"The man goes up to the dog and the dog barks at the man."

    There was more in similar strain. The books were children's primers of an elementary kind. Looking round, he saw a cheap gramophone and on the sideboard half a dozen scratched and chipped records.

    The child must be in the house. Turning on the gas, he lit it, after slipping a bolt in the front door to guard against surprise. In the more brilliant light, the poverty of the room staggered him. The carpet was worn and full of holes; there was not one article of furniture which had not been repaired at some time or other. On the dingy sideboard was a child's abacus—a frame holding wires on which beads were strung, and by means of which the young are taught to count. A paper on the mantelpiece attracted him. It was a copy of the million pound contract which Maitland had signed that morning. His neat signature, with the characteristic flourish beneath, was at the foot.

    Elk replaced the paper and began a search of the apartment. In a cupboard by the side of the fire-place he found an iron money-box, which he judged was half-full of coins In addition, there were nearly a hundred letters addressed to E. Maitland, 47 Eldor Street, Tottenham. Elk, glancing through them, recognized their unimportance. Every one was either a tradesman's circular or those political pamphlets with which candidates flood their constituencies. And they were all unopened. Mr. Maitland evidently knew what they were also, and had not troubled to examine their contents Probably the hoarding instincts of age had made him keep them. There was nothing else in the room of interest. He was certain that this was where the old man slept—where was the child?

    Turning out the light, he went upstairs. One door was locked, and here his instruments were of no avail, for the lock was a patent one and was recently fixed. Possibly the child was there, he thought. The second room, obviously the old woman's, was as meanly furnished as the parlour.

    Coming back to the landing, his foot was poised to reach the first stair when he heard a faint "click." It came from below, and was the sound of a door closing. Elk waited, listening. The sound was not repeated, and he descended softly. At first he thought that the old man had returned, and was trying his key on the bolted door, but when he crept to the door to listen, he heard no sound, and slipping back the bolt, he went to the second of the rooms on the ground floor and put his light on the door.

    Elk was a man of keen observation; very little escaped him, and he was perfectly certain that this door had been ajar when he had passed it on entering the house. It was closed now and fastened from the inside, the key being in the lock.

    Was it the child, frightened by his presence? Elk was wise enough a man not to investigate too closely. He made the best of his way back to the garden passage and into the street. Here he waited, taking up a position which enabled him to see the length of Eldor Street and the passage opening in the wall. Presently he saw Maitland returning. The old man was carrying the string bag, which now bulged.