“Well, that’s more than anybody else is,” the boy answered. “You see they all think--mother and Miss Digby and Uncle Alec--that I took the necklace myself, for a joke or something, and then brought it back in the middle of the night. It’s what anybody would think if they didn’t believe the story of the man in the pajamas. And it _is_ sort of a funny story. Only, you see, I _saw_ him.” “Yes,” Mr. Smith said thoughtfully, “it is a funny story, sure enough.” The boy looked from one of us to the other, possibly to satisfy himself that we ourselves believed it. He must have done so, for presently he went on. “It gets even funnier than that. Because, you see, as long as they thought I’d done it, I wanted to know whose pajamas I’d seen, and who it probably was who wore them. So after they’d all gone down to breakfast, I went around and saw all the pajamas there were--all that had been slept in, I mean--and I couldn’t find the pair I’d seen last night. They weren’t on the top floor, so I went down to the second floor, and they weren’t there either.” “Are you sure you saw them all?” Mr. Smith asked. “I counted,” said Punch. “I found a pair for everybody.” “Servants too?” Mr. Smith asked. “No,” said Punch. “But you see there isn’t any third floor to the servants’ wing. The door to it opens into the second-floor hall where the davenport is. If it had been one of the servants he wouldn’t have gone up-stairs.” “How well did you see the pajamas when the man was wearing them?” I asked. “Pretty well,” Punch said. “I saw the legs of them awfully well, because they walked right through the moonlight and it was about as bright as day. They were plain pajamas, gray, or some color like that, and one of the legs was torn, a little square tear as if it had been caught on a nail. Well, the only person in the house whose pajamas are plain gray is Uncle Alec, and they weren’t torn. Besides he’s about twice as big as the man I saw. Everybody else’s pajamas are fancy; because of the wedding, I suppose. Anyhow, it’s a puzzle.” “Well, the pearls are brought back, that’s one thing,” Mr. Smith observed. “To your grandmother’s room, you say? Where are they now?” Punch’s eye gleamed with a sudden pleasure. “That’s supposed to be a great secret,” he said. “Don’t tell any secrets,” Mr. Smith warned him quickly. “Well, it isn’t a secret from you--from either of you,” Punch explained. “And Donovan isn’t around, is he, nor any one else who’d hear?” “No,” I said, “you won’t be overheard. But how do you know we’re not to be kept out of the secret?” “I’ll tell you,” he said, “and then you’ll see. It’s a secret from mother, all right, and Judy and Uncle Alec, but not from you.