"Oh, yes--terrible, of course. That is, pretty fair, you know--er--nothing so very extraordinary." I was getting flurried. That detective _would_ look at me so intently. "And was he very much hurt, Clement? Any bones broken, I mean, or anything of that sort?" "Bones? O, yes, of course--at least, not many, considering. But it serves him right, you know--serves him right, of course." "Oh, I'm sure he richly deserved it, Clement. I suppose that was in the thieves' kitchen?" "Yes--no, at least; no, not there. Not exactly in the kitchen, you know." "I see; in the scullery, I suppose," said Aunt Sarah, innocently. "And to think that you traced it all from a few footsteps and a bit of cloth rag on the wall and--and what else was it, Clement?" "A trouser button," I answered. I felt a trifle more confident here, for I _had_ found a trouser button. "But it was nothing much--not actual evidence, of course. Just a trifle, that's all." But here I caught the policeman's eye, and I went hot and cold. I could not remember what I had done with that trouser button of mine. Had the police themselves found it later? Was this their clue? But I nerved myself to meet Aunt Sarah's fresh questions. "I suppose there's no chance of getting the other things?" she asked. "No," I answered, decisively, "not the least." I resolved not to search for any more facsimiles. "Lummy Joe told you that, I suppose?" pursued my aunt, whose memory for names was surprising. "Either Lummy Joe or the Chickaleary Boy?" "Both," I replied, readily. "Most valuable information from both--especially Chickaleary Joe. Very honourable chap, Joe. Excellent burglar, too." Again I caught the detective's eye, and suddenly remembered that everything I had been saying might be brought up as evidence in a court of law. He was carefully noting all those rickety lies, and presently would write them down in his pocket-book, as he had threatened! Another question or two, and I think I should have thrown up the game voluntarily, but at that moment a telegram was brought in for Aunt Sarah. She put up her glasses, read it, and let the glasses fall. "_What!_" she squeaked. She looked helplessly about her, and held the telegram toward me. "I must see that, please," the detective said. It was from the manager of the hydropathic establishment at Malvern where Aunt Sarah had been staying, and it read thus:-- "_Found leather jewel-case with your initials on ledge up chimney of room lately occupied here. Presume valuable, so am sending on by special messenger._" "Why, bless me!" said Aunt Sarah, as soon as she could find speech; "bless me! I--I felt _sure_ I'd taken it down from the chimney and put it in the trunk!" And, with her eyes nearly as wide open as her mouth, she stared blankly in my face.