sense of victory. After they
had said "Good-night" to their visitor, Mrs. Peter expressed her
conviction that he had taken something.

"I fancy, by his manner, that there was something up," corroborated her
husband; "do you miss anything?"

Mrs. Peters hastily counted the array of gifts.

"I can only make it thirty-four, and I think it should be thirty-five,"
she announced; "I can't remember if thirty-five includes the Archdeacon's
cruet-stand that hasn't arrived yet."

"How on earth are we to know?" said Peter. "The mean pig hasn't brought
us a present, and I'm hanged if he shall carry one off."

"To-morrow, when's he having his bath," said Mrs. Peter excitedly, "he's
sure to leave his keys somewhere, and we can go through his portmanteau.
It's the only thing to do."

On the morrow an alert watch was kept by the conspirators behind half-
closed doors, and when Wilfrid, clad in a gorgeous bath-robe, had made
his way to the bath-room, there was a swift and furtive rush by two
excited individuals towards the principal guest-chamber. Mrs. Peter kept
guard outside, while her husband first made a hurried and successful
search for the keys, and then plunged at the portmanteau with the air of
a disagreeably conscientious Customs official. The quest was a brief
one; a silver cream jug lay embedded in the folds of some zephyr shirts.

"The cunning brute," said Mrs. Peters; "he took a cream jug because there
were so many; he thought one wouldn't be missed. Quick, fly down with it
and put it back among the others."

Wilfrid was late in coming down to breakfast, and his manner showed
plainly that something was amiss.

"It's an unpleasant thing to have to say," he blurted out presently, "but
I'm afraid you must have a thief among your servants. Something's been
taken out of my portmanteau. It was a little present from my mother and
myself for your silver wedding. I should have given it to you last night
after dinner, only it happened to be a cream jug, and you seemed annoyed
at having so many duplicates, so I felt rather awkward about giving you
another. I thought I'd get it changed for something else, and now it's
gone."

"Did you say it was from your _mother_ and yourself?" asked Mr. and Mrs.
Peter almost in unison. The Snatcher had been an orphan these many
years.

"Yes, my mother's at Cairo just now, and she wrote to me at Dresden to
try and get you something quaint and pretty in the old silver line, and