_Henry Allen Burns Private Detective_ The attendant took the card, read it with a grin, looked at the boy, as if puzzled what to make of him, shrugged his shoulders and left the room. Presently he returned. “Mr. Curtis would be greatly obliged if you would call to-morrow,” he said. “He is going out of town to-day.” “I must see him at once,” said Henry Burns, firmly. “Impossible—” but at this moment the door of the banker’s private office opened, and a voice said: “Show Mr. Burns in.” Henry Burns entered. He saw before him a tall, well-built man, smooth shaven, with black, piercing eyes, and a firm, decisive mouth. He had on his hat and gloves, and carried a light coat on his arm, as though about to leave his office. “You will oblige me by stating your business as quickly as possible, young man,” he said, “as I am about to take a train out of the city. “I see by your card,” he continued, gravely, “that you are a private detective. I suppose you are aware that I am a busy man, engaged in important affairs, and have no time in office hours for pleasantries.” “If I had said an amateur detective I should have been more correct, sir, since this is my first case,” answered Henry Burns, calmly. “It is so very curious, however, that I feel certain it cannot fail to interest you.” “But will you tell me why it should interest me, and not keep me waiting?” exclaimed the banker, in a tone of impatience. Evidently he did not for a moment connect the boyish figure before him with any possible recovery of his lost jewels. “I will,” replied Henry Burns, speaking deliberately. “Last night some other boys and I watched a man bury a small tin box in the cellar of a deserted house. When the man went away we dug it up. I have the box here; would you like to see it?” Henry Burns calmly opened the satchel. But the banker sprang up from the chair in which he had seated himself, and exclaimed, excitedly: “What do you mean—let me see it—quick!” Henry Burns passed him the box, and with nervous fingers the banker broke the twine with which the boys had secured it. The next instant he had drawn the necklace from the box and held it up, while his hands trembled. “They’re Alice’s diamonds, as I hope to live,” he cried, unmindful of Henry Burns’s presence for the moment. “And the rings and the brooch—everything—everything is here.” “Why,” he exclaimed, “the best detectives in this country are working on the case, but I had already begun to despair of ever seeing the jewels again. They are exceedingly valuable, but, besides that, as they were wedding presents to my wife from me, we both prize them far beyond their real worth. “But be seated. I shall postpone my trip out of town, you may be sure. And now let me hear the story of your discovery.” In the calm, graphic manner characteristic of him, Henry Burns told the story of the night’s adventure.