He went in and discovered that she was addressing her uncle, Mr. Wrenn, and the white-bearded Mr. Cornelius. They were standing together by the mantelpiece, their attitude the sheepish and browbeaten one of men who have been rash enough to argue with a woman. Mr. Wrenn was fiddling with his tie, and Mr. Cornelius looked like a druid who is having a little unpleasantness with the widow of the deceased. Sam’s entrance was the signal for an awkward silence. “Hullo, Mr. Wrenn,” said Sam. “Good evening, Mr. Cornelius.” Mr. Wrenn looked at Mr. Cornelius. Mr. Cornelius looked at Mr. Wrenn. “Say something,” said Mr. Cornelius’ eye to Mr. Wrenn. “You are her uncle.” “You say something,” retorted Mr. Wrenn’s eye to Mr. Cornelius. “You have a white beard.” “I’m sorry I’ve been such a time,” said Sam to Kay. “I have had a little domestic trouble. I found a gentleman burgling my house.” “What?” “There had been a lady there, too, but she was leaving as I arrived.” “A lady!” “Well, let us call her a young female party.” Kay swung round on Mr. Wrenn, her eyes gleaming with the light that shines only in the eyes of girls who are entitled to say “I told you so!” to elderly relatives. Mr. Wrenn avoided her gaze. Mr. Cornelius plucked at his beard and registered astonishment. “Burgling your house? What for?” “That’s what’s puzzling me. These two people seem extraordinarily interested in Mon Repos. They called some days ago and wanted to buy the place, and now I find them burgling it.” “Good heavens!” cried Mr. Cornelius. “I wonder! Can it be possible?” “I shouldn’t wonder. It might,” said Sam. “What?” “Do you remember my telling you, Mr. Shotter, when you came to me about the lease of the house that a well-known criminal had once lived there?” “Yes.” “A man named Finglass. Do you remember Finglass, Wrenn?” “No; he must have been before my time.” “How long have you been here?” “About three years and a half.” “Ah, then it was before your time. This man robbed the New Asiatic Bank of something like four hundred thousand pounds’ worth of securities. He was never caught, and presumably fled the country. You will find the whole story in my history of Valley Fields. Can it be possible that Finglass hid the bonds in Mon Repos and was unable to get back there and remove them?” “You said it!” cried Sam enthusiastically. “It would account for the anxiety of these people to obtain access to the house.” “Why, of course!” said Kay. “It sounds extremely likely,” said Mr. Wrenn. “Was the man tall and thin, with a strong cast in the left eye?” “No; a square-faced sort of fellow.” “Then it would not be Finglass himself. No doubt some other criminal, some associate of his, who had learned from him that the bonds were hidden in the house. I wish I had my history here,” said Mr. Cornelius. “Several pages of it are devoted to Finglass.” “I’ll tell you what,” said Sam, “go and get it.” “Shall I?” “Yes, do.” “Very well. Will you come with me, Wrenn?”