“My dear chap,” I retorted, “he must be very keen on securing your potsherd if he is prepared to take and furnish a flat next door to you simply with a view to keeping an eye on it!” “You have no idea how anxious he is,” he assured me. “If you had seen his face, in Cairo, when I flatly declined to sell, you would be better able to understand.” “Why not sell, then?” “I’m dashed if I do!” said Halesowen, stubbornly. On the following day we lunched with Doctor Zeda and were surprised at the orderly state of his establishment. Everything, from floor to ceiling, was in its proper place. “It hasn’t taken you long to get things straight,” commented Lesty. “Ah, no,” replied the other. “These big firms, they do it all in a day if you insist--and I insist, see?” I thoroughly enjoyed my visit, for he proved an excellent host, and I think even Lesty grew less suspicious of him. During the weeks that followed, the doctor came several times to our rooms, and we frequently met at Halesowen’s. The latter, who boldly had submitted photographs and drawings of the sherd to the British Museum, experienced no repetition of the mysterious phenomenon already described. Then, about seven o’clock one morning, when the mists hung low over the Common in promise of a hot day, a boy came for Lesty and myself with news of a fresh development. He was a lad who did odd jobs for Halesowen, and he brought word of an attempted burglary, together with a request that we should go over without delay. Our curiosity keenly aroused, we were soon with our friend, and found him seated in the familiar room, before a large cabinet, with double glass doors, which, as was clearly evident, had been hastily ransacked. Other cases in which he kept various curios were also opened, and the place was in general disorder. “What’s gone?” asked Lesty, quickly. “Nothing!” was the answer. “The potsherd is in the safe, and the safe is in my bedroom--or perhaps something might have gone!” “You lock it up at night, then? I thought you kept it in the cabinet.” “Only during the day. It goes in the safe, with one or two other trifles, at night; but _everybody_ doesn’t know that!” We looked at one another, silently; but the name that was on all our lips remained unspoken--for we were startled by a loud knocking and ringing at the door. Carter opening it, into the room ran Doctor Zeda! “Oh, my dear friends!” he cried, in his hoarse, rumbling voice, “there has been to my flat a midnight robber! He has turned completely upside-down all my collections!”