Fuller did not hint, as he might have done, that the collector had used his ward’s income as well as his own to indulge his expensive taste, and had also sold furniture to which he had no claim for the same reason. Under the circumstances it was foolish to quarrel with Sorley on this point. Until the mystery of the murder and the peacock was solved Alan wished to keep on good terms with the man, who evidently had to do with both. He therefore examined the gems and listened patiently to Sorley’s explanations. And the jewels were certainly well worth looking at. There were diamonds cut and uncut, rubies colored like port wine, and some of the true pigeon blood hue; emeralds displayed their verdant tints, and there were sapphires the color of a summer sky. Pearls were conspicuous by their absence, as if kept in a collection and not worn, Sorley explained this—they became discolored; but beryl stones, amethysts, carbuncles, and opals, many-hued as a rainbow were displayed on the black velvet of the shallow trays. The collection was not of extraordinary value, but Sorley gloated over his darlings, streaming the stones between his fingers, holding them up to the light, and pointing out to Fuller the particular excellence of each. “It’s an expensive hobby,” said Alan, after an hour had been passed in this way, for Sorley talked on with the merciless zeal of a collector. “In a manner it is, my boy; but then gems are always worth money, and I can always sell these if necessary.” He shuddered, “I hope it will not be necessary. It would be like parting with my life to give up these. I know every single one and each represents days and weeks of bargaining. I could tell you the history of each gem.” “I fear that would be too long,” said Fuller hastily, for he was growing weary of this enthusiasm; “but are you not afraid of these being stolen?” “No,” snapped Sorley, putting back the trays and adjusting the panel, so that it looked exactly like a portion of the wall, “no one would ever guess that the jewels were behind that cross. You know, but I don’t think you will rob me, Alan. Ha! ha! ha!” “I am not fond enough of gems to do so,” said the young man indifferently; “but you said at the vicarage that you feared lest you should be murdered for the sake of your collection.” “Did I? Did I? I forget.” “You certainly did,” insisted Fuller, looking at him searchingly; “and you seemed to be very much afraid.” “Well of course there is six thousand pounds worth of gems there. Some one might——” “Have you any particular person in your mind?” Sorley turned gray and gasped. “Why do you say that?” he asked sharply. Fuller looked at him harder than ever. “I told you that I dined at Miss Grison’s boarding-house,” he explained; “while there I met with a man, who called himself Morad-Bakche!” Mr. Sorley gasped again. “The Indian,” he muttered nervously. “Ah!” Alan gasped. “So you have seen him.” “Seen him, seen him. What do you mean?”