"Yes, this has been a most upsetting business for you, my lord," he said. "You have had, and are having, a most trying time; this is the kind of thing which will break down the strongest man; and I'm about to take the liberty of offering you a word of advice." As he spoke, he took up a Continental Bradshaw which was lying open on the table. "In cases of your kind, there's nothing like a change of scene and air. You want to go right away: I mean, a _long_ way.--I've been looking up one or two places where a man could hide himself--I beg your pardon!--I mean, seclude himself without fear of interruption or--interference." Heyton stared at him; and as he stared, with a puzzled frown, his swollen face grew mottled, livid in places, red in others. "I don't know what the devil you mean!" he blurted out. "Why should I go anywhere?" "For the sake of your health, my lord," said Mr. Jacobs, his innocent blue eyes fixed on Heyton. "You want a change--and at once; in fact, it is absolutely imperative." He leant forward across the table, patted the Bradshaw and dropped his voice as he went on incisively, "You can catch the night mail from Charing Cross. Book straight through by the Trans-Siberian, by way of Moscow and Pekin. When you reach Harbin, go right into the interior. There are mines there--anyhow, you can lose yourself. You understand, my lord?" The sweat stood out in great drops on Heyton's face; he tried to meet the detective's eye with an insolent, indignant stare; but his eyes wavered and fell and he sank into a chair. "I--I don't know what you mean?" he stammered thickly. "But you will go?" inquired Mr. Jacobs. "In fact, I am sure you will." Cur as he was, Heyton made a last stand; he threw up his head, swore a vile oath and struck the table. "I'm hanged if I do!" he said. "You'll be hanged, if you don't, my lord!" said Mr. Jacobs. Then, after a pause, he said, with a shrug of the shoulders, "I thought you'd have been sensible, that you'd have taken my tip without forcing me into particulars; but if you must have them--well, Lord Heyton, if you are here to-morrow morning, I shall arrest you for the robbery of the jewels and the attempted murder of Lord Sutcombe." Heyton sprang to his feet; then sank back again with a hoarse attempt at a laugh. "You must be a fool!" "Well, one of us is a fool, but it's not me, my lord," said Mr. Jacobs, imperturbably. "I knew the truth ten minutes after I had examined the dressing-room. You see, the burglar who understands his business works in kid gloves; they leave no finger-prints. There were prints on the door of the safe, inside, on the poker--oh, well, everywhere; because, you see, when a man's engaged in this kind of work, he's naturally nervous, his hands are sweaty. And these finger-prints were those of a gentleman's hands. Do you want me to go on, Lord Heyton?"