ndeed he intended to
make a _search_.

Having taken everything from the safe he commenced to return them one at
a time. First the drawers, and he closely examined and sounded
them--indeed his examination was as precise as though he had an object
under a magnifying glass, and so he returned article after article and
had spent three full hours. All was returned to the safe but one book, a
sort of ledger. The detective took it in his hands, and as he did so he
muttered:

"Well, I have one satisfaction--I have at least made a _search_."

He took the ledger, sat down on a chair, and placing the book on his
knees commenced turning over leaf after leaf, and his method was but an
indication of the thoroughness with which he had conducted the whole
examination. We will admit that he had lost all hope of finding the
letter, but he was determined that he should never reproach himself for
any carelessness in carrying on the investigation.

Patiently and carefully he turned leaf after leaf until he had passed
through nearly three-quarters of the heavily-bound volume, and then
suddenly it fell from his lap, and he sat rigid like one suddenly
chilled to the heart. His eye had fallen on a letter, and on it was
written:

"_To be opened after twenty years by Mr. Townsend._"

The detective had not been expecting anything of the sort. He was
turning the leaves mechanically, and we can add without hope, when, as
stated, his eye fell upon a letter, and at a glance he read the
superscription, and it was then that his heart gave a great bound and
the heavy volume slid off his knees to the floor. It had come so
suddenly, so unexpectedly that literally it took his breath away, but
after a moment--yes, a full minute--he was able to exclaim:

"I have found it--found the letter at last. It has indeed been a
remarkable feat. I deserve to have found it."

Jack was a young man of iron nerve. Of course the discovery had caused a
shock, but quickly he recovered his self-possession. He stooped down,
picked up the book, and calmly returned it to the safe, and then picked
up the precious letter, for in the fall it had slid from the book. It
was an exciting moment. He again read the writing on the letter, and
there it was plain and bold: "To be opened after twenty years." He did
not open the letter, for it was written to Mr. Townsend--yes, the banker
was the only man who had the right to open the letter.

As stated, the detective had regained his