py, Mr. Matthew Sharpin, has made
a mess of the case at Rutherford Street, exactly as I expected he would.
Business keeps me in this town, so I write to you to set the matter
straight. I inclose with this the pages of feeble scribble-scrabble
which the creature Sharpin calls a report. Look them over; and when you
have made your way through all the gabble, I think you will agree with
me that the conceited booby has looked for the thief in every direction
but the right one. You can lay your hand on the guilty person in five
minutes, now. Settle the case at once; forward your report to me at this
place, and tell Mr. Sharpin that he is suspended till further notice.

Yours, FRANCIS THEAKSTONE.

FROM SERGEANT BULMER TO CHIEF INSPECTOR THEAKSTONE.

London, July 10th.

INSPECTOR THEAKSTONE--Your letter and inclosure came safe to hand. Wise
men, they say, may always learn something even from a fool. By the time
I had got through Sharpin's maundering report of his own folly, I saw my
way clear enough to the end of the Rutherford Street case, just as you
thought I should. In half an hour's time I was at the house. The first
person I saw there was Mr. Sharpin himself.

"Have you come to help me?" says he.

"Not exactly," says I. "I've come to tell you that you are suspended
till further notice."

"Very good," says he, not taken down by so much as a single peg in his
own estimation. "I thought you would be jealous of me. It's very natural
and I don't blame you. Walk in, pray, and make yourself at home. I'm off
to do a little detective business on my own account, in the neighborhood
of the Regent's Park. Ta--ta, sergeant, ta--ta!"

With those words he took himself out of the way, which was exactly what
I wanted him to do.

As soon as the maid-servant had shut the door, I told her to inform her
master that I wanted to say a word to him in private. She showed me into
the parlor behind the shop, and there was Mr. Yatman all alone, reading
the newspaper.

"About this matter of the robbery, sir," says I.

He cut me short, peevishly enough, being naturally a poor, weak,
womanish sort of man.

"Yes, yes, I know," says he. "You have come to tell me that your
wonderfully clever man, who has bored holes in my second floor
partition, has made a mistake, and is off the scent of the scoundrel who
has stolen my money."

"Yes, sir," says I. "That _is_ one of the things I came to tell you. But
I have got something else to say b