The detective bowed, seemingly awed by the dignity with which the last statement had been uttered; but anyone who knew him well, would have perceived that the film of uncertainty which had hitherto dimmed the brightness of his regard was gone, as if in the other’s impressive manner, if not in the suggestion his words had unconsciously offered, the detective had received an answer to some question which had been puzzling him, or laid his hand upon some clue which had till now eluded his grasp. The inquiries which he made haste to pursue, betrayed, however, but little of the tendency of his thoughts.
“The janitor, you say, knows the combination by which the vault doors are opened?”
“The vault doors ,” emphasized Mr. Sylvester. “The safe is another matter; that stands inside the vault and is locked by a triple combination which as a whole is not known to any one man in this building, not even to myself.”
“But the boxes are not kept in the safe?”
“No, they are piled up with the books in the vaults at the side of the safe, as you can see for yourself, if you choose to join Mr. Folger.”
“Not necessary. The janitor, then, is the only man besides yourselves, who under any circumstances or for any reason, could get at those boxes after business hours?”
“He is.”
“One question more. Who is the man to attend to those boxes? I mean to ask, which of the men in your employ is expected to procure a box out of the vaults when it is called for, and put it back in its place when its owner is through with it?”
“Hopgood usually does that business, the janitor of whom we have just been speaking. When he is upstairs or out of the way, anyone else