ey safely, while Holmes cops all the limelight!"

"Cheer up, Watson, old boy," said Holmes. "Here,--have a cigarette!
Now, I think we've seen about enough of this lovely Puddingham lawn,"
he added as he calmly surveyed the wide green expanse that stretched
for four hundred feet out from the front of the castle to the road and
for three hundred feet on each side of the massive pile, dotted here
and there with trees and incipient flower-beds, on the latter of which
Heinrich Blumenroth had been exercising his skill, planting spring
flowers. "So I guess we'll go back inside, and consider the case of
the lost jewels further," continued Holmes.

And the whole nine of us obligingly trudged after him like sheep after
the bellwether, and reentered the castle.

It was now after eleven o'clock, and nothing in the shape of a diamond
cuff-button had turned up yet, but I was not surprised, because I knew
that Hemlock Holmes had not yet put in his best licks,--that is to
say, had not yet pulled off any of his deepest cogitations and
deductions. Just as I happened to see him slipping his little old
cocaine-squirter back in his pocket after a surreptitious shot in the
arm (while our party was entering the drawing-room on the left side of
the front corridor), Lord Launcelot evidently thought it incumbent
upon him to kid Holmes for the lack of results so far; but he hadn't
spoken more than a few words of his would-be witty remarks when Holmes
turned and barked at him like a terrier.

"Say, you, lord or no lord, you'll have to chop out the funny remarks
on my method of handling this case, or else I'll drop the whole thing
right here," he flung at the surprised Launcelot. "I can't stand this
eternal butting-in while I'm trying to think!"

The Earl warned Launcelot to cease the comedy, and then Holmes
motioned all of them except me out of the room, saying that he had
some deep thought on hand that would take up at least two hours, and
that we shouldn't be called to luncheon until a quarter after one. My
stomach rebelled at this, but my head knew better than to oppose the
old boy when he had a thought-tantrum on.

Billie Hicks,--he from Canada,--was the last one to go, and as he was
leaving he hurled this Parthian shot at Holmes:

"Now go ahead and try to think, Holmes. Maybe you'll succeed in the
attempt!"

Holmes threw a book at him, which narrowly missed Hicks as he banged
the door shut behind him, and my partner immediately locke