gerous
search. All I can tell him, all that he must know from any source, is
that some of my property has been stolen. I must describe some of the
lamps, especially one, for it is of gold; and my fear is lest the
thief, ignorant of its historic worth, may, in order to cover up his
crime, have it melted. I would willingly pay ten, twenty, a hundred, a
thousand times its intrinsic value rather than have it destroyed. I
shall tell him only what is necessary. So, please, let me answer any
questions he may ask; unless, of course, I ask you or refer to either
of you for the answer." We both nodded acquiescence. Then a thought
struck me and I said:

"By the way, if it be necessary to keep this matter quiet it will be
better to have it if possible a private job for the Detective. If once
a thing gets to Scotland Yard it is out of our power to keep it quiet,
and further secrecy may be impossible. I shall sound Sergeant Daw
before he comes up. If I say nothing, it will mean that he accepts the
task and will deal with it privately." Mr. Corbeck answered at once:

"Secrecy is everything. The one thing I dread is that the lamps, or
some of them, may be destroyed at once." To my intense astonishment
Miss Trelawny spoke out at once, but quietly, in a decided voice:

"They will not be destroyed; nor any of them!" Mr. Corbeck actually
smiled in amazement.

"How on earth do you know?" he asked. Her answer was still more
incomprehensible:

"I don't know how I know it; but know it I do. I feel it all through
me; as though it were a conviction which has been with me all my life!"

Chapter VIII

The Finding of the Lamps

Sergeant Daw at first made some demur; but finally agreed to advise
privately on a matter which might be suggested to him. He added that I
was to remember that he only undertook to advise; for if action were
required he might have to refer the matter to headquarters. With this
understanding I left him in the study, and brought Miss Trelawny and
Mr. Corbeck to him. Nurse Kennedy resumed her place at the bedside
before we left the room.

I could not but admire the cautious, cool-headed precision with which
the traveller stated his case. He did not seem to conceal anything,
and yet he gave the least possible description of the objects missing.
He did not enlarge on the mystery of the case; he seemed to look on it
as an ordinary hotel theft. Knowing, as I did, that his one object was
to r