sh and his maternal French completely failed him in giving an
outlet to his feelings, and he started to swear in German.

As the longer and heavier words of Teutonic profanity came from his
lips, I quietly unlocked the door, and motioning to Uncle Tooter, we
both tiptoed out of the room and started downstairs, leaving Holmes to
his devotions. As I went down the stairway toward the library the last
thing I heard him say was: "Schweinhund!" which sounds pretty bad.

Tooter and I walked in on the Earl and his secretary, and told them of
the bad break Holmes had just made, which caused the Earl to lie back
in his chair and roar, though Tooter was more concerned about the
social disgrace of having been caught with the tea sample.

The Earl was an easy-going and good-natured cuss, without the narrow
prejudices of his snobbish friends, and readily promised not to tell
anybody about it. He also simply grinned when Tooter told him that
Teresa had just promised to marry him, and said his revered
uncle-in-law would have to assume the job of telling his niece that
she would have to find a new maid.

In a few minutes Holmes rejoined us as if nothing had happened, and we
forbore from kidding him about it.

"Well, the next victim I am going to jump onto is your valet, Your
Lordship, and I think I'm going to strike pay dirt this time," were
his first words. "Where is the rascal now?"

"He's over in my room, sorting out my clothes," said the Earl.

"All right. Come on, Watson, we'll nail him before he gets away from
the scene of his crime."

Whereupon I accompanied Holmes across the corridor to the room back of
the drawing-room, which was the Earl's.

Luigi was in there, engaged in laying out several suits of clothes on
the bed. He looked up in surprise as we entered.

"Ah, Luigi, you haven't got any of the stolen cuff-buttons concealed
up your sleeve there, have you? I would really hate to think that you
had," remarked Holmes, grinning sardonically.

On hearing this thinly-veiled accusation Vermicelli's swarthy face got
even blacker, if possible, than it generally was, and he snarled:

"No. I'm sick of hearing about them!"

"I'm afraid we can't take your unsupported word for that, though,
Luigi. We'll have to frisk you. Now, then, stand still while Doc
Watson goes through your pockets for the gems, or at least for some
incriminating evidence."

And Hemlock pulled out his trusty six-shooter and covered the valet.

The