Megger. Up the stairs he ran and reached the first floor in time to see
the other entering his chambers.

"Simons!" cried Megger, loudly.

But there was no reply.

"He must have gone at once to Scotland Yard," said Pepys. "Where is the
safe?"

Megger switched on the light and unlocked a door on his immediate left.
It gave access to a study. In the dim glow of the green shaded lamps the
place looked quiet and reposeful. Everything was neatly arranged, as
befits the sanctum of a business man. Nothing seemed out of place.

"There are no signs of burglars here!" said Pepys, in a surprised
manner.

"Simons may have reclosed the safe door," replied Megger.

His voice trembled slightly.

Wheeling a chair across the thick carpet, he placed it by a tall,
unglazed bookcase and mounted upon the seat.

"The safe is not open," he muttered excitedly.

And the man watching him saw that his puffy hand shook like a leaf in
the breeze.

Removing a small oil-painting from the wall adjoining, he tore at his
collar and produced a key attached to a thin chain about his neck. This
he inserted in the cunning lock which the picture served to conceal. The
next moment a hoarse cry escaped him.

"It hasn't been opened at all!" he shouted.

Snatching at the cord of a hanging lamp, he wildly hurled books about
the floor and directed the light into a cavity that now had revealed
itself. The other observed him keenly.

"Are you certain _nothing_ is gone?" he asked.

Megger plunged his hand inside and threw out several boxes and some
bundles of legal-looking documents. Leaning yet farther forward, he
touched a hidden spring that operated with a sharp _click_.

"_That_ hasn't gone, Inspector!" he cried triumphantly, and held out a
large envelope, sealed in several places.

His eyes were feverish. His features worked.

"You are wrong, Isaac Jacobsen!" rapped Pepys, and snatched the packet
in a flash. "It has!"

The man on the chair lurched. Every speck of colour fled from his
naturally florid face, leaving it a dull, neutral grey. He threw out one
hand to steady himself, and with the other plunged to his hip.

"Both up!" ordered Pepys crisply.

And Mr. Bernard Megger found himself looking down a revolver barrel that
pointed accurately between his twitching eyebrows, nor wavered one
hair's breadth!

Unsteadily he raised his arms--staring, with dilated pupils, at this
master of consummate craft.

"It is by such acts of fatu