Unceremoniously he parted from the Omaha beauty and sped over the lawn. But quick as he was, Lord Harrowby was quicker. For when Minot came up, he saw Harrowby bending over Miss Meyrick, who sat upon a wicker bench. "Cynthia--what is it?" Harrowby was saying. Cynthia Meyrick felt wildly of her shining hair. "Your necklace," she gasped. "Chain Lightning's Collar. He took it! He took it!" "Who?" "I don't know. A man!" "A man!" Reverent repetition by feminine voices out of the excited group. "He leaped out at me there--by that tree--pinioned my arms--snatched the necklace. I couldn't see his face. It happened in the shadow." "No matter," Harrowby replied. "Don't give it another thought, my child." "But how can I help--" "I shall telephone the police at once," announced Spencer Meyrick. "I beg you'll do nothing of the sort," expostulated Lord Harrowby. "It would be a great inconvenience--the thing wasn't worth the publicity that would result. I insist that the police be kept out of this." Argument--loud on Mr. Meyrick's part--ensued. Suggestions galore were offered by the guests. But in the end Lord Harrowby had his way. It was agreed not to call in the police. Mr. Minot, looking up, saw a sneering smile on the face of Martin Wall. In a flash he knew the truth. With Aunt Mary calling loudly for smelling salts, and the whole party more or less in confusion, the return to the house started. Mr. Paddock walked at Minot's side. "Rather looks as though Chain Lightning's Collar had choked off our gaiety," he mumbled. "Serves her right for wearing the thing in her hair. She spoiled two corking lines for me by not wearing it where you'd naturally expect a necklace to be worn." Minot maneuvered so as to intercept Lord Harrowby under the portico. "May I speak with you a moment?" he inquired. Harrowby bowed, and they stepped into the shadows of the drive. "Lord Harrowby," said Minot, trying to keep the excitement from his voice, "I have certain information about one of the guests here this evening that I believe would interest you. Your lordship has been badly buffaloed. One of our fellow diners at Mrs. Bruce's table holds the title of the ablest jewel thief in America!" He watched keenly to catch Lord Harrowby's start of surprise. Alas, he caught nothing of the sort. "Nonsense," said his lordship nonchalantly. "You mustn't let your imagination carry you away, dear chap." "Imagination nothing! I know what I'm talking about." And then Minot added sarcastically: "Sorry to bore you with this." His lordship laughed. "Right-o, old fellow. I'm not interested." "But haven't you just lost--"