His sudden fit of anger, justifiable though it certainly seemed on the face of it, nevertheless took both Mr. Bundercombe and myself by surprise. The former, indeed, was in the act of opening the door, when he paused. Once more he caught my connection by the collar and thrust his hand into the other coat pocket. When he withdrew it it was filled with rings, a bracelet and a pendant. He threw them silently--a glittering heap--on the table. Without a word he thrust his hand in once more and brought out a little black ivory carving of a Japanese monk, which was perhaps one of the most valuable of my offerings. There was a blankness in Mr. Bundercombe's expression that I could not understand. I frowned. It seemed to me the affair had now gone much too far. Lord Porthoning had staggered to a chair and was sitting there with his face buried in his hands. He was a stricken man. I turned to my father-in-law. "This is too much of a good thing, sir," I whispered angrily. "The brooch was all right enough, so far as it went, and he deserved a lesson; but these other things----" A look in Mr. Bundercombe's face suddenly froze the words upon my lips. He leaned over toward me. "Paul," he declared earnestly, "on my honor I put nothing into his pocket except the brooch. I knew no more of those things," he added, pointing to the table, "than you did!" I was speechless. Lord Porthoning looked up. I had never seen a face quite like his in my life. One side of it seemed drawn with pain. He checked a sob. His fingers gripped at the air as he spoke. "Paul," he begged hysterically, "don't give me away! I give you my word of honor--I give you my word as a Porthoning--I can't help it! You know what they call the damned thing when women have it--kleptomania, isn't it? I tell you I can't see these things without that same horrible, fascinating, cruel instinct! My hands are on them before I know it. But----" he broke off. "It's sending me mad, Paul; for, as I live, I never put hands on that brooch!" "How long has this been going on?" I asked, almost mechanically. "Perhaps you are the reason that it has become the fashion to send detectives to guard wedding presents." "I am the reason!" Lord Porthoning confessed, his voice shaking. "Paul, somehow I believe--I believe this has stopped it. You'll kill the instinct. Listen! You are off directly. Let this gentleman, your father- in-law, come round to my house. I will restore to him, I swear, every article I have ever taken in this fashion. He can find out the owners by degrees, and I promise that I will never again attend a wedding reception so long as I live!" Outside I could hear them calling for me. I glanced at the clock. It was within a few minutes of the time fixed for our departure. Mr. Bundercombe nodded to me. "Very well," I agreed. "It shall be as you say."