ll.

FLIRTIA.

Once a year, at Christmastide, I receive a simple foreign hamper via
Charing Cross, marked "Return empty." I take it in silence to my own
room, and there, opening it, I find--unseen by any other eyes but my
own--a modest pate de foie gras, of the kind I ate with the Princess
Flirtia. I take out the pate, replace the label, and have the hamper
reconveyed to Charing Cross.

THE STOLEN CIGAR CASE

By A. CO--N D--LE

I found Hemlock Jones in the old Brook Street lodgings, musing before
the fire. With the freedom of an old friend I at once threw myself in
my usual familiar attitude at his feet, and gently caressed his boot.
I was induced to do this for two reasons: one, that it enabled me to
get a good look at his bent, concentrated face, and the other, that it
seemed to indicate my reverence for his superhuman insight. So
absorbed was he even then, in tracking some mysterious clue, that he
did not seem to notice me. But therein I was wrong--as I always was in
my attempt to understand that powerful intellect.

"It is raining," he said, without lifting his head.

"You have been out, then?" I said quickly.

"No. But I see that your umbrella is wet, and that your overcoat has
drops of water on it."

I sat aghast at his penetration. After a pause he said carelessly, as
if dismissing the subject: "Besides, I hear the rain on the window.
Listen."

I listened. I could scarcely credit my ears, but there was the soft
pattering of drops on the panes. It was evident there was no deceiving
this man!

"Have you been busy lately?" I asked, changing the subject. "What new
problem--given up by Scotland Yard as inscrutable--has occupied that
gigantic intellect?"

He drew back his foot slightly, and seemed to hesitate ere he returned
it to its original position. Then he answered wearily: "Mere
trifles--nothing to speak of. The Prince Kupoli has been here to get
my advice regarding the disappearance of certain rubies from the
Kremlin; the Rajah of Pootibad, after vainly beheading his entire
bodyguard, has been obliged to seek my assistance to recover a jeweled
sword. The Grand Duchess of Pretzel-Brauntswig is desirous of
discovering where her husband was on the night of February 14; and last
night"--he lowered his voice slightly--"a lodger in this very house,
meeting me on the stairs, wanted to know why they didn't answer his
bell."

I could not help smiling--until I saw a frown gathering