"More fool you!" said Vic, sighing. "He hasn't. Old Bill hasn't got it, Tommy.... I've been watching you all since Collop came under this accursed roof. The Don's not oppressed. It's not with _him_. _He_ hasn't got it." "Well, then, who _has_, Vic? Damn it, who _has_?" savagely. Then did Victoria Mosel open her eyes wide, as wide as cigar-shaped eyes can open, and look at the questioner; next she folded her lids into a most natural slit of repose, and turned her gaze to the ceiling, saying: "Look here, Tommy, I've told you already that _you_ haven't got it, and that ought to be enough for you. _You_ ought to be grateful. In fact, you _were_ grateful just now. Only gratitude's short-lived." "I believe you've got the stinking brooch, Vic," said her cousin (by marriage) surlily. "You said that before--and I said, search me! I wish to Christ I had," said Vic. "I'd hand it on through Baba to the van Burens next time Archie went to Amsterdam. They'd know what to do with it! I should get it back in four pieces. They'd keep the fifth--but I'd net a bellyful!" The young man got up from his lounge and stood surlily with his hands in his pockets. "It's got to be found!" he said. "It'll be found all right," assured Vic deliberately. "And who'll be relieved then, my boy?" And she dug a lean elbow with maidenly modesty under his fifth rib. "Go to hell!" shouted the goaded Tommy. He intended to convey, after his fashion, that the conversation was closed. He sauntered out of the room and Victoria Mosel, who always liked a warm chair in winter, sank back into the seat he had abandoned. She lit her third cigarette, the fifteenth of that morning, and shut her eyes to think over the matter fully. She had been up late the night before and Sunday morning is a good time for repose. She fell into a lounging little self-sufficient sleep, and snored in a gentle fashion, not unmusical ... dear Victoria! And that was the end of the judgment passed by one select--and small--section of the governing classes upon a problem so closely concerning them all. * * * * * * * But the moment of revelation had come. Mr. Collop dared not stay, lest sure steps should obliterate the unwilling traces of Attaboy across the snow. "None of 'em going to church, I hopes?" said he to his host after breakfast. "Surely! Surely some one," was all the Victorian could say. "Well," brutally, "none of 'em can. They've all got to be here together. We want every witness, sir; every one.... _I've found the emerald_!" "What? Eh! What!" staggered Humphrey de Bohun. "_I've found the emerald_!" repeated the policeman enormously. "... Leastways, I've found where it is." "What am I to do?" begged the statesman, all of a flutter. "What are your plans? It's urgent! Innocent men must be cleared!"