As usual, Mr. Smith turned out to be right. You wouldn’t have known Raglan for the same man when he came out of that bathroom, and the transformation was completed when he had arrayed himself with scrupulous care and deliberation in an exquisitely tailored light gray suit with a fine blue stripe in it, symphonically harmonious with his socks and his cravat, brushed his hair, and settled himself at the little table where his breakfast was arrayed. I wondered as I watched his delicate approach to the chilled grapefruit whether, had I seen him first like this, I should have detected anything imitative or unreal about his well-bred English accent. Punch had been watching these proceedings with breathless interest. “Are the pajamas in there?” he asked, indicating the tool box. “The ones with the tear in the leg?” Raglan nodded, indifferently enough, and then rather suddenly arrested his spoon for a thoughtful look at the boy. “Yes,” he said, presently, turning back to his breakfast, “they’re down at the bottom, with the window shade hanger’s tools. Get them out, if you’re interested. Keep them for a souvenir. I never want to see them again.” Punch had them out in a minute. There they were, sure enough. Lavender silk pajamas, with a big nail tear in one of the legs. “They’re really an important souvenir,” Mr. Smith observed. “They must have been the main inspiration of the--campaign.” “Naturally,” Raglan said. “There’s no trick about getting into any house, nor about hiding in it. But how to stay hidden for as long as may be necessary--well, the pajamas struck me as a pretty good answer. I could lie up by day almost anywhere providing I had freedom to move about at night. In a big house like this, full of guests who weren’t likely to know one another any too well, I’d be sure to have it. No one would pay any attention to a man in pajamas on his way to the bathroom. I could get all I needed to drink. I could shave, I thought, every night. I did shave, as a matter of fact, Wednesday night and Thursday night. It looked easy--a little too easy, I fancy. It was probably one of my mistakes. I’ve made several of them on this job, you know.” “We shall have to rely upon you to tell us what they were,” said Mr. Smith politely. “The main conception was, it seems to me, quite in your best vein. Indeed I blame myself for failing to recognize your--idiom, so to speak, in the mere prima facie aspects of the case.” The fellow was vain as a peacock, I could see. He was drinking down the old man’s compliments like wine. I ventured to lend a hand. “You weren’t very far from it,” I reminded Mr. Smith. “The thing had a certain look to you which you kept reverting to, which made it hard for you to believe it to be the work of an amateur.”