"Be accurate, my dear fellow, whatever you do. There are 78,965, not counting girls. But this piece was not dropped by a girl." "How do you know?" I asked. "Never mind; it is sufficient that I do know it. Read this," he continued, pointing to another column of the paper. This is what I read:-- "MISSIONARY ENTERPRISE.--A great conference of American and Colonial Bishops was held in Exeter Hall this afternoon. The proceedings opened with an impassioned speech from the Bishop of FLORIDA----" "Never mind the rest," said HOLES, "that's quite enough. Now read this":-- "The magnificent silver bowl to be presented to the Bishop of Florida by some of his English friends is now on view at Messrs. SALVER AND TANKARD'S in Piccadilly. It is a noble specimen of the British silversmith's art." An elaborate description followed. "These paragraphs," continued HOLES, in his usual impassive manner, "give me the clue I want. Florida is an orange-growing country. Let us call on the Bishop." In a moment we had put on our hats, and in another moment we were in a Hansom on our way to the Bishop's lodgings in Church Street, Soho. HOLES gained admittance by means of his skeleton key. We passed noiselessly up the stairs, and, without knocking, entered the Bishop's bedroom. He was in his night-gown, and the sight of two strangers visibly alarmed him. "I am a detective," began HOLES. "Oh," said the Bishop, turning pale. "Then I presume you have called about that curate who disappeared in an alligator swamp close to my episcopal palace in Florida. It is not true that I killed him. He----" "Tush," said HOLES, "we are come about weightier matters. This morning at half-past eleven your lordship was standing outside the shop of SALVER AND TANKARD looking at your presentation bowl. You were eating an orange. You stowed the greater part of the peel in your coat-tail pocket, but you dropped, maliciously dropped, one piece on the pavement. Shortly afterwards a stout lady passing by trod on it and fell. Have you anything to say?" The Bishop made a movement, but HOLES was before-hand with him. He dashed to a long black coat that hung behind the door, inserted his hand deftly in the pocket, and pulled out the fragmentary remains of a large Florida orange. "As I supposed," he said, "a piece is missing." But the miserable prelate had fallen senseless on the floor, where we left him. "HOLES," I said, "this is one of your very best. How on earth did you know you would find that orange-peel in his coat?" "I didn't find it there," replied my friend; "I brought it with me, and had it in my hand when I put it in his pocket. I knew I should have to use strong measures with so desperate a character. My dear fellow, all these matters require tact and imagination." And that was how we brought home the orange-peel to the Bishop. * * * * * Ben Trovato.