“You are quite right. I should think I did. None better. Dan Delaney and I were almost inseparables forty odd years ago. He and I—and Desmond Carruthers—got into as many scrapes and damned well got out of ’em, too—as any three junior officers of the British Army ever did. By Gad! Mr. Bathurst, they were stirring times and no mistake. Times that we shall never see the like of again—worse luck. Now poor old Dan and all his family have gone—and the last in such a terrible way, too. A tragedy—there’s no denying it.” He paused and the fierceness of his expression softened a trifle as he meditated over the poor girl’s untimely and tragic end. “What you have just said brings me to another question,” exclaimed Anthony. “What may that be?” “Have you ever heard during your association either with the late Colonel Delaney or with his daughter any mention of a very valuable jewel—rejoicing, I believe, under the somewhat fantastic ‘sobriquet’ of the ‘Peacock’s Eye’?” Sir Matthew Fullgarney sprang to his feet. Anthony Bathurst felt the two steel-blue eyes of his host glaring at him relentlessly. “‘The Peacock’s Eye’? What in hell do you know about the ‘Peacock’s Eye’?” Anthony suffered this rather surprising outburst with complete equanimity. He had always possessed the tactful gift of making allowances. “Not a lot, Sir Matthew. Very little, in fact. But enough to cause me to come to ask you for more. I have strong reason to believe that Miss Delaney was murdered for possession of the ‘Peacock’s Eye’!” Sir Matthew bordered upon the apoplectic. “God bless my soul—do you realise what you are saying? How could Sheila Delaney have had the ‘Peacock’s Eye’ in her possession? It’s too ridiculous for words, sir! What the——?” Sir Matthew fumed into aggressive speechlessness.