house in such condition, and that if I had acted like a sane
person and put her out, when she had no business there at all,
she would have had her freedom and her bracelet, and that if we
were playing a joke on her (as if we felt like joking!) we would
please give her the bracelet and let her go and die in a corner;
she felt very queer.

At half-past four o'clock we gave up.

"It's gone," I said. "I don't believe you wore it here. No one
could have taken it. There wasn't a soul in this part of the
house, except the policeman and he's locked in."

At five o'clock we put her to sleep in the den. She was in a
fearful temper, and I was glad enough to be able to shut the door
on her. Tom Harbison--that was his name--helped me to creep
upstairs, and wanted to get me a glass of ale to make me sleep.
But I said it would be of no use, as I had to get up and get the
breakfast. The last thing he said was that the policeman seemed
above the average in intelligence, and perhaps we could train him
to do plain cooking and dishwashing.

I did not go to sleep at once. I lay on the chintz-covered divan
in Bella's dressing room and stared at the picture of her with
the violets underneath. I couldn't see what there was about Bella
to inspire such undying devotion, but I had to admit that she had
looked handsome that night, and that the Harbison man had
certainly been impressed.

At seven o'clock Jimmy Wilson pounded at my door, and I could