CHAPTER I.

      A broiling hot morning in August, with the thermometer ninety degrees in the shade — London intolerably stifling even in the wide streets and open squares of the West-end, and in the narrow courts and alleys of the Temple simply unbearable.

      Archie Lorrimer's "den," as he called his chambers, was on the second floor in one of the wider thoroughfares. It was a good-sized room, and, from the miscellaneous mass of odds and ends scattered about, betokened that lighter studies than that of the law were carried on in its sacred precincts.

      Archie himself, in dressing-gown and slippers, sat at breakfast, his pleasant ugly face looking anything but cheerful, his bright dark eyes glancing listlessly over an elaborate "leader" in the Times.

      "Uncommonly dull; I suppose the heat stupefies their intellect," he remarked, à propos of the "leader;" and then, letting the paper slip through his fingers, he exclaimed, "Confound it, how hot it is! Should not mind hiring a tank at the Aquarium this weather. Think I shall run down to Brighton for the day, or ——    Come in!" he broke off in answer to a knock at the door.

      "A letter for you, sir," said Crumbs — short for Crumbleworth — Archie's errand-boy and general factotum, showing himself half an inch at the opening door, and extending a grimy hand holding the missive in question.

      "Come in, can't you?" cried Archie from his easy-chair.

      "Can't, sir. I am a-blacking of your boots," was the answer, as the accomplished youth unceremoniously threw the letter upon the table and vanished.

      Archie laughed as he took it up and peered at it — at first with languid curiosity, which brightened considerably at sight of the handwriting and crest on the seal.

      "Forwood's writing, by all that's glorious!" he exclaimed, opening the envelope. "I suppose he has got back from the Tyrol. Uncommonly short. Wonder what it is about?"

      He spread open the paper, and read as follows —

      Archie started up impetuously. The invitation was just what he had been longing for. Forwood Chase was a beautiful old place in the most charming part of Yorkshire, with unlimited shooting and fishing. Major Forwood, its owner had been his guide, philosopher, and friend since old Rugby days; Major Forwood's young wife — "my lady" her husband called her — was a hostess; and, lastly, Mrs. Forwood's sister, Edith Tresham, was even more charming in Archie's eyes than Mrs. Forwood herself. He could not remember the time when they had not been "chums" — from the days when they played, quarrelled, and made it up as small children, to this last London season, when she kept three "rounds" for him at every dance at which they met.

      With a very satisfied face he got up from the breakfast-table, and set about packing his portmanteau, first however rousing the redoubtable Crumbs from his black-lead brushes, and despatching him with a telegram to Major Forwood, telling him he should start at once. Then, having having smoked a cigarette and consulted Bradshaw, he was ready for all emergencies.

      The journey down to Kirk Weston, the station for Forwood, was as monotonous and disagreeable as stifling heat, clouds of dust, and intolerable stuffiness could make it. Time hung dreadfully heavy on Mr. Lorrimer's hands, and at last he fell fast asleep. He awoke with a start when the train drew up along the platform at Normanton Junction. In two or three minutes the door opened, and a quiet, rather gentlemanly-looking man got in. He had just settled himself, when a news-boy came up with his basket of papers, shouting "Evening News, second edition, Globe, Standard, Leeds Mercury!" at the top of his shrill piercing young voice. Archie hailed him, and bought the first newspaper that came to hand — a Leeds Mercury — and set himself to study the local politics of the West Riding.

      With very little interest he waded through two or three unimportant items, and then an announcement headed in large letters "Extraordinary Robbery of Jewelry" arrested his attention. Before he had read two lines he sat up in blank astonishment. The notice, very short, and rather mysterious, was as follows —

      Archie read this doubtful announcement two or three times, staring at the words in bewilderment.

      "Good Heavens," he thought, "what can they have been about? Five thousand pounds' worth of jewelry! I had no idea Forwood's family heirlooms were so valuable. And what a piece of stupidity that last sentence is! I should think the robbery is no ordinary one with a vengeance; but why should it be shrouded in mystery?"

      "Have you heard anything of this extraordinary robbery, sir?" he asked, turning to his quiet-looking fellow-traveller, and offering him the paper.

      The stranger took it, and glanced quickly over the paragraph indicated.

      "Yes," he said; "I heard something about it at Leeds."

      "Well, has anything been found out?" asked Archie eagerly. "Have they discovered the thieves?"

      "No, I believe not," replied the other, with an indifference that acted like a wet blanket on Archie's eagerness.

      "What does it mean by the affair being shrouded in mystery?" pursued Archie.

      "Some crotchet of the local police, I should imagine," said the stranger, raising his eyebrows superciliously.

      "I suppose the thieves have not walked quite straight into their hands, so they point their suspicions at some mystery in the background to account for it," said Archie hotly. "What idiots they must be!"

      "Not more so than other people," the stranger replied in a tone of quiet contempt for the world in general.

      "I wonder how it happened," went on Archie. "Did you not hear any particulars?"

      "Nothing more than you see in the newspaper," was the reply.

      "Then I must wait for a solution of the affair till I get to the Chase," said Archie, with some impatience — "and that will not be long now, for here we are at Kirk Weston."

      And as he spoke the train slackened speed, and the little roadside station came in view.

      "Are you going to Major Forwood's?" asked the stranger, a faint spark of interest appearing in his quite impassive face.

      "Yes," said Archie coldly, as he let down the window and signed to a porter to open the door. He had not "taken" much to the quiet and uncommunicative stranger.

      "Then we are fellow-travellers still," returned the other; "for the Chase is my destination also."

      In another moment the train drew up, and the two passengers got out.

      "Who the deuce are you, I wonder?" thought Archie, eyeing the stranger with some suspicion as they walked together down the platform to the luggage-van. "You are not the doctor, and you are not the lawyer, as I know. I should not be much surprised if you turned out to be the parson. Anyhow, I don't envy Forwood his task of entertaining you."

      He picked out his luggage from the pile, told the porter to see to it, and, raising his hat with a ceremonious "Good day" to his fellow-traveller, he walked out of the station.

      A light drag with a superb pair of horses stood in the sunshine outside, with a man-servant in attendance.

      "How do you do, Dayton?" said Archie, with a cordial nod, as the man came forward touching his hat. "The porter will bring you my traps, and I shall walk up to the Chase. All well there, I suppose?"

      "Yes, sir, quite. There is another gentleman for the Chase expected by this train, sir. Did you see him?" asked the man.

      "Yes; he is in the station, and will come out when he is ready. Tell Major Forwood I am walking." And, shouldering his stick, Archie Lorrimer marched away, leaving the drag and chestnuts to the undisputed possession of his taciturn fellow-traveller.

      Presently he struck off from the dusty main road into the fresh sweet fields, and, after an hour's leisurely walk, entirely up hill, found himself entering the Chase woods. The house a low picturesque building of red sandstone — stood on the slope of a hill at the edge of the wild moor-land; below it stretched a magnificent panorama of undulating hills and valleys; while, behind, the hill sloped up till it ended in the heather and bracken of the moors themselves.

      Sauntering along, fully enjoying the fragrance and coolness of the green shade, Archie had got within about two hundred yards of the house, when the flutter of a light muslin dress was seen between the fir-trunks, and, at a sudden turn of the path, he came face to face with a young lady.

      "Miss Tresham!" he exclaimed, his face brightening as he seized her hand. "How kind of you to come and meet me!"

      "Then I must have come by the rule of contrary," she replied, with a charming smile; "for I should never have guessed you would walk up from the station in this broiling sun. But I am very glad to see you, Mr. Lorrimer. It is just like old times to be here again, is it not?"

      "No, not at all," he said significantly; "in old times you used to call me 'Archie.'"

      "Ah, I have learnt to see the error of my ways since then!" she replied lightly. "Did you have a pleasant journey from town?"

      "No, horribly disagreeable. The heat and dust were stifling; and, since I left Normanton, I have been in a complete state of bewilderment. What is all this mysterious tale about stolen jewelry in the Leeds paper? I cannot make head or tail of it."

      She did not answer immediately. Surprised at her silence, he turned his eyes to her. A hot burning flush had covered her face, her lips were trembling, and tears seemed suspiciously near the clear dark-blue eyes — beautiful eyes they were, with sweeping black eyelashes lying softly against the smooth creamy cheek.

      "Why, Miss Tresham — Edith, what is the matter?" he exclaimed in surprise. She dashed away the tears quickly, and then, with a laugh that ended suspiciously like a sob, said hastily —

      "Oh, it is nothing! I am only very foolish!"

      "Yes, it is something," he persisted, stopping short and gazing at her fixedly; "for I have never seen you cry in my life before. And you look worried too. What is the matter?"

      "It is this horrible robbery," she said, her lips still trembling ominously. "I came out because I could not bear it any longer in the house."

      "Bear what?" he asked, opening his eyes wide.

      "The suspicion, and those dreadful men. I ——"

      "What do you mean?" he interrupted. "What suspicion? What dreadful men?"

      "Were you not asking about the robbery?" she said, looking up with a surprised glance. "Have you not heard of it?"

      "I read a paragraph in the newspaper as I came along," he answered, "which stated that five thousand pounds' worth of jewelry had been stolen from Major Forwood's; but the last part of the account was so ridiculously mysterious that I scarcely knew whether to believe the first or not."

      "It is quite true," Edith said, her voice trembling again.

      "Well, you need not be so distressed about it," he said reassuringly. "It is a great loss, of course, but nothing for you to trouble yourself about; no suspicion can touch you."

      "But it does," she cried "it does! I saw the evening paper half an hour ago, and read the insinuations at the end, and — and — I could not bear it!"

      "Of all the stupid things," began Archie, and then inquired suddenly, "But you don't mean to say those mysterious hints are pointed at you?"

      "Yes, I do," she cried in renewed distress. "They are indeed. Oh, Mr. Lorrimer, I cannot tell you how glad I am you have come! You are a lawyer, and will perhaps see some way out of this dreadful business."

      "Perhaps I may when I know something about it," he answered re-assuringly; "but at present I am almost in the dark. As to suspicion touching you, that is simply absurd. Sit down on this seat and tell me all about it."

      They had come to a rustic seat under a wide-spreading horse-chestnut. Miss Tresham sat down, and Archie took his place beside her, noting as he did so the pretty rose-red blush rising in the sweet face, and the half-shyly averted graceful head.

      "Now," he said briskly, his pleasant ugly face taking a keen business-like air, "perhaps I shall have a common-sense account of this mysterious affair. How did it all happen? And what in the world was the Major doing with five thousand pounds' worth of jewelry?"

      "It was a case from Storr and Mortimer's," explained Edith. "George wanted to give Ida a set of pearls or diamonds on her birthday, and wrote up to them to send some for her to choose from. A confidential clerk came down with some yesterday. They were magnificent such superb diamonds and emeralds, and the pearls like ——"

      "There — don't go into raptures over them, or we shall never get on," interrupted Archie promptly.

      Edith laughed a little as she continued her tale.

      "The clerk Simpson said they were worth five thousand pounds, though there were only half a dozen sets and two or three lockets. Ida chose a splendid set of pearls; but, as some small alterations were required, they were put back in the case with the rest of the jewelry, to be returned to London. Then George said he would put the case in the safe in his book-room for the night; and he invited us all to go up-stairs, as he said he must have witnesses that such a valuable treasure was safely bestowed. So quite in fun Ida and I went up-stairs with him and the clerk."

      "Well?" he queried, as she stopped a moment.

      "When George came to open the safe, he could not find the key. He usually keeps it on a small bunch of keys in a drawer of his dressing-case, but it was not there though that is nothing out of the common, as he is always losing his keys."

      "I remember," interposed Archie — "many a predicament we have been in for want of the Major's keys."

      "Of course we hunted everywhere for them," went on Edith, "but they were not to be found; so, not imagining that there was the least danger, the case of jewels was left on the table in the room, and George shut and locked the door, and gave the key to the clerk."

      "Where is the book-room?" asked Archie. "I do not remember it."

      "It is a sort of private sanctum, a little room opening out of his bed-room, where he keeps his account-books and private papers, and all sorts of odds and ends. We call it the book-room. No one can get into it without going through the bed-room first, as it has only one door, and, when we left the bed-room, George locked that door behind us also."

      "And the window?" asked Archie.

      "That is only a very small casement, and has iron bars behind it. Don't you remember how George has always grumbled about the small windows on the second floor, and what huge ventilators he has had put above them all?"

      "Yes. I remember telling him he might as well put in fresh windows at once. But about the case of jewels — when was it first missed?"

      "Not till first thing this morning. Then the clerk discovered that his key was gone. The book-room door was found unlocked. The case stood empty on the table, and all the jewelry was gone."

      "And the case left behind?" asked Archie, opening his eyes.

      "Yes — with nothing in it, not even a scrap of cotton wool!"

      There was a moment's pause. Archie looked puzzled, his brows puckered up in deep thought.

      "Was the safe opened or disturbed in any way?" he asked.

      "Not in the least; and there was a large sum of money in it too; everything was exactly as it had been left on the night before."

      "What was the jewel-case like?"

      "It was a dark green morocco case, not unlike a small dressing-case. Inside it had drawers and trays lined with cotton wool, and it fastened with an ordinary snap. George told the man that a case like that ought to be better secured; and he said the one they generally used had a patent lock, but it had been sent to Scotland with some jewelry, and he had been obliged to take this one. No; the mystery is not how the jewelry got taken from the box, but how any one contrived to get into the room through two locked doors."

      Archie pondered deeply, with his eyes fixed intently on the head of his walking-stick.

      "It certainly is very strange," he said. "But in what way are you connected with it? So far as I can see, you should be the last person to be suspected."

      "Because I was the last person in the bed-room."

      "But you say you all went out together, after locking both doors!" he argued.

      "Yes, we did; but afterwards Ida asked me to fetch some particular kind of lace out of her wardrobe, and George gave me the key of the bed-room. I could not find the lace — in fact, it was not there, as Ida remembered afterwards; but I was quite a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes in looking for it, and the police seem to think I managed to take the jewelry during that time."

      "What idiots!" ejaculated Archie. "Are the keys ordinary door-keys?"

      "The bed-room door-key is; but a few weeks ago George fancied his papers had been meddled with, and he had a fresh patent lock put on the book-room door. It was the key of that lock he gave to the clerk."

      "Then how can the police imagine you opened the door?" asked Archie.

      "I do not know; but that is not the strangest thing" — and Edith's face looked anxious again. "This morning, the first thing that my maid saw on entering my room was a set of pearls lying scattered about on the dressing-table. They were Ida's!"

      "Why, you must have taken them in your sleep!" said Archie suddenly.

      Edith shook her head.

      "I wish I could think so. How could I get through two locked doors in my sleep? George of course locked his bed-room door, and the clerk had the key of the other. I have been worrying and puzzling over it all day," she went on with a slight shiver, "till at last I got so nervous and unhappy that I could not stay any longer in the house."

      "You must not let it trouble you," he said, with a face full of sympathy. "It will all come out in a day or two. Are you sure you did not hear anything during the night?"

      "I scarcely know," she answered hesitatingly. "Once, in the middle of the night, I woke up with a start and a dreadful sense of being watched by something I could not see. But I have often had the same feeling before, when it has been only imagination; so I do not know whether I was dreaming or not; and I dare not have got up to see on any consideration."

      "What an arrant coward!" said Archie, with a laughing glance. "I suppose George and your sister do not believe this absurd suspicion of you?"

      "No; they are very kind. They laugh at the bare idea of it. It is the police. There are three or four of them in the house, and I know they have watched me all day. It is horrible. The servants too are whispering and prying about in the corners; and I cannot help fancying it is about me. I am so glad you are come, Mr. Lorrimer; you will be sure to find it all out."

      "I must have a long talk with the Major about it," he said, as they rose to go. "It certainly is a most uncomfortable and mysterious affair."
 

CHAPTER II.

      Almost at the same time that Edith was enlightening Archie Lorrimer on the subject of the robbery, the quiet gentlemanly stranger who had travelled with Archie from Normanton Junction was having an interview with Major Forwood on the same subject. And the interview meant business, for the quiet uncommunicative man was a skilled detective from Scotland Yard, who had been telegraphed for in all haste to fathom the mystery of the robbery at Forwood Chase.

      He listened with quiet attention to Major Forwood's account, asking a searching question or two occasionally, but offering no opinion or remark.

      "It is the most painful thing possible," the Major said, when he had finished the tale. "Added to the annoyance and loss of the actual robbery, those stupid police have pitched their suspicions upon the least likely person in the world to have been the thief."

      "You mean the young lady?" interrupted the detective, whose name was Hilton. "Is she on a visit here?"

      "She lives here; she is my wife's sister, the daughter of the former Rector of Forwood."

      "Is she well off?"

      "No," said the Major shortly, not liking the cross-questioning.

      "Enough to live upon?" persisted Mr. Hilton, raising his eyebrows a little.

      "Yes," returned the Major, not choosing to confess how very little that "enough" was.

      "Is she fond of jewelry?"

      "Yes, of course. Did you ever know a woman who was not?"

      The detective smiled an inscrutable ghost of a smile which told nothing.

      "Believe me, Miss Tresham is above suspicion," said the Major, getting vexed. "Besides, she could have no motive for stealing the jewelry."

      "The most curious cases I know have been done without apparent motive," was the detective's comment in a thoughtful tone; "and she might be in want of money."

      "I am as sure of her as I am of myself," declared the Major.

      "Nevertheless we are often mistaken in our estimate of others," said Mr. Hilton persistently. "Pardon me the remark, 'Truth is stranger than fiction'; and it is a detective's duty to search for the truth among the greatest improbabilities."

      And then there was a few minutes' silence.

      "Have any of your servants left lately?" was the next question.

      "They are all old servants, except my wife's maid. None have been here less than four years; and they are to be trusted. Besides, not one of them knew of the jewelry being in the house, which quite does away with any suspicion in that quarter."

      "And so," commented the officer significantly, "narrows the circle, and makes it all the easier for us to find the thief."

      And again there was silence, the Major chafing inwardly at the quiet deliberation of the detective.

      "Will you allow me to recapitulate the heads of the case?" said the latter presently. "You will correct me if I make a mistake?"

      "Certainly," agreed the Major, somewhat haughtily.

      "Briefly stated then, the case is this," began Mr. Hilton in his quiet grave way. "In the presence of four people the jewels are packed in a case, taken up-stairs, and placed on a table in an inner room, to which no access can be gained except through an outer one. The key of the safe being lost, the box is left on the table, apparently exactly the same as before; the door is then locked, and the key given to the clerk. The bed-room door is also locked, and, excepting when Miss Tresham goes in, continues so during the night. In the morning the jewels are gone, but the case itself is intact. A portion of the missing jewelry is discovered strewed about Miss Tresham's room. Is that correct?"

      "Perfectly — though, for that matter, my bed-room door was bolted as well as locked after I went to bed," answered the Major, keeping his temper with difficulty, the cool statement of facts, and the inferences the detective seemed to be drawing from them, rendering him almost furious with indignation.

      "To reach the jewels," went on Mr. Hilton, "the thief required two keys — one in possession of a person in quite a different part of the house, the other on the inside of the door of a room in which two people are sleeping. Are these keys ordinary door-keys like the rest in the house?"

      "The bed-room door-key is; but I had a new lock put on the other one about a fortnight ago — the old one was worn out. I keep private papers in the book-room, and wish to have them safe."

      "I should like to see the rooms," said the officer, after a pause.

      The Major led the way in silence across the hall, up a wide branching staircase, along a short corridor, and entered a room at the extreme end. It was a large luxuriously-furnished chamber, with two windows in it. Two doors — one on each side of the windows — opened out of it.

      "This is my wife's dressing-room," said the Major, opening the door on the right-hand side. "Mine is across the corridor."

      The detective walked in and looked round. It was a small pleasant sunny room, evidently a lady's, with nothing special about it, except an enormous ventilator in the wall above the rather small window. Mr. Hilton walked out again without making any remark. The Major looked at him somewhat grimly, and then opened the door on the left of the window. This room was much smaller than the first. There was nothing in it but the safe, built in the recess of the wall, a writing-table with an untidy pile of account-books and papers, a gun in the corner, and two or three chairs and a table. The window, like the others, was very small, with diamond-shaped lattice panes; and above it, rather high up, was another of the Major's pet ventilators. It opened on the outside wall with large double valves of ornamental iron-work, worked by a cord and pulleys. These were not of much use, for the fresh-air-loving Major kept his ventilator open day and night. The detective took a long and deliberate survey, and asked a number of what the Major thought very frivolous questions. There was not much to be "made" out of the room. It was too scantily furnished to hide anything.

      "You seem fond of fresh air, sir," remarked Mr. Hilton, looking up at the big ventilator, through which the evening breeze was blowing in pretty freshly.

      "Yes," agreed the Major cordially, "I am." And he went to the window and tried the cord. "It is a fortunate thing too, for I broke the spring of this ventilator last week, and now I cannot shut it at all. My wife grumbles, and says we shall be blown away some day; but I will risk that."

      They left the bed-room and returned to the library.

      "And now, Mr. Hilton," said the Major, "do you think you have anything to work upon?"

      "I have had from the first," answered the detective.

      "And what are your conclusions? To what and whom do they point?"

      "Pardon me, sir; the time has not yet arrived for a reply. Suspicions go for nothing. When I am able to come to you with a proof in my hands which cannot be gainsaid, then your question shall be answered."

      "But how can you obtain this proof? How will you go to work?"

      The detective answered by a counter-question.

      "Did I understand you to say the servants' boxes had been searched?"

      "Yes. In fact, they sent the housekeeper to say they wished it immediately the loss of the jewels was known. Much against my will, the police turned them out."

      "Can you find an opening for a fresh servant in any capacity without exciting remark?" he asked.

      Major Forwood did not answer immediately. He looked down in grave deliberation.

      "Do I understand you aright?" he said at last. "You wish to place a confederate in the house — a spy, in fact?"

      "Yes," replied the other. "It is a necessity indeed if you wish to find the stolen jewelry; for it is evident the robbery has been committed by some one inside the house."

      The Major was silent again.

      "I do not like it," he said with evident reluctance; "but for Miss Tresham's sake the mystery must be cleared up. Of course I could take on a fresh servant without exciting remark. Indeed we have talked of getting another man-servant. We have only the butler at present."

      "A footman — for I suppose that is what you want shall apply to-morrow in due form. One word of caution, Major Forwood. It will assist my plans materially if none in the house but yourself knows who he is."

      "Very well," agreed the Major. "I do not like it; but I suppose it is a necessity."

      "One thing more," continued Mr. Hilton, rising and taking his hat. "I should like to see Miss Tresham and the clerk from Storr and Mortimer's before I go — accidentally of course. Can you manage it?"

      "I will see what I can do if you will come with me; though, as far as Miss Tresham is concerned, it ——"

      "I do not suspect Miss Tresham in the least," interposed the inscrutable detective; "I merely wish to see her."

      Fortune favoured him. As they were leaving the room, Simpson the clerk entered. He was a good-looking young man, rather effeminate in appearance, but with an open honest countenance that spoke in his favour.

      Major Forwood addressed him by name, putting some trivial question to him, while the astute detective mentally took his measure.

      "Weak as water," was the verdict — "not the kind to commit a robbery."

      Edith was coming up the front-door steps with Archie Lorrimer as Major Forwood and the detective entered the hall. She had recovered her spirits, and was laughing merrily at some joke of Archie's.

      As they mounted the steps, a young girl in a simple gray merino dress, and one of the pretty little piquant caps that servants wear, appeared at the top. As Archie glanced up and caught sight of her, he thought he had never seen any one so lovely. Framed in the Gothic doorway, the sun shining on her golden hair, and lighting up the delicate rose and white of her lovely face, and shining in the dreamy dark-lashed violet eyes, she was like a picture.

      "What a beautiful girl!" he exclaimed involuntarily.

      "Yes. Is she not?" said Edith. "That is Ida's new maid."

      "I have never seen such an exquisite face," said Archie, watching the girl as she came down the steps.

      "Yes. Is it not? She looks like the heroine of a novel. She is rather a protégée of mine, for, with all her beauty, she is the greatest dunce possible; and I am teaching her to read and write. What is it, Alice?" — as the girl came down the steps.

      "A note for you, miss," she said, in a voice like music, handing the missive to Miss Tresham. "Is there any answer?"

      Edith opened her note, while Archie stood looking at the girl. Her wonderful beauty fascinated him. Never before had he seen anything to compare with the perfection of her features and colouring, the beauty of her large dreamy eyes, the radiant golden hair, and the grace of her tall slight figure.

      "There is no answer," said Edith, putting the note back into the envelope; and the girl turned quietly and went into the house.

      "By Jove, what a beauty!" exclaimed Archie.

      "Yes; but she is the most arrant little stupid," said Edith. "Here is George."

      At that moment Major Forwood and the detective appeared in the doorway. Major Forwood came forward to meet Archie.

      "A thousand welcomes, Archie!" he said heartily. "I am very glad to see you. Didn't the carriage meet you at the station?"

      "Yes. But I preferred walking, and was rewarded by finding Miss Tresham in the wood," answered Archie. "She has been telling me all about this extraordinary robbery. A precious set of duffers your local police must be, George, to pitch upon her as a suspicious character!"

      "One cannot expect the wisdom of Solomon under a country policeman's blue coat," said the Major laughingly.

      "They had some cause for suspicion too," put in Edith; "but now that you have come to the rescue, Mr. Lorrimer, I shall carry my iniquities very lightly."

      While she was speaking, the quiet stranger in the background watched her keenly, taking in every word and gesture, and noticing the easy, unconscious bearing, the clear frank look of the blue eyes, and straightforward ingenuous expression of the beautiful refined face.

      "Not the sort of girl to commit a robbery," he decided in his quiet observant way. "The mystery deepens."

      A few minutes afterwards he had left the house, telling Major Forwood at parting that his confederate would be on the scene the next day.

      He went straight to the station, where he despatched a message which considerably puzzled the telegraph clerk; after which Mr. Hilton returned to the village, strolled leisurely about till rather a late hour, then went to the pretty little inn, "The Angler's Rest," and inquired if they could accommodate him there for a few days. He had heard that there was good trout-fishing in the neighbourhood, he said, and wanted to try his luck. The landlord placed two pleasant rooms at his disposal, and the quiet stranger took up his abode at the inn, and gave himself up with intense devotion to the mysteries of fly-fishing.
 

CHAPTER III.

      A week passed away. The new man-servant had come, his credentials having been found irreproachable.

      He was a pleasant, merry-faced little man with bright black eyes, sharp as a needle, skilful in his duties, and respectful in his manners. Young Mrs. Forwood was loud in his praise. He was voted a great acquisition to the servants' hall, where he would chat away by the hour together with the greatest freedom, and in the most confidential and insinuating manner.

      Nothing was heard of the stolen jewelry. The Chase was turned inside out. Great placards offering large rewards were distributed everywhere. The police were in a ferment, scouring the country, now on one scent, now on another, telegraphing from Yorkshire to Land's End and from Land's End to Gretna Green, in the wildest manner, and all without result. Not a trace of the lost jewelry was to be found.

      Things were anything but pleasant at the Chase. The house was full of mystery; suspicion seemed to lurk in every corner; prying and peeping and listening were the order of the day. From the highest to the lowest, every one seemed to be struck with a sort of amateur detective fever, and went about with stealthy footsteps and sly prying glances, as if the case of jewels might be found hidden round the next corner.

      Major Forwood and Archie Lorrimer made determined efforts to ignore the mystery, and went out shooting each morning with a formidable array of guns, dogs, and gamekeepers; but the subject of the stolen jewels cropped up persistently; and the result was two pheasants one day, and three rabbits the next.

      Mrs. Forwood and her sister went out for a drive in the pony-carriage; and Edith came back in a state of dreadful distress, and Mrs. Forwood furious with indignation. Passing through the village, an idle crowd of loafing lads and men recognised them. Edith was pointed out, and remarks of "That's her!" "She has stole the diamonds!" "T' Major daren't let it go no further!" reached their ears. Mrs. Forwood drove through it all in supreme contempt, but Edith's tears fell fast and thick.

      One afternoon, Archie, taking a quiet stroll in the shrubbery with his cigar, came upon Mr. Hilton, sitting on a bench, apparently in deep contemplation of a yew-tree fashioned in the form of a tea-pot before him. By this time Archie was in the secret of his profession, and had come to the conclusion that he did not improve upon acquaintance.

      "Good afternoon," he said pleasantly, taking his seat also on the bench. "I suppose nothing has turned up with regard to the robbery?"

      Mr. Hilton transferred his gaze from the evergreen tea-pot to Archie's face, and looked at him intently for a minute or two without answering.

      "What is the matter?" said Archie, laughing. "Do you think you will find the solution of the mystery in my nose or eyes?"

      "I was wondering if you could keep a secret," returned the detective gravely.

      "Yes; I think I can," replied Archie, opening his eyes. "Will you try me?"

      "Yes, I will," answered the other. "You will understand, sir, that my aim in regard to the stolen jewelry is not only to fix upon the thief, but to bring forward such absolute proofs of guilt as no one can doubt. Suspicions, however strong, are not sufficient to go upon, or else I had finished my task long ago."

      "I understand," said Archie — "you want to be absolutely sure of the culprit."

      "Well, sir, the difficulty lies in this. The jewelry is taken from a room to which it seems perfectly impossible that the only two people who can have stolen it would get access."

      "And those two people are ——"

      "Simpson the clerk and Miss Tresham."

      "But I understood your suspicions did not rest upon Miss Tresham at all?" said Archie, flushing.

      "They did not. I will go so far as to say that, if it were possible to fix the guilt on any one else, I should still be of the same opinion."

      "Why not say the same of Simpson the clerk?"

      "For the very obvious reason that, if he had wished to steal the jewelry, he could have managed it much more easily by making off with the entire box and its contents on the journey back from here to London. He would have had plenty of time to get away before an alarm could be raised, and he would have had scarcely a single impediment in the way. No; it is clear to my mind that the clerk is not the guilty person. As to Miss Tresham, the whole affair is wrapped in mystery."

      "What mystery?" exclaimed Archie hotly. "She could no more have got through two locked doors than the clerk could; and I tell you it is simply ridiculous to suspect her," he added, fuming with indignation.

      "And I tell you I did not suspect her at first," said Mr. Hilton with emphasis; "and for this reason. If she had stolen the jewels ——" Archie kicked his feet about in disgust. "I say, if she had taken them, she would not have left the pearl necklace and earrings on her dressing-table for the first person who came into the room to find."

      "Then what in Heaven's name do you suspect her for now?" cried Archie wrathfully.

      "I said that, as regards Miss Tresham, the whole affair is wrapped in mystery," persisted Mr. Hilton calmly; "and the mystery gets more unintelligible every day. See here, sir."

      While speaking the detective had drawn from his pocket a small parcel wrapped in tissue paper. He unfolded the paper, and displayed, lying on some cotton wool, a large locket set with diamonds and rubies in a very beautiful but peculiar design — a serpent lying in a ring, with a star in the centre.

      "Well," said Archie, "I see it is a locket; what of that?"

      "Everything. It is one of the lockets that were among the stolen jewelry. I have a full description of every article the case contained; and this locket is specially mentioned on account of the size and purity of the gems and the peculiarity of the design."

      "Where did you get it?" asked Archie.

      "At White's the jeweller's at Normanton. Last Tuesday a tall lady, closely veiled, but wearing a costly silk costume of a peculiar and striking combination of olive green and primrose, pledged this locket at his shop."

      "Well? What of that?" said Archie.

      "Miss Tresham wears a silk dress of olive green and primrose," replied the officer significantly.

      "This is dreadful," said Archie, in much agitation. "It is impossible that she can have taken the jewels. I won't believe it."

      "I said before, if she had taken the jewels, she would not have left them about the room in the way she did," interposed the detective quietly, "not unless ——"

      "Well," interrogated Archie, as Mr. Hilton stopped short and hesitated in a manner very foreign to his usual impassibility, "not unless what?"

      "Not unless she did not know what she was doing."

      "What do you mean?"

      Mr. Hilton hesitated again.

      "In Heaven's name, speak, man!" cried Archie explosively. "What do you mean by your confounded innuendoes and suspicions?"

      "I was going to say, not unless she was insane." And there was a slight shade of compassion in the detective's voice as he spoke.

      Archie went off into a fit of laughter.

      "Edith Tresham insane!" he cried. "That is more ridiculous than ever. Why, you must be mad yourself to imagine such a thing!"

      "It simply accounts for what otherwise is unaccountable," said Mr. Hilton gravely, passing over the compliment to himself.

      "Then you may dismiss it at once as simply ridiculous," declared Archie, in great wrath; and then there was some minutes' silence.

      The detective took to studying the evergreen tea-pot again, while Archie fumed with righteous indignation. Presently the detective spoke again, his voice grave, but persistent as ever.

      "I have had this matter placed in my hands to elucidate," he said, "and I mean to do it if possible. I never suggest a thing without some motive. In my own mind there are already formed the links of a chain to which I have just given you the clue. I hope my suspicions may be found to be erroneous."

      "Of course they will!" retorted Archie. "Why, I would not believe it if she told me so herself!"

      "I suppose you have heard of such a thing as kleptomania?" said the detective drily.

      "Heard of a fiddlestick!" ejaculated Archie, in huge contempt. "Yes, I have."

      "That is what I meant," explained Mr. Hilton calmly, "and I think I am not mistaken."

      Archie took his way back to the house. The idea of Edith Tresham being a victim of kleptomania amused him immensely. He could not forget it, and during the afternoon and evening startled Major Forwood several times by suddenly breaking into a peal of laughter without any apparent cause.
 

CHAPTER IV.

      Mr. Archie Lorrimer was always incorrigibly late in going to bed. On this night he sat even longer than usual, and, when the clock struck the half hour after twelve, was still chatting and smoking his cigar with the most leisurely deliberation. At last the Major, in sheer despair, seized him by the shoulders and marched him up-stairs nolens volens. But Archie was too wide awake to dream of bed. Arrived in his own room, he merely changed his coat for a dressing-gown, turned down the gas, drew up the blind, sat down near the window, and began to think of Edith's fair face and sweet eyes, recalling the soft blush that rose so often in her cheeks under his glance, and wondering if it were possible for a man to marry on eight hundred a year and expectations.

      "She is such an awfully jolly girl!" he murmured with a sigh. "What a pity she cannot do without gowns and bonnets, and the other rubbish that milliners make bills of! I don't know whether she has any money, and I don't care. She is quite enough of herself. Little darling! It seems preposterous of me to think of marrying, but Hang it all," he concluded, as, for the fifteenth time, he calculated his income, "I can't afford it, but I shall ask her! Perhaps something may turn up; who knows?"

      He sank back in another reverie, in which Edith's blue eyes formed a leading feature, till the sound of the clock over the stables striking two at length aroused him.

      "By Jove, how late it is!" he exclaimed, standing up with a yawn, and stretching his arms over his head. "How the time steals on when one is thinking!"

      He was on the point of turning up the gas, when a low whistle, which seemed to proceed from the shrubs under his window, caught his ear, and, in half a second, a window on the ground floor was cautiously opened. Silently stepping on to the balcony outside his own window, Archie looked out. A man stood among the shrubs, below the window-sill.

      "How late you are!" said the man. "I have been waiting this two hours."

      "I dared not come before," returned a woman's voice inside the room. "They never went to bed till half-past twelve; and I had to wait till all fear of danger was over."

      "Where are the jewels?" asked the man.

      "Hush!" whispered the woman, so low that, strain his ears as he would, Archie could barely catch what she said. "I could not get them — I could not get them indeed. There has not been a chance."

      "Confound you! Haven't you brought them after all?"

      "No; I could not," said the woman earnestly. "There is such prying and suspicion in the house, I have had no opportunity; besides, the master and mistress have gone to sleep in another room since the robbery, and ——"

      "Why, then it is all the easier for you to get the jewelry," grumbled the man, in his louder tones. "Don't tell me you cannot; you have got both keys; you've nothing to do but choose your own time and go into the room and bring the jewelry away."

      "But I tell you I dare not." And the woman's voice was full of entreaty and fear. "In the day-time it is impossible; and it is not so easy to get away undiscovered from a room where another person is sleeping in the same bed with you. Eliza awoke to-night just as I opened the door, and I had to tell her my face was aching again, and I had left the bottle of laudanum in the kitchen, and was going to fetch it. Besides, there's a new man-servant come, and I can't make him out; he seems to be always where one least expects him. He nearly caught me on Tuesday."

      "Well, it's your own look-out when you do it; but, if you haven't the swag here all ready on Thursday night, it will be all the worse for you, my girl!"

      And the man swore a fearful oath.

      "Oh, hush — do hush, father!" cried the girl. "Suppose we are overheard?"

      "Rubbish! Who's to hear when the whole house is as dark and silent as the grave?" returned the man. "Where is the money you got for the locket on Tuesday? My, you did look a swell in that rig-out! When I saw you coming along the street, I thought it was Miss Tresham herself. Suppose you had met her?"

      "I did," said the woman's voice quietly, "but she did not see me. Here is the money, father — ten pounds."

      "Ten pounds! Is that all? Why, the locket's worth fifty pounds! What a thief that White must be!"

      "'Twas all he would give," said the woman. "He looked very suspicious as it was. Are you sure you have not been seen or recognised, father? That London detective is still at 'The Angler's Rest.'"

      "Yes; I met him yesterday;" and the man began to laugh. "It was a rare lark. He did not know me from Adam. He little thought the country bumpkin in the smock-frock and carter's hat was his old friend Dodging Dick!"

      "I wish you would be more cautious, father," urged the girl.

      "Nonsense. I'm safe enough. But it's time to be off. And now you just mind. You be all ready to fly on Thursday night, or look to yourself."

      "Very well. I'll do my best. But I dare not get the jewelry away till just before the time, for fear they search our boxes again; and, if I cannot leave the bed-room without exciting suspicion ——"

      "Can't you have the toothache again?" interrupted the man roughly. "You be all ready, or ——" And the man again swore a terrific oath.

      In another minute the window was shut down softly; and Archie, stretching himself over the balcony railing, saw the shadow of a man stealing slowly away along the wall of the house.

      "He is off safe enough, but I shall just have time to intercept the woman as she comes up-stairs," thought, Archie, as he went back to his own room; and, opening the door quietly, he passed out on to the silent landing, and took up his station at the head of the stairs.

      But to no purpose. The woman did not come, and Archie had forgotten the back stairs. After waiting a quarter of an hour in the silence and darkness, he went back to his room.

      "What is to be done now?" he thought, in some disgust. "It is of no use arousing the whole household, for the woman is, of course, in bed by this time. I could not tell who it is, and she is not likely to convict herself. I must wait till to-morrow." And Archie, giving a tremendous yawn, began to divest himself of his coat and waistcoat. "Where the deuce can the jewels be hid?" he ejaculated, stopping short, with his arms half in and half out of his waistcoat. "The Major's dressing-room has all been turned out till nothing but the four bare walls remain; and yet the woman distinctly said they were there. Where can they be?"
 

CHAPTER V., AND LAST.

      "Where can they be?"

      It was the morning of the next day. Archie and Major Forwood were standing in the book-room, gazing rather helplessly at the four walls, the green-and-black painted doors of the safe, the table, two chairs, and a large empty book-rack, which formed the only articles of furniture in the little room. "You must have been mistaken, Archie, in what the woman said; there is absolutely nothing in the room but the chairs, the table, and the book-rack."

      "I am sure I was not," said Archie positively. "The woman distinctly said the jewels were still in the book-room, and she would have to come here to get them. But it is queer. They are certainly not visible to mortal eyes."

      "Are you sure you were not dreaming?" inquired the Major sceptically.

      "No, of course not," retorted Archie crossly. "Is it likely I should be such an idiot!"

      There was a short silence.

      "I do not see anything for it, then, but to wait till to-morrow night," said Major Forwood at length. "I must tell Hilton, and have a watch set on the room."

      "I wish," began Archie, and then paused a moment.

      "Well?" asked the Major.

      "I wish you would not tell Hilton at all," replied Archie. "I wish you would let us manage by ourselves alone."

      "But why?" exclaimed Major Forwood, lifting his eyebrows. "It would be much safer to tell Hilton."

      "I do not see it. Surely you and I are sufficient for one man and woman?"

      "But why should he not be told?"

      "I want to give him a lesson, and to send him back to London with his confounded cool impudence and self-sufficiency taken down a peg or two," said Archie, with a vision of Edith and the detective's theory of kleptomania in his eyes.

      "It would be a joke, after all," returned the Major, laughing in huge delight, "to steal a march on the sharpest detective in the service, and not only discover the thief who stole the jewels, but get the jewels themselves. It would be a feather in our caps. And, as you say, surely we two are a match for one woman and a man."

      "Will you agree to it then?" said Archie eagerly. "We will not reveal what we know to any one, and make our own plans. How I shall enjoy the discomfiture of the astute Mr. Hilton when the game is won under his very nose!"

      "Yes, yes; I agree," cried the Major, as delighted as any schoolboy at the prospect of a piece of mischief. "What a joke it will be!"

      The next half hour was spent in arranging their plans and providing against any chance of failure.

      When all was quiet, about eleven o'clock the next night, Archie took up his station in the book-room. He had put on an old shooting-coat and a pair of carpet slippers, and had provided himself with pistols in case of need. He lighted the gas, but turned it down to the lowest possible speck, put a dark shade over the globe, left the room door slightly ajar, and sat down in a position to command a full view of both it and the bed-room.

      The hours passed. Twelve o'clock, one, two, rang out from the clock in the hall, the chimes sounding eerie and dismal in the large silent house. Archie began to get tired. Though in nowise given to superstition, holding ghosts and ghost-seers in the most sublime contempt, it was not a very pleasant sensation to be seated alone at the stillest hours of the night waiting for he knew not what.

      Three o'clock struck — a quarter-past. Archie was beginning to get impatient.

      "I will just wait till the half hour strikes," he muttered, "though it is evidently of no use, for it will be daylight in half an hour. I wonder if the woman suspected, and has been beforehand with us."

      The words were scarcely out of his mouth when a slight sound of a door-handle clicking struck his ear. It was very slight. Then came a pause, so long that Archie thought he must have been mistaken as to the sound.

      In spite of his courage, his heart beat faster. Was he going to find out something at last? Would it be his fate to solve the mystery of the stolen jewels? With breathless eagerness he waited. He seemed to hear his heart beating. His senses felt strung to the highest pitch.

      Again the door-handle clicked, this time louder and more sharply, then it was turned very slowly and cautiously; and a moment or two after a dark shadow appeared in the doorway. Archie waited till the figure had come fairly into the room; then, half closing the door, he stood with his back to it in the shade. Through the darkness of the room he could dimly see a woman's figure clad in dark clothes.

      Without any pause or hesitation, she went to the table, which stood near to the small window of the room, gave it a push, till it was quite close underneath, and, by the help of a chair, climbed on to the top of it.

      Archie watched this curious proceeding with breathless astonishment, which did not abate when the woman put up her hand to the ventilator above the window, and, giving a vigorous tug, caused the large door of ornamental iron-work to swing forwards, disclosing the box-like aperture in the wall. She put her hand into the recess and drew something out, which she stooped to place on the table.

      Without waiting for any more, Archie sprang across the room, tore the shade away from the globe, and turned the gas full on, flooding the room with a blaze of light. With a sudden cry, the woman sprang from the table, and, before him, her lovely face blanched to startled whiteness, her violet eyes wild and terrified, Archie saw Mrs. Forwood's maid, the beautiful young girl he had seen and noticed on the first day of his arrival at the Chase.

      In another moment she had fallen on her knees before him.

      "Do not betray me — do not betray me!" she gasped rather than spoke, raising her hands in supplication. "I will give up the jewels — I will!"

      "So you are the thief!" interrupted Archie sternly. "Get up. Do not kneel to me."

      She did not move.

      "Sir, promise me you will not betray me!" she implored in an agony of terror. "For the love of Heaven, do not betray me!"

      "I can promise nothing," he said, heartily wishing it had not been his fate to discover the thief. "Get up from your knees and ——"

      "Have you captured the thief?" interrupted a voice; and the Major, who had been posted on guard in the corridor, pushed open the door and came in. "I saw some one go softly past me and enter this room. Good Heavens! It is not you, Alice?" — as he took in the tableau before him. "You are not the thief?"

      The girl stood before them, shamefaced, stricken with an agony of guilt and fear.

      "She is indeed," said Archie. "I took her in the act. The jewels are hidden inside the ventilator. See;" and he climbed upon the table and brought down one of the small jewel-trays, with a costly set of opals lying on the cotton wool.

      "Oh, Alice, I am sorry!" was all the Major said, looking reproachfully at the girl.

      Her eyes filled with tears; she threw herself down again before them.

      "Hear me!" she cried beseechingly. "I did not mean to steal them — I did not indeed; but — but," she stammered, and finally stopped short.

      "Did not mean it!" echoed Archie. "Then why did you do it?"

      "The temptation was too strong. Oh, sir" — raising her appealing eyes to the Major — have mercy on me this once! You don't know what my life has been since I came here."

      "It was for your scamp of a father, I suppose," said Archie. "Yes; I know all about it," as the girl started violently. "I overheard you the other night."

      "Get up, Alice. If you make a full confession, I will not prosecute you," said the soft-hearted Major. "I want to know how you managed to get into this room. How did you get the key of the door from Simpson?"

      The girl rose from her crouching posture, and, with a grateful look at Major Forwood, began her story.

      "Mr. Simpson dropped the key, sir, himself. I was in Mrs. Forwood's dressing-room when you came up with the case of jewels. I heard you talking about them, and saying how valuable they were, and ——"

      "But I looked in the dressing-room myself to see if any one was there," interrupted the Major.

      "Yes, sir, you did; but I had hidden myself behind some dresses and long cloaks that were hanging on the door, and you did not see me. I was there all the time. After you had all gone down, I came out, and the first thing I saw was the key of the book-room lying on the floor at the foot of the bed. I picked it up, and then — and then ——"

      "Will you go on?" said the Major kindly, as the girl stopped short, colouring and hesitating.

      "I thought, sir, I would just look at the beautiful jewels — indeed" — raising her eyes beseechingly — "I had no thought of stealing them at first. I unlocked the book-room door, and went in. I unfastened the case and took the things out; and then I began to think how easily I could take them, and then how I should hide them till the search for them should be over. And at that moment my eyes fell upon the ventilator, and I thought what a good place the large recess inside it would be it would never be thought of. In a minute, sir, I had done it — I had hidden the jewels; but, sir, I still did not mean to steal them. I meant to put them back into the case. But just then I heard the key put into the lock of the bed-room door. I was terrified. I pushed the ventilator to, rushed out of the room, and into the dressing-room, where I hid myself behind the cloaks."

      "I suppose it was Miss Tresham who came in?" said Archie.

      "Yes; it was. She stayed a long time looking in the wardrobe, and then went away without seeing that the bed-room door was ajar. I came out after she was gone. I might have replaced the jewels then; but I was afraid of her coming back and finding me there; so I shut the door, and came away."

      "How did you open the bed-room door then?" asked Archie.

      "With the key of the dressing-room, which fitted it exactly."

      The two men looked at each other. How simple the mystery was when explained!

      "But," began Archie suspiciously, "how did the pearl necklace come into Miss Tresham's room? And the locket that was pledged at the jeweller's — when did you get that?"

      "I had them in my hand when I was disturbed," explained the girl, "and in my hurry put them into my pocket, and afterwards I dared not go back to replace them." She stopped a moment, her eyes cast down in shame. "I put the necklace in Miss Tresham's room to keep suspicion from myself. "Then I wrote to my father, who is — who is ——"

      "A professed thief," interposed Archie drily. "Yes; we know the rest. The Major has promised not to prosecute you, though I confess I should not have been so lenient; and I suppose your father is too wide awake to allow himself to be caught; so there is an end of the matter. George, I am off to bed."

      And, so far as the robbery was concerned, it was the end of the matter; for, though an energetic search was made for Alice's father, that astute gentleman was not to be found. By the Major's influence, Alice was placed in a home, where she would have a chance of retrieving her lost character.

*       *       *       *       *      *

      Mr. Hilton went back to London thoroughly disgusted. The great jewel robbery had ended for him in such a complete fiasco; his suspicions and carefully-drawn conclusions had been so completely at fault; for months after the mere mention of Forwood Chase was sufficient to disturb his impassive equilibrium, and bring a gleam of anger to his inscrutable face.

      A few days after this memorable night, Archie and Edith Tresham were seated on the bench in the fir-wood together.

      "I am sorry for that poor girl," Edith was saying.

      "I am not. I think she has got off uncommonly well," he answered. "She confesses that she obtained her situation at the Chase by means of a forged character; and there are several points in her story, plausible as it sounded, which do not bear inquiring into. However, as the jewelry is all right, and she is to be taken care of, it is not of much consequence. But she was let off very easily, in my opinion."

      "You are very hard-hearted, Mr. Lorrimer."

      "So are you," he retorted.

      "Why, what have I done?" she asked, looking up surprised.

      "In old times you did not call me 'Mr. Lorrimer.' How many times have I asked you to call me 'Archie,' and you will not?" he rejoined, with a significant look.

      The hot blood rose in her fair face under his gaze, the clear frank eyes fell beneath the long curling lashes.

      "Could you not call me 'Archie' again?" he said gently.

      She raised her eyes for one swift moment to his. The eloquent glance of passionate love that met hers was unmistakable, and the dark lashes fell again in shy confusion. He took one small hand in his.

      "Could you not learn to call me 'Archie' again, Edith?" he whispered softly, putting one arm round her waist to draw her nearer. The reply was whispered shyly on his shoulder. To judge by his face of supreme content, it seemed eminently satisfactory.

WYNRA.