"Well," he admitted, "I suppose it was foolish of me. All the same, the man's performance took away my breath. Of course," he went on, "I know that it was all illusion, and yet it doesn't seem to me any more wonderful to think of his thrusting his hand through my plate-glass windows and helping himself to my pearls, than to perform some of the feats he achieved this evening. The guardianship of several million pounds' worth of family treasures," he concluded, with an apologetic smile, "sometimes tends to make one unreasonable." Leonard and I turned into the little smoking room assigned to our use, after we had said good night to Rose. Faraday was seated there alone, with a block and pencil in his hand, apparently making idle sketches. He laid the block by his side, face downwards, at our entrance. "Well," he said, a little ill-naturedly, "I suppose you've seen the treasures?" "We have," I admitted, helping myself to a whisky and soda. "Are they as wonderful as report says?" he enquired. "I'm no judge," I told him, a little shortly. "By the bye, there's a note for you on the table." I recognised at once the familiar, typewritten envelope--a message from the chief. Leonard looked over my shoulder as I tore open the envelope: Watch Faraday. Suspect Edwards, one of the custodians. Registered post to-morrow brings you key of door leading to balcony, end of north gallery. I tore the note into small pieces. Faraday sat watching me with gloomy curiosity. "Nothing annoying, I hope?" he queried. I watched the pieces filter through my fingers into the waste-paper basket. "Nothing of any importance," I assured him.