"True," said Malcolm Sage, but from the look in his eyes his thoughts seemed elsewhere. "By the way, what time was it that you had a shower here last night?" "A shower?" repeated Glanedale. "Oh! yes, I remember, it was just about twelve o'clock; it only lasted about ten minutes." "I'll think things over," said Malcolm Sage, and Glanedale, taking the hint, strolled off towards the house. Malcolm Sage walked over to where an old man was trimming a hedge. "Could you lend me a trowel for half an hour?" he enquired. "No, dang it, I can't," growled the old fellow. "I ain't a-going to lend no more trowels or anything else." "Why?" enquired Malcolm Sage. "There's my best trowel gone out of the tool-house," he grumbled, "and I ain't a-going to lend no others." "How did it go?" "How should I know?" he complained. "Walked out, I suppose, same as trowels is always doin'." "When did you miss it?" "It was there day 'fore yesterday I'll swear, and I ain't a-going to lend no more." "Do you think the man who took the jewels stole it?" enquired Malcolm Sage. "Dang the jools," he retorted, "I want my trowel," and, grumbling to himself, the old fellow shuffled off to the other end of the hedge. Half an hour later Malcolm Sage was in Hyston, interviewing the inspector of police, who was incoherent with excitement. He learned that Scotland Yard was sending down a man that afternoon, furthermore that elaborate enquiries were being made in the neighbourhood as to any suspicious characters having recently been seen. Malcolm Sage asked a number of questions, to which he received more or less impatient replies. The inspector was convinced that the robbery was the work of the same man who had got away with Mrs. Comminge's jewels, and he was impatient with anyone who did not share this view. From the police station Malcolm Sage went to The Painted Flag, where, having ordered lunch, he got through to the Twentieth Century Insurance Corporation, and made an appointment to meet one of the assessors at Home Park at three o'clock. CHAPTER X A LESSON IN DEDUCTION I Mr. Grimwood, of the firm of Grimwood, Galton & Davy, insurance assessors, looked up from the list in his hand. He was a shrewd little man, with side-whiskers, pince-nez that would never sit straight upon his aquiline nose, and an impressive cough. He glanced from Malcolm Sage to young Glanedale, then back again to Malcolm Sage; finally he coughed. The three men were seated in Sir Roger Glanedale's library awaiting the coming of Lady Glanedale. "And yet Mr. Glanedale heard nothing," remarked Mr. Grimwood musingly. "Strange, very strange." "Are you in the habit of sitting smoking at your bedroom window?" enquired Malcolm Sage of Glanedale, his eyes averted. "Er--no, not exactly," was the hesitating response. "Can you remember when last you did such a thing?" was the next question. "I'm afraid I can't," said Glanedale, with an uneasy laugh.