It was old Mr. Smith. He was dressed as carefully as if it had been ten o’clock in the morning, and he looked as if he hadn’t a care in the world. I don’t suppose he had, really. He was too old, too detached. He could be intensely interested in our plight without experiencing any painful emotions whatever over it. “I understand the necklace has been stolen,” he said as he came up. “How about it, Punch? Have you seen anything more of your man in pajamas?” “No,” Punch told him mournfully. “What’s that about a man in pajamas?” Alec demanded. “It appears to be a private ghost of Punch’s,” old Eagle-Eye answered easily. “It walks when things are happening to the necklace.” “Well, I saw a man in pajamas last night,” Alec said, a little embarrassed. He wasn’t quite sure whether old Mr. Smith was joking or not. But the old man turned that penetrating beam of his upon him and asked him crisply: “Where did you see him? And when, if you know?” “I haven’t an idea when,” said Alec. “I saw him come out of the bathroom in the Club.” “What sort of pajamas did he have on?” “Oh, ordinary pajamas.” “You didn’t notice whether there was a tear in them; one of those three-cornered tears, as if they’d been caught on a nail?” “No,” said Alec. “I didn’t notice them at all. I didn’t notice him at all. Why should I? He was just one of the guests coming out of the bathroom in the middle of the night and going back to his own room. There wasn’t light enough to recognize him by and it didn’t occur to me to try to. I was in my room with the door open. Naturally I didn’t come out to see which door he turned into.” We had come to a halt just outside Mrs. Corbin’s door. “We mustn’t keep Madame waiting,” Mr. Smith said. And then he asked Alec, “Are you coming in to join the council of war?” “No,” Alec told him impatiently, “I think not. There has been too much consulting about this business, and I shan’t be needed in there. I’d rather stay outside so that I can have some idea of what’s going on in the house.” “I think you’re quite right,” said Mr. Smith, and he reached out and patted him approvingly--or so, at least, I interpreted the gesture at first--not quite on the chest, a little around to the left. Evidently his intelligent fingers found something, for he again expressed approval. “Good!” he said. “I’ve got one of them on, myself.” Then he knocked on Mrs. Corbin’s door, and at her summons we both went in. CHAPTER XVI THE GENTLE ART It was a big, dim, carpeted room, with long windows hung with heavy curtains and lambrequins. Excessive light and noise were carefully guarded against. There was a brown marble mantle, and all the tables, big and little, had brown marble tops.