"But it seems to me that at present there is not a tittle of evidence. Your wife, Mr. Burgoyne, has been arrested, I won't say upon your information, but on the strength of words which you allowed to escape your lips. But they can't put you in the box; you could prove nothing if they did. When the case comes on they'll ask for a remand. Probably they'll get it, one remand at any rate. I shall offer bail, which they'll accept. When the case comes on again, unless they have something to go on, which they haven't now, it will be dismissed. Mrs. Burgoyne will leave the court without a stain upon her character. We shan't even have to hint at kleptomania, or klepto anything." More than once that night Mr. Burgoyne meditated suicide. All was over. She--his beloved!--through his folly--slept in jail. And if, by the skin of her teeth, she escaped this time, how would it be the next? She was guilty now--they might prove it then! And when he thought of the numerous precautions he had hedged her round with heretofore, it seemed marvellous that she had gone scot free so long. And suppose she had been taken at the outset of her career--in the affair of the jewels at the Grand Hotel--what would have availed any plea he might have urged before a French tribunal? He shuddered as he thought of it. He never attempted to go to bed. He paced to and fro in his study like a caged wild animal. If he might only have shared her cell! The study was on the ground floor. It opened on to the garden. Between two and three in the morning he thought he heard a tapping at the pane. With a trembling hand he unlatched the window. A man stood without. "Watson!" As the name broke from him Mr. Watson staggered, rather than walked, into the room. "I--I saw the light outside. I thought I had better knock at the window than disturb the house." He sank into a chair, putting his arms upon the table, pillowing his face upon his hands. There was silence. Mr. Burgoyne, in his surprise, was momentarily struck dumb. At last, finding his voice, and eyeing his friend, he said-- "This is a bad job for both of us." Mr. Watson looked up. Mr. Burgoyne, in spite of his own burden which he had to bear, was startled by something which he saw written on his face. "As you say, it is a bad job for both of us." Mr. Watson rose as he was speaking. "But it is worst for me. Why did you tell me all that stuff about your wife?" "God knows I am not in the mood to talk of anything, but rather than that, talk of what you please." "Why the devil did you put that thought into my head?" "What thought? I do not understand. I don't think you understand much either." "Why did you tell me she had taken the stones? Why, you damned fool, I had them in my pocket all the time." Mr. Watson took his hand out of his pocket. It was full of what seemed little crystals. He dashed these down upon the table with such force that they were scattered all over the room. They were some of the Mitwaterstraand diamonds.