base through the stone's central hole, which Miss Plinlimmon
regularly filled with salt to keep the wood from rotting. Upon this
mossed and weather-worn bench I sat myself down to examine my find.

Yet it needed no examination to tell me that the eyeglasses were
Captain Branscome's. I recognized the delicate cable pattern of
their gold rims, glinting in the sunlight. I recognized the ring and
the frayed scrap of black ribbon attached to it. I remembered the
guinea with which Captain Branscome had paid my fare on the coach.
I remembered Miss Plinlimmon's account of the stolen cashbox.

The more my suspicions grew, the more they were incredible.
That Captain Branscome, of all men in the world, should be guilty of
such a crime! And yet, with this damning evidence in my hand, I
could not but recall a dozen trifles--mere straws, to be sure--all
pointing towards him. He had been here in my father's garden: that I
might take as proven. With what object? And if that object were an
innocent one, why had he not told me of his intention to visit Minden
Cottage? I remembered how straitly he had cross-examined me, a while
ago, on the topography of the cottage, on my father's household and
his habits. Again, if his visit had been an innocent one, why, last
evening, had he said nothing of it? Why, when I questioned him about
his holiday, had he answered me so confusedly? Yet again, I recalled
his demeanour when Mrs. Stimcoe handed me the letter, and the
impression it gave me--so puzzling at the moment--that he had
foreknowledge of the news. If this incredible thing were true--if
Captain Branscome were the criminal--the puzzle ceased to be a
puzzle; the guinea and the broken cashbox were only too fatally
accounted for.