“Well,” intervened Stewart, “the matter can very soon be settled—we’ll go to the room. Get the key, Mr. Llewellyn, will you—you’ll probably find it hanging up in the service-room. Come along, gentlemen.” It was the work of a moment for Llewellyn to get the key and for Stewart to unlock the door of the room. The five men entered. As far as could be seen the room presented an appearance of complete order. A more heterogeneous collection it would have been impossible to imagine. Tables of old and exquisite workmanship supported the smaller articles—the larger finding their place on the floor and against the four walls. Four glass cases protected other treasures. Manuscripts, missals, musical instruments of all ages, weapons, rings, snuff-boxes, furniture of all kinds were to be found, with suits of ancient armor and specimens of fragile glass. “There are over two thousand articles in this room, gentlemen,” announced Morgan Llewellyn, “and the catalogue that I was privileged to compile lists and partly describes every one of the two thousand odd. If you look at the end of the catalogue, Mr. Bathurst, you’ll see the exact number there are.” Bathurst turned to the end. “Two thousand and forty-four,” he declared. Goodall smiled at Llewellyn and Stewart. “Well, it’s pretty evident that no burglarious entry was made here, gentlemen. Nothing here appears to have been disturbed.” He turned to the others for corroboration of his opinion. Stewart shook his head doubtfully. “It would be most difficult, gentlemen, to trace anything that _had_ been stolen. My father doubtless would have been able to tell at once, but I fear that now——” He stopped and shook his head again. “I appreciate what Mr. Stewart says entirely,” supported Llewellyn. “I was intimately connected with this particular side of Mr. Stewart, senior, but I should hesitate to assert that I could say that anything was missing. Of course, I could tell if some of the things had been taken—some of the more special objects for instance. For example”—he walked to a table that stood to the left of the door. On it lay what looked like a circlet of dull and twisted metal. Llewellyn picked it up. “The ancient Crown of the Kings of England—believed to have last graced the head of Charles the First. Mr. Stewart paid a tremendous price for this—and the sale was secret. It was purchased by him from one of the most famous names in England. I should have known at once, for example, if this had been missing.” He replaced it on the table, and his eyes smouldered with the covetous zeal of the collector. Laurence Stewart’s enthusiasm had apparently been infectious. Bathurst found himself pondering over it. Llewellyn crossed to the wall and unhooked a piece of armor that had been hanging there. “Look at this! This is a gorget. Who do you think is supposed to have worn it?” Goodall took it and examined it curiously. “No idea,” he said. It was a species of breastplate shaped like a half-moon.