Bertram flushed and made some passing rejoinder; Mr. Sylvester and the detective alone remained silent.
The boxes being brought in, Mr. Gryce opened them without ceremony. Several papers met his eye in both, but as no one but the owners could know their rightful contents, it was of course impossible for him to determine whether anything had been stolen from them or not.
“Send for the New York agent of Hicks, Saltzer and Co. ,” came from Mr. Sylvester, in short, businesslike command.
Bertram at once rose. “I will see to it,” said he. His agitation was too great for suppression, the expression of Mr. Stuyvesant’s eye, that in its restlessness wandered in every direction but his own, troubled him beyond endurance. With a hasty move he left the room. The cold eye of the detective followed him.
“Looks bad,” came in laconic tones from the paying teller.
“I had hoped the affair begun and ended with my individual loss,” muttered Mr. Stuyvesant under his breath.
The stately president and the inscrutable detective still maintained their silence.
Suddenly the latter moved. Turning towards Mr. Sylvester, he requested him to step with him to the window. “I want to have a look at your several employees,” whispered he, as they thus withdrew. “I want to see them without being seen by them. If you can manage to have them