"And what is this, Angelo?" he asked, touching the newspaper-wrapped package which was lying beside him on the table. "Da silv', da silv'!" moaned Angelo, without raising his head. "Me tella you, it was da silv'." Peter drew the package toward him and pulled off the string which held it fast, disclosing a number of pieces of flat silver and a small coffee service. "Is it all here?" asked Peter, quietly. The rough head upon the table moved up and down in assent. "But how did you get it back?" Peter's voice had taken a new tone. "I thought you lost out when the lottery was drawn." Angelo was too far gone to notice this evidence of Peter's omniscience. "Playa da same nombre twice--two day'," muttered Angelo. "Firs' day--lose; secon' day he come alla right, lika dream." "And as soon as you won you took the silver out of hock and brought it back?" Again the silent nod. Peter sat back in his chair and looked for a long time at the rough, bowed head. At last he spoke, and in his voice was a half-quizzical kindliness. "You're a great rascal, Angelo, and a stupid fool to boot, and you've made me a lot of trouble, dammit. But I believe you've told me the truth at last----" Angelo raised his stricken head. A gleam of something like hope shone in his eyes. "Yes," Peter went on, "I believe you've told me the truth, and I will say it's helped to clear things up. But now, listen. One thing more--how did Miss Blake's scarf come to be stained with blood, and how did it happen to be just where we found it?" Peter was thinking aloud more than he was addressing Angelo. "It fell down behind the trunk, and nobody noticed it. The cabman pulled it along the hall when it caught on the bottom of the trunk, and he shook, or kicked it loose, just at the hall door.... And afterward, that same night, you chanced to walk over it, and it must have caught--that sort of soft, fringy thing would catch on anything--a rough place on your shoe, perhaps.... You dragged it across the sill, and when the door shut, it held the scarf fast.... But the blood on it? If you bound up your wrist I don't quite see----" "_Si, si!_" cried Angelo. "But looka, looka, Boss. Listen! Me feex da bandan' 'roun' him--so, an' hol' him fas', but w'en I comma to da door, mus' use bot' han', see? Lika dis----" He made the motion of turning two knobs at once, and Peter remembered that it was necessary to do this in order to open the hall door. "I mus' let him go, an' da blood, he jumpa out an' fall onna da door. You showa me da place, Boss! You no remember?" "And it fell on the scarf just below," Peter nodded, slowly. "Yes, I see. I guess that's right, Angelo. I guess that explains--well, and that's that," he added, rising to his feet. "Put the silver back where you found it, Angelo--so--that the way it was? All right. Now," he laid his hand heavily on the Italian's shoulder, "come with me."