behind, and laid a hand on the woman’s shoulder. She uttered a scream of terror, and instantly dropped the bunch of notes, which I as quickly picked up. I took her round to the front door, and introduced her to Mrs Colbrun, who besought me, as I have seldom been pleaded with, to let poor Mary go, “and say no more about it.” That was quite beyond my power, and Mary—who had not a word to say in her defence, and even faintly admitted the identity of the stolen notes—was taken away and locked up. No sooner did Bet hear of the capture than she appeared in a frenzied state at the office, tearing her hair and altogether conducting herself like a maniac, and loudly declared that she and not Mary was the thief. I had known so many cases in which a mother sacrificed all, even her reputation, to save her offspring from prison, that I felt certain this was but another instance of the kind, and we paid little attention to Bet’s story. The same day Mary’s affianced appeared at the office, and was allowed to see the prisoner, when he besought her in the most piteous accents to declare the truth and save her name, but to all this Mary would say nothing. At the trial she was informed that her sentence would be lighter if she pled guilty, and “Guilty” she pled accordingly. Her sentence was one month’s imprisonment, but the moment it was pronounced she turned to her affianced, who had been seated behind her, and whispered with a face positively radiant— “Now, I may speak, Herbert. Yes, I am innocent.” Strenuous efforts were immediately made to quash the conviction and have Mary released, but the law gives forth no uncertain sound on the point, and Mary served the full month like an ordinary malefactor. When the position was explained to me by her lover, I said to him— “Stick by her. She is a noble girl. Marry her when she comes out; for, when she could sacrifice so much from love of her mother, what would she not sacrifice for her husband!” He thought the advice good enough to act on, and I believe has never regretted his choice. M^cSWEENY AND THE MAGIC JEWELS. A kick from a brute having iron toe-plates on his boots had placed me on the sick, or rather the lame, list, and so the scientific gentleman, with his strange story of robbery, was referred to M^cSweeny. The gentleman, who was well known as an author and student, and whom I may here name Mr Hew Stafford, insisted that none but the very cleverest and most acute detective on the staff could properly follow and understand the almost supernatural events connected with the robbery of the jewels, and as my chum’s opinion has always been that he answers to that description, and every one else was busy, he was allowed to take the case in hand. “I’m Detective M^cSweeny, at your service, sur,” he said, bowing stiffly, as the old gentleman blinked at him through his spectacles. “I daresay you’ll have read my experiences? They are published in books, and that’s how some call me the great M^cSweeny.”