Lionel had no reason for suspecting any of the people immediately about him, nor did such a thought ever find a lodging in his mind. The more he considered the matter, the more certain he felt that the man of whom he had caught a glimpse in the shrubbery was really the thief. But even granting such to be the case, the mystery was no nearer solution than before. Whoever the man might be, he had got clear away without leaving the slightest clue behind him by which he might be traced. Lionel’s first visit, when he was able to get out of doors again, was to a little cottage on the outskirts of Duxley, where lived an old man, Joseph Nixon by name, who had been body-servant to the late Mr. St. George, and to his father before him. Nixon was now living on a pension granted him by the family; and it seemed to Lionel that he would be more likely than any one else to have a knowledge of the hidden staircase, and the cupboard in the bedroom wall. He found the old man infirm in body but clear in mind. Yes, he said, in answer to Lionel’s inquiries, he knew all about the staircase in the wall, and the little closet behind the panelling in his old master’s bedroom. Mr. St. George, who was somewhat peculiar in his ways, was in the habit of keeping a considerable amount of ready money in the house, and used the cupboard as a secure place of deposit, known to himself and Nixon alone. “But was there nothing besides money ever kept there?” asked Lionel. “Yes, sir; there was a diamond necklace, and some other things as well,” answered Nixon. “It was rather a strange place in which to keep a diamond necklace, was it not?” “Well, sir, this is how it was. When Mr. Arthur St. George was a young man, he was engaged to be married to a handsome young lady. The wedding day was fixed, and everything ready, when he made her a present of a diamond necklace. She wore it once only—at a grand ball to which he took her. Next day she was taken ill; a week later she was dead. Her friends sent back the necklace, and my master seemed as if he could never bear to part from it after that time. Many and many a time I’ve known him to sleep with it under his pillow.” Here was a page of romance out of his uncle’s life that was quite fresh to Lionel. “He was one o’ the old-fashioned sort of lovers, was Mr. St. George,” added Nixon. “He didn’t know what it was to change.” “And are you certain that my uncle and yourself were the only two people who knew of the existence of the staircase and the cupboard? Try to remember. Think carefully before you answer.” “It’s not in my knowledge,” answered the old man, slowly, “that anybody knew about either of them places but my master and myself. Unless, maybe——” “Yes—unless what?” “Unless Mr. Kester St. George happened to know about them.” “And do you really think that my cousin Kester does know that there are two such places in existence?” asked Lionel after a pause.