“Nobody suspected you, Digs,” he told her. “Nobody could have. But I didn’t take it, and I didn’t bring it back.” He stood there for a few miserable minutes, helplessly at a loss. Then he said, “Well, I guess I’d better go and tell mother they’re back.” With that he left the room. He didn’t, however, go straight to his mother with the news. He sat down for a while first, feeling rather weak in the legs, on the davenport. Old Digs’ accusation disturbed him, but not profoundly. Uncle Alec would probably think as Miss Digby did, that he’d taken the necklace for a joke, and it would be pretty hard to convince him to the contrary. Really, no one could be blamed for regarding his story of the man in the pajamas as fishy. But his mother and Judy couldn’t think that, or wouldn’t be likely to, because they thought they knew who the thief was. Otherwise they wouldn’t so strongly have opposed calling in the police. That letter Judy had got last evening on the veranda probably had contained a full confession of what she’d suspected. She’d had to hide it before she had time to read it because she’d seen Bruce coming out of the drawing-room, and he might have asked her about it. Why she hadn’t hidden it in her dress as she’d started to do, he couldn’t make out. Probably for the minute she’d just lost her head. But having shoved it down into that Chinese vase, she’d have some trouble getting it out again, and she’d have to be by herself in order to do it. And of course she had to get it back unless she wanted to run the risk that some one else would find it. This did pretty well, although it wasn’t a wholly satisfactory explanation. It didn’t cover all the ground. It didn’t explain why Judy hadn’t climbed back into her window again within ten minutes after the time she’d climbed out of it. He was under an almost overmastering impulse to go into her room now, see if she was there, and if she was, tell her about the recovery of the necklace before he told even his mother. He decided he mustn’t do it. Suppose she weren’t there? Then he’d have to tell his mother that she was gone. He’d be asked whether he knew anything about her flight and he couldn’t be sure that loyalty to Judy would permit him to tell what he knew. He’d better go to his mother first. Then perhaps he wouldn’t be asked any questions about his sister. After all, it was good news he was bringing. The necklace had been restored, and it wouldn’t be necessary to tell anybody, beyond those who already knew, that it had ever disappeared. He knocked on his mother’s door and she told him, rather quickly, to come in. She was sitting up in bed, her breakfast tray on her lap, the morning mail beside her. “You oughtn’t to be wandering all over the house at this time of day in your pajamas,” she told him--good-naturedly enough, though. “Why don’t you go up and get dressed?” “I’ve been having quite a night of it,” he said. “But it’s all right now. Mother, the necklace is back!”