These words astonished me almost as much as they did Mr Hoker. The great Wedlake jewel robbery is, as many will remember, a traditional story of the sixties. I remembered no more of it at the time than probably most men do who have at some time or another read up the _causes célèbres_ of the century. Sir Francis Wedlake’s country house had been robbed, and the whole of Lady Wedlake’s magnificent collection of jewels stolen. A man named Shiels, a strolling musician, had been arrested and had been sentenced to a long term of penal servitude. Another man named Legg--one of the comparatively wealthy scoundrels who finance promising thefts or swindles and pocket the greater part of the proceeds--had also been punished, but only a very few of the trinkets, and those quite unimportant items, had been recovered. The great bulk of the booty was never brought to light. So much I remembered, and Hewitt’s sudden mention of the Wedlake jewels in connection with my broken window, Mr Reuben B. Hoker, and the “Flitterbat Lancers,” astonished me not a little. As for Hoker, he did his best to hide his perturbation, but with little success. “Wedlake jewels, eh?” he said; “and--and what’s that to do with it, anyway?” “To do with it?” responded Hewitt, with an air of carelessness. “Well, well, I had my idea, nothing more. If the Wedlake jewels have nothing to do with it, we’ll say no more about it, that’s all. Here’s your paper, Mr Hoker--only a little crumpled. Here also is the piece of cement. If the Wedlake jewels have nothing to do with the affair you may possibly want that too--I can’t tell.” He rose and placed the articles in Mr Hoker’s hand, with the manner of terminating the interview. Hoker rose, with a bewildered look on his face, and turned toward the door. Then he stopped, looked at the floor, scratched his cheek, and finally, after a thoughtful look, first at me and then at Hewitt, sat down again emphatically in the chair he had just quitted, and put his hat on the ground. “Come,” he said, “we’ll play a square game. That paper has something to do with the Wedlake jewels, and, win or lose, I’ll tell you all I know about it. You’re a smart man--you’ve found out more than I know already--and whatever I tell you, I guess it won’t do me no harm; it ain’t done me no good yet, anyway.” “Say what you please, of course,” Hewitt answered, “but think first. You might tell me something you’d be sorry for afterward. Mind, I don’t invite your confidence.” “Confidence be durned! Say, will you listen to what I say, and tell me if you think I’ve been swindled or not? There ain’t a creature in this country whose advice I can ask. My 250 dollars is gone now, and I guess I won’t go skirmishing after it any more if you think it’s no good. Will you do so much?” “As I said before,” Hewitt replied, “tell me what you please, and if I can help you I will. But remember, I don’t ask for your secrets.”