Hurrah! You are cleared of all suspicion, as I always knew you would be, and--just as I expected--our dear friend, “Young Guttles,” is convicted of the robbery. I am sorry I was prevented from writing yesterday, as I should like to have been the first to tell you the good news; but Lord Guttleborough, who has certainly behaved like a thorough gentleman in the matter, insisted on Dr. Massenger’s starting at once to see your father, and I believe wrote himself, so you will already have heard the good news. We have had quite an exciting time of it the last two or three days in this not over-and-above lively hole, which indeed, since your departure, has become duller than ditch water. First, dear old Eton, and then _your_ coming to Ehrenbreitstein, have made me feel how impossible it is to live a life worth living without a friend to love and confide in. But I must tell you how the affair came about, with all particulars, in proper order. Well, then, a few days after you left, Mrs. Massenger went to dine with the Disneys at Pottlehampton, and wore on that solemn occasion the diamond brooch about which we used to laugh at her, because she was always boasting of it as the bequest of her Aunt Trickleback. When she came home at night, she replaced the brooch in her dressing-case, but, when she opened the latter two or three days afterwards, the brooch had disappeared, and along with it twenty sovereigns which the old lady (what a rage she would be in if she knew I called her _old_!) had hoarded up, “unbeknown” to her husband. _Madame_ was perfectly furious at her loss, and insisted on the matter being put into the hands of two detectives from Manchester. These worthies--Diggles and Breffit were their respective and respectable names--seem to have acted with great tact and discretion. It was evident that no violence had been used in opening the box; they therefore decided that it must have been opened by means of a false key--a wax impression having somehow been obtained from the original. They accordingly made inquiries at Ossington, and speedily ascertained that a short time before “a young gentleman” had brought the pattern of a key to a locksmith there, and had said he wanted a duplicate made for his desk. Locksmith could not remember what the “young gent” was like, but had an idea he had “carrotty” hair. Making further inquiries at Ossington, Diggles and Breffit discovered that “a young lady,” name unknown, had taken two diamonds to a jeweller in the High Street, and wanted to sell one of them, and to have the other made up into a ring. The stones, she said, had been left her by an aunt. The jeweller, who seems to have been a consummate rascal, gave the girl £8 for one of the diamonds, which was worth £20 at the least, and took the commission for the ring. Jeweller didn’t know the girl by sight, but his shopman “thought she was a larky one,” and followed her to the door for a bit of chat when she