pickpocket or some other dreadful creature of that kind, don't you know,
to make a snatch and--in fact, the thing has actually happened. Why, I
knew a lady--Mrs. Moggridge, you know, Juliet--no, it wasn't Mrs.
Moggridge, that was another affair, it was Mrs.--Mrs.--dear me, how
silly of me!--now, what was her name? Can't you help me, Juliet? You
must surely remember the woman. She used to visit a good deal at the
Hawley-Johnsons'--I think it was the Hawley-Johnsons', or else it was
those people, you know--"

"Hadn't you better give Dr. Thorndyke the 'Thumbograph'?" interrupted
Miss Gibson.

"Why, of course, Juliet, dear. What else did we come here for?" With a
slightly injured expression, Mrs. Hornby opened the little bag and
commenced, with the utmost deliberation, to turn out its contents on to
the table. These included a laced handkerchief, a purse, a card-case, a
visiting list, a packet of _papier poudré_, and when she had laid the
last-mentioned article on the table, she paused abruptly and gazed into
Miss Gibson's face with the air of one who has made a startling
discovery.

"I remember the woman's name," she said in an impressive voice. "It was
Gudge--Mrs. Gudge, the sister-in-law of--"

Here Miss Gibson made an unceremonious dive into the open bag and fished
out a tiny parcel wrapped in notepaper and secured with a silk thread.

"Thank you," said Thorndyke, taking it from her hand just as Mrs. Hornby
was reaching out to intercept it. He cut the thread and drew from its
wrappings a little book bound in red cloth, with the word "Thumbograph"