My dear father used to say that often the best way to prove the guilt of a suspected party is to give him the opportunity of denying something of which you have not yet accused him. And with this axiom in mind next morning when I descended to breakfast, I held high hopes of having a practical demonstration of its truth. Buoyed up more by my lively interest in the situation than by the brief slumber in which I had indulged, I dressed in a printed gingham as a refreshing, light and springlike costume calculated to improve my appearance, which showed some ravages from the night before, and with mind and marcel all composed and in good order, I presented as calm and cheerful an appearance to the company which slowly gathered in the charming breakfast room as if nothing at all out of the usual had occurred during the night. Peaches was at the table, looking lovelier than ever in sports clothes--a form of unsexed semifemale attire most distasteful to me ordinarily, and as I took my seat beside her she managed a brief whisper. "When are you going to?" she breathed cryptically. "I already have!" I whispered back, and then could say no more because Mr. Pegg emerged from the produce sheet of the newspaper behind which he had been growling, and attacked the orange upon the plate before him. "Florida! Bah!" he commented, scattering the seeds wildly. "Mornin', Miss Free. Can't raise anything down there but the kind of stuff we refuse to market! Ugh! Surprised at Markheim's Chinaboy. Well, Miss Free, you look like you'd just eaten the canary. What's up?" "Why, Mr. Pegg!" I protested. "How you talk!" And then mercifully, before he had any opportunity of enlarging further upon the subject, Sebastian Markheim came into the room, his face red and moist with excitement. He seemed fairly about to burst out of his light gray tweed clothing, and his walk, usually a waddle, now assumed the proportion of a trot. "Good morning, good morning!" he said, taking his seat. "Dear me, what on earth do you suppose? Attempted robbery here last night, 'pon my word! But the beggars don't seem to have got away with anything except----?" Here he paused, unaccountable. "Except what?" I asked sharply. "Most curious thing!" he gasped. "Very extraordinary, very extraordinary! A Damascus sword!" "Holy mackerel!" said Mr. Pegg impatiently. "Damn it! Orange juice in my eye--stings like the devil. California orange juice never stings you like that! What did you say, Mark?" "I said that the only thing the burglars took was one of the swords from the suits of armor!" yelled the banker. "What did they want it for, what did they want it for, that's what I'd like to know, eh?" "Who told you such a nonsensical thing?" I asked. "My man Wilkes," replied Mr. Markheim. "It seems the watchman, Pedro, has disappeared as well, but it's hardly likely the robbers took him."