"Good morning, Sturgis," he said affably, as the butler appeared. "You might give me some more coffee, will you?" The butler of Rudge Hall was a little man with snowy hair who had been placidly withering in Mr. Carmody's service for the last twenty years. John had known him ever since he could remember, and he had always been just the same--frail and venerable and kindly and dried-up. He looked exactly like the Good Old Man in a touring melodrama company. "Why, Mr. John! I thought you were in London." "I got back late last night. And very glad," said John heartily, "to be back. How's the rheumatism, Sturgis?" "Rather troublesome, Mr. John." John was horrified. Could these things be on such a day as this? "You don't say so?" "Yes, Mr. John. I was awake the greater portion of the night." "You must rub yourself with something and then go and lie down and have a good rest. Where do you feel it mostly?" "In the limbs, Mr. John. It comes on in sharp twinges." "That's bad. By Jove, yes, that's bad. Perhaps this fine weather will make it better." "I hope so, Mr. John." "So do I, so do I," said John earnestly. "Tell me, where is everybody?" "Mr. Hugo and the young gentleman went up to London." "Of course, yes. I was forgetting." "Mr. Molloy and Miss Molloy finished their breakfast some little time ago, and are now out in the garden." "Ah, yes. And my uncle?" "He is up in the picture gallery with the policeman, Mr. John." John stared. "With the what?" "With the policeman, Mr. John, who's come about the burglary." "Burglary?" "Didn't you hear, Mr. John, we had a burglary last night?" The world being constituted as it is, with Fate waiting round almost every corner with its sandbag, it is not often that we are permitted to remain for long undisturbed in our moods of exaltation. John came down to earth swiftly. "Good heavens!" "Yes, Mr. John. And if you could spare the time...." Remorse gripped John. He felt like a sentinel who, falling asleep at his post, has allowed the enemy to creep past him in the night. "I must go up and see about this." "Very good, Mr. John. But if I might have a word...." "Some other time, Sturgis." He ran up the stairs to the picture gallery. Mr. Carmody and Rudge's one policeman were examining something by the window, and John, in the brief interval which elapsed before they became aware of his presence, was enabled to see the evidence of the disaster. Several picture frames, robbed of their contents, gaped at him like blank windows. A glass case containing miniatures had been broken and rifled. The Elizabethan salt cellar presented to Aymas Carmody by the Virgin Queen herself was no longer in its place. "Gosh!" said John. Mr. Carmody and his companion turned. "John! I thought you were in London." "I came back last night." "Did you see, or observe or hear anything of this business?" asked the policeman.