"You see, I was right!" remarked our hero to the detective in his usual suave tones. "You should have done just what I said. You stayed too long upstairs. However, there's still a running chance of your catching our man at the station. Here, take a drink, and then get along as fast as you can!" He handed Barney a glass of champagne, and the detective hastily gulped it down. He needed it, for the fifteen-foot jump from the bath-room window had shaken him up badly. "Trap's ready, sir!" called William, coming into the hall, and Barney turned without a word and dashed for the door. The whip cracked and McAllister was free. "Well, well, well!" remarked Blair. "Don't let's lose our dinner, anyway! Come, ladies, let's finish our meal. We at least know who the thief is, and there's a fair chance of his being caught. I will notify the White Plains police at once! Don't despair, Miss Benson. We'll have the necklace for you yet!" But Mildred was not to be comforted and clung to Mrs. Blair, with the tears welling in her eyes, while her hostess patted her cheek and tried to encourage a belief that the necklace in some mysterious way would return. "No, it's gone! I know it is. They'll never catch him! Oh, it's dreadful! I would give anything in the world to have that necklace back!" "_Anything_, Miss Benson?" inquired McAllister gayly, as he rose from his place and held up the softly shining cord of pearls. "But perhaps if I held you to the letter of your contract you might claim _duress_. Allow me to return the necklace. It's a great pleasure, I assure you!" "Hooray for Chubby!" shouted Wainwright. The company gasped with astonishment as Miss Benson eagerly seized the jewels. "By George, McAllister! How did you do it?" inquired his excited host. "Yes, tell us! How did you get 'em? _Where_ did you get 'em?" "Who was the Baron?" "How on earth did you know?" They all suddenly began to shout, asking questions, arguing, and exclaiming with astonishment. McAllister saw that some explanation was in order. "Just a bit of detective work of my own," he announced carelessly. "I don't care to say anything more about it. One can't give away one's trade secrets, don'cher know. Of course that assistant of mine made rather a mess of it, but after all, the necklace was the main thing!" And he bowed to Miss Benson. Beyond this brilliant elucidation of the mystery no one could extract a syllable from the hero of the occasion. The Baron did not return, and his absence was not observed. But Joe Wainwright voiced the sentiments of the entire company when he announced somewhat huskily that McAllister made Sherlock Holmes look like thirty cents. "But, say," he muttered thickly an hour later to his host as they sauntered into the billiard-room for one last whiskey and soda, "did you notice how much that butler feller that ran away looked like McAllister? 'S livin' image! 'Pon my 'onor!" "You've been drinking, Joe!" laughed his companion.