"Yes, we've had a scare in this part lately. Old Acton, who is one of our county magnates, had his house broken into last Monday. No great damage done, but the fellows are still at large." "No clue?" asked Holmes, cocking his eye at the Colonel. "None as yet. But the affair is a petty one, one of our little country crimes, which must seem too small for your attention, Mr. Holmes, after this great international affair." Holmes waved away the compliment, though his smile showed that it had pleased him. "Was there any feature of interest?" "I fancy not. The thieves ransacked the library and got very little for their pains. The whole place was turned upside down, drawers burst open and presses ransacked, with the result that an odd volume of Pope's 'Homer,' two plated candlesticks, an ivory letter-weight, a small oak barometer, and a ball of twine, are all that have vanished." "What an extraordinary assortment!" I exclaimed. "Oh, the fellows evidently grabbed hold of anything they could get." Holmes grunted from the sofa. "The county police ought to make something of that," said he. "Why, it is surely obvious that----" But I held up a warning finger. [Illustration: "I HELD UP A WARNING FINGER."] "You are here for a rest, my dear fellow. For Heaven's sake, don't get started on a new problem when your nerves are all in shreds." Holmes shrugged his shoulders with a glance of comic resignation towards the Colonel, and the talk drifted away into less dangerous channels. It was destined, however, that all my professional caution should be wasted, for next morning the problem obtruded itself upon us in such a way that it was impossible to ignore it, and our country visit took a turn which neither of us could have anticipated. We were at breakfast when the Colonel's butler rushed in with all his propriety shaken out of him. "Have you heard the news, sir?" he gasped. "At the Cunningham's, sir!" "Burglary!" cried the Colonel, with his coffee cup in mid air. "Murder!" The Colonel whistled. "By Jove!" said he, "who's killed, then? The J.P. or his son?" "Neither, sir. It was William, the coachman. Shot through the heart, sir, and never spoke again." "Who shot him, then?" "The burglar, sir. He was off like a shot and got clean away. He'd just broke in at the pantry window when William came on him and met his end in saving his master's property." "What time?" "It was last night, sir, somewhere about twelve." "Ah, then, we'll step over presently," said the Colonel, coolly settling down to his breakfast again. "It's a baddish business," he added, when the butler had gone. "He's our leading squire about here, is old Cunningham, and a very decent fellow too. He'll be cut up over this, for the man has been in his service for years, and was a good servant. It's evidently the same villains who broke into Acton's." "And stole that very singular collection?" said Holmes, thoughtfully. "Precisely."