“No, of course not. If I’d have seen him going into that room, I’d have done something about it. I saw him going along the hall in pajamas. I thought he was going to the bathroom, there at the foot of the stairs. “Instead of doing that he went up the stairs, and I thought it was funny, because why should a man on this floor go up-stairs in the middle of the night? So I followed him up to see who he was and where he went. I didn’t see him at all, after he’d turned the corner at the landing. So I came down again. And then you came out and said you had heard a door shut. “I didn’t figure it out at the time, but it’s plain enough now. He’s the man who stole the necklace. But he’d made up his mind that he wasn’t going to get away with it, so he brought it back. You’ll find it’s in there.” She was shaken all right, but still a long way from being convinced. “I think you’re talking perfectly crazy nonsense,” she declared. “Punch, aren’t you making it up--about the man in pajamas?” “Do you think I’d joke about a thing like that?” he demanded hotly. “The necklace is there, I tell you. I’ll bet anything it is. Is grandmother awake yet?” “No, she’s still sleeping I think.” “That must have been some hypodermic you gave her last night,” Punch commented. “Come along then; let’s look.” Still with a strong air of protest, she followed him to the old woman’s sitting-room. Punch darted across to the safe. “That’s locked,” Miss Digby commented. “Mr. Alexander Corbin locked it last night.” Punch tried the handle and found she was right. “He’d have put it in there if he could,” he said reflectively. “But it wouldn’t have been worth the risk of stopping to unlock it, with you right here. So he’s left it somewhere around the room.--It’s like I-Spy,” he commented, with a little laugh. He stood still looking about. Presently his eye fell on the long morocco covered box lying disregarded and unvalued on the big table in the middle of the room. “That’s where it is, of course,” he said. “Look and see.” Where she stood it was almost under her hand. With trembling fingers she pressed the spring and the lid flew open. There the necklace was, gleaming, creamy and wonderful, under the shadow of the box lid. Miss Digby gasped and stood for a moment clinging to the edge of the table for support. Then, to Punch’s utter consternation, she turned upon him. “Punch,” she cried, “how could you! How _could_ you! Do you hate me as much as that?” “How could I what?” he asked, from the depths of a profound bewilderment. She dropped into his grandmother’s big chair and broke into a passionate fit of weeping. “I knew they’d think I’d taken it. I’m the one who could. Your grandmother leaves the safe open half the time, and sometimes, when she can’t remember the combination, I have to unlock it for her. And then you take it--for a joke, I suppose--and bring it back, after I’ve been in torture for hours and hours, and make me find it.”