I felt, as he went ahead and detailed in a painstakingly literal manner, without comment and without betrayal of passion, the incident which Victoria had related to me a little earlier, that it made at best a terribly damaging story. It seemed to me just as it seemed to Judy that it was refutable only by the discovery of the actual thief. Not even Bill’s return--lord, how I wished he would come, though--could clear him of the shabby crime Bruce was charging him with. Even old Mr. Smith betrayed, as he listened, the nearest approach to excitement he was capable of. His manner was calm enough, but his eye had the old irrepressible eagle gleam in it. It seemed to me that Bruce had gone as fully as possible into details, but there hadn’t been enough of these to satisfy the old gentleman. He took Applebury back over the story from the beginning. “You’d gone to bed somewhere about two o’clock, wasn’t it, with the necklace under your pillow, and fallen asleep? Did that happen at once or did you have any trouble getting off?” “I lay awake a while,” Bruce said. “I don’t know how long.” “Everything was quiet then, was it? Bill hadn’t kept you awake by moving about?” “No, it was quiet. I think he got to bed before I did.” “And there was no light in his room?” “I didn’t see any.” “So you had no reason to think that he wasn’t out of the way until morning,” Mr. Smith commented. Bruce didn’t dissent to that. “Well, then,” the old man went on, “you fell asleep. Deeply?” “I’m a fairly sound sleeper,” said Bruce. “And you didn’t waken till Bill came into the room?” “I think not. No, I’m sure I didn’t.” “Do you know what waked you up?” “I haven’t an idea--some noise, I suppose. I don’t know that it was that. It may have been some movement about my bed.” “Such as a hand under your pillow?” suggested Mr. Smith. “It may have been that,” Bruce agreed grimly. “As I say, I don’t know. I found myself awake.” “You don’t think Bill had spoken to you from his room before he came in?” “I’m very sure,” said Bruce, “that he did not. He was standing there, in his pajamas, close by the head of my bed, rummaging over the top of my bureau.” “He’d left a light on in his room, I suppose,” Mr. Smith suggested, “and the door was open behind him?” “I don’t know about the door,” said Bruce. “There was no light coming in from his room. There was no light at all except what came in from outdoors.” “You didn’t instantly recognize him, then?” “Naturally not. I asked who it was.” “And he replied that it was Bill and that he’d come in for some cigarettes?” Bruce nodded. He seemed to be getting bored with all these repetitions. “And you suggested that he turn on the light?” “We’ve been over all that,” Bruce said impatiently. “Yes.” “His voice sounded perfectly natural and matter-of-fact?” “I suppose so,” Bruce admitted. “Yes, I can’t say that it didn’t.” “So you had no impression whatever of anything furtive or stealthy about his way of coming in?”