He brought and settled them snugly about the fire, went to a cabinet, and, returning with some article in his hand, placed a little occasional table in their midst ready for its reception. “You will remember,” he said, “the terms of the advertisement, and the emphasis laid on a particular species of parrakeet skin--the rose-ringed, in short. It was from the first our astute secretary’s opinion, Miss Halifax, that the advertiser had in view less that species than a single example of that species, and he was perfectly right. I hold the proof in my hand.” He offered it for their inspection. Nestle, uttering an exclamation, bent to look. “Take it,” said Gilead, “examine it, weigh it, and return it to me. What do you make of it?” “It answers to the description certainly,” said the secretary--“green plumage, rose and black band. It is about sixteen inches long, and it has been worn. Two things only strike me.” “What?” “The weight of its head, and the fact that it has eyes.” “Precisely. Now will you lay it down here awhile? It came into my hands the night before last under pretty tragic circumstances. There was an attempt at murder--yes indeed there was, Miss Halifax--of which an unhappy girl was the victim. I arrived on the scene too late to prevent the crime, but not too late to have the criminal arrested red-handed. It was only then that I reached a final solution of the problem I had set myself to unravel, and which solution it needed no more than a single piece of corroborative evidence, since supplied, to confirm. By the courtesy, or perhaps I should say the particular favour, of Chief Superintendent Ingram, I am allowed the temporary custody of these pièces-de-conviction. Yes, Miss Halifax?” “The girl? the poor victim?” “She is not, I am happy to say, so mortally hurt as at first it was feared. There is a chance, at least, of her recovery. The bullet has been extracted.” “The bullet?” “I am beginning, you see, at the end, like a Chinese book.” “O! please to go on. I will not interrupt you again.” “As often and as much as you like. By the way, where _am_ I to begin?” “O! from your visit to Doddington Grove. I know so far.” “Very well. Now, as you may suppose, I found nothing whatever in Doddington Grove, a respectable street in a respectable neighbourhood, to afford me the slightest clue to what I sought. I had, in fact, after a hopeless investigation, come to realise my complete inability to make bricks without straw, when chance, or Providence, directed my steps, in retreating, past a shop in the Kennington Road, in the window of which I saw something which brought me to an instant stand. This something was nothing less than a bundle of bright-coloured bird-skins, tied round with a piece of red tape.