"I am bound to say that not one of the numbered notes is here."
The detective was now examining Monckton's overcoat. He produced a small bunch of keys.
"How did they come there?" cried Monckton, in amazement.
It was an incautious remark. Bartley took it up directly, and pounced on the keys. He tried them on the safe. One opened the safe, another opened the cash-box.
Meantime the detective found some notes in the pocket of the overcoat, and produced them.
"Great heavens!" cried Monckton, "how did they come there?"
"Oh, I dare say you know," said the detective.
Bartley examined them eagerly. They were the numbered notes.
"You scoundrel," he roared, "these show me where your gold and your other notes came from. The whole contents of my safe—in that villain's pockets!"
"No, no," cried Monckton, in agony. "It's all a delusion. Some rogue has planted them there to ruin me."