"Huddesley got the necklace?" said J. B. aghast. "Why, how could he? He gave it back to you. Bob Carson had it, didn't he?" Everybody spoke at once. The detective whistled, swore softly, then he stooped to mutter with Judd. "That's what!" said the latter vehemently. Two or three of the coloured servants had collected on the third-floor landing above us, and hung over the banisters, giggling and nudging. In the darkness their faces were nothing but shining teeth and eyeballs, reminding me, oddly enough, of a picture in "Alice in Wonderland," of the Cheshire Cat's grin materialising; Gwynne and I had had the book when we were little. I cannot think why I should have thought of it then, of all times; or, indeed, why the incongruous memory abides with me now. Mazie was speaking in a high, strained voice. "I never opened the package," she was saying. "Why, you know I didn't. I just took it from him and I never opened it. After 'Mrs. Tankerville' I locked the thing up and never thought of it again. I wouldn't have dreamed of suspecting Huddesley; why, he's been in and out of the house all day long for _weeks_, hasn't he, ma? Hasn't he, girls?" There was a kind of defiance in her voluble explanation. "Tell that Hopple man, will you?" she urged the detective, forgetting that "that Hopple man" was almost within arms' reach of her. "He'd better go after Huddesley if he wants his necklace--_we_ haven't got it. Huddesley must have banked on my not opening the package; but anyhow, he was out of the house and gone long before I had a chance to----" "Who's Bob Carson, and who's Mrs. Tankerville, and what package are you talking about?" Grimm inquired succinctly. "Well, this is the package, I guess," said Hopple's voice, and two hands reaching up delivered to Mr. Grimm a crumpled piece of wrapping-paper, and about a ladleful of carpet tacks. "There's your diamond necklace," continued the voice in hoarse satire. "Leastways there's what was given me for a diamond necklace. I don't know Huddesley from Adam's off ox, but it's a pretty slick sort o' story, seems to me." What Mr. Hopple looked like, I cannot say, for none of us saw the gentleman. He made a movement to ascend the stairs, but J. B. looming very large and square on the top step intercepted him. "Are you another detective, sir?" asked J. B. in his mild and steady voice. "No, I ain't," returned Mr. Hopple, sulkily, yet not uncivilly this time. "Then," said J. B. with increasing mildness, "perhaps you will be good enough to explain what you are doing here?" "I'm collecting a bill for Goldstein Brothers--that's my business, collecting. I know it's a little bit late at night, but I can't help that. I've got to hump myself; I thought I might find somebody up on account of the blow-out----" "It's an outrage, sir, an outrage which no Southern gentleman----" said Colonel Pallinder, turning from his wife. "I repeat, sir, no Southern gentleman----"