"Of course," said Mr. Vaughan, "that is what makes me think that the
watchmen are in it. It's probably a combination of two or three of
them."

"Well, that lets Geoffrey out," said the irrepressible Florence. "No one
would take his watchman into any combination,--he is a thousand and two
and feeble for his age. However, there is no use in discussing the
possibility, for it is not a combination of watchmen, begging your
pardon, Mr. Vaughan. It is lonely genius, a slim, dark figure in a
slouch hat. That is the way I imagine him. Do you really suppose that a
watchman would take six pair of Mrs. Inness' best linen sheets,
embroidered in her initials, the monogram so thick that it scratches
your nose; and a beautiful light blue silk coverlet,--all just out from
Paris. I saw them when she first had them."

"What," said Geoffrey, addressing the other male intellect present, "do
you make of the young woman who disposed of some of the Marheim silver
in Boston?"

[Illustration: "IT WAS A YOUNG LADY WHO DISPOSED OF THE SILVER"]

But it was Mrs. May who answered: "She is of course the lady of his
love--a lady doubtless of high social position in Boston. There was a
book about something like that once. He is just waiting to make one more
grand coup, rob the bank or something and then the world will be
startled by the news of their elopement. They will go and live somewhere
luxuriously in the south Pacific, and travellers will bring home strange
stories of their happiness and charm. Perhaps, though, he would turn
pirate. That would suit his style."