Peter laughingly refused. “I think I am nearly through with this Four Square Jane business,” he said, “and I am pretty certain that it is not going to bring kudos or promotion to me.” “I have a feeling that it will not, either,” said Steele. “It’s a rum case.” Peter shook his head. “Rum, because I’ve solved the mystery of Four Square Jane. I know who she is, and why she has robbed Claythorpe and his friends.” “You know her, do you?” said Steele thoughtfully, and the other nodded. Jamieson Steele waited till the door closed upon the detective, and then waited another five minutes before he rose and shot the bolt. He then locked the two doors leading from the sitting-room, took up the box of cigars and placed it on the table. He dipped into the box, and pulled out handful after handful of cigars, and then he took out something which glittered and scintillated in the light--a great collar of big emeralds--and laid it on the table. He looked at it thoughtfully, then wrapped it in a silk handkerchief and thrust it into his pocket, replacing the cigars in the box. He passed into his bedroom, and came out wearing a soft felt hat, and a long dark-blue trench coat. He hesitated before he unbolted the door, unbuttoned the coat, and took out the handkerchief containing the emerald collar, and put it into his overcoat pocket. If he had turned his head at that moment, and looked at the half-opened door of his bedroom, he might have caught a glimpse of a figure that was watching his every movement. Peter Dawes had not come alone, and there were three entrances to the private suite which Mr. and Mrs. Steele occupied. Then Jamieson Steele stepped out so quickly that by the time the watcher was in the corridor, he had disappeared down the lift, which happened to be going down at that moment. The man raced down the stairs three at a time. The last landing was a broad marble balcony which overlooked the hall, and, glancing down, he saw Peter waiting. He waved his hand significantly, and at that moment the elevator reached the ground floor, and Jamieson Steele stepped out of it. He was half way across the vestibule when Peter confronted him. “Wait a moment, Mr. Steele. I want you,” said Peter. It was at that second that the swing doors turned and Joyce Steele came in. “Want me?” said Steele. “Why?” “I am going to take you into custody on the charge of being concerned in the robbery to-night,” said the detective. “You’re mad,” said Steele, with an immovable face. “Arrest him? Oh no, no!” It was the gasping voice of the girl. In a second she had flung herself upon the man, her two arms about him. “It isn’t true, it isn’t true!” she sobbed. Very gently Steele pushed her back. “Go away, my dear. This is no place for you,” he said. “Mr. Dawes has made a great mistake, as he will discover.” The watcher had joined the group now.