  Sir Benjamin was expansive and reserved, bewildered and decisive, long-winded and short-tempered, each in turn and more or less all at once.  He had already demanded the attention of the manager, Professor Bulge, Draycott and two underlings to his case and they were now involved in a babel of inutile reiteration.  The inquiry agent was at once drawn into a circle of interrogation that he did his best to satisfy impressively while himself learning the new facts.

The latest development was sufficiently astonishing.  Less than an hour before Sir Benjamin had received a parcel by district messenger.  It contained a jewel-case which ought at that moment to have been securely reposing in one of the deposit safes.  Hastily snatching it open, the recipient’s incredible forebodings were realized.  It was empty—­empty of jewels, that is to say, for, as if to add a sting to the blow, a neatly inscribed card had been placed inside, and on it the agitated baronet read the appropriate but at the moment rather gratuitous maxim:  “Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth—­”

The card was passed round and all eyes demanded the expert’s pronouncement.

“’—­where moth and rust doth corrupt and where thieves break through and steal.’  H’m,” read Mr. Carlyle with weight.  “This is a most important clue, Sir Benjamin—­”

“Hey, what?  What’s that?” exclaimed a voice from the other side of the hall.  “Why, damme if I don’t believe you’ve got another!  Look at that, gentlemen; look at that.  What’s on, I say?  Here now, come; give me my safe.  I want to know where I am.”

It was the bookmaker who strode tempestuously in among them, flourishing before their faces a replica of the card that was in Mr. Carlyle’s hand.

“Well, upon my soul this is most extraordinary,” exclaimed that gentleman, comparing the two.  “You have just received this, Mr.—­Mr. Berge, isn’t it?”

“That’s right, Berge—­’Iceberg’ on the course.  Thank the Lord Harry, I can take my losses coolly enough, but this—­this is a facer.  Put into my hand half-an-hour ago inside an envelope that ought to be here and as safe as in the Bank of England.  What’s the game, I say?  Here, Johnny, hurry and let me into my safe.”