without it I sent a cable for it to be forwarded on. And now! It's the
rottenest luck."

"What was it worth?" our hostess asked.

"Not very much. Thirty pounds perhaps. But that isn't it. The money is
nothing--it's the sentimental associations that make the loss so serious."

"Well," said a practical man, "you needn't despair. Ring up Scotland Yard
and ask them the best thing to do."

"Did you take the cabman's number?" some one asked.

"Of course he didn't," our hostess replied. "Who ever does a thing like
that?"

"As a matter of fact," said Sir Charles, "I sometimes do. But this time, of
course, I didn't." He groaned. "No, it's gone for ever. The cabman will see
it's gold and sell it. I wouldn't trust your modern taxi-chauffeur with
anything."

"If you would feel any happier," said our hostess, "do telephone now."

"No," said Sir Charles, "no. It's no use. A coin like that would never be
surrendered. It's too interesting; even a cabman would realise that.
Umbrellas they'll take back, of course--umbrellas and bags, but not a
goldmohur. He'll either keep it to show his pals in public-houses or have
it fixed up as a brooch for his wife."

As Sir Charles finished speaking and once more turned gloomily to his