“You will understand how it is impossible that the servants could be involved, when you learn the circumstances,” pursued Mr Stafford. “A young relative of mine is getting married, and, as I am not exactly a poor man, I decided upon giving her a handsome present. I said nothing about my intention to anyone, but went to the bank and drew £200.” “£200,” said M^cSweeny, gravely noting down the facts, with a severe official frown on his brow, in imitation of some peculiarity of my own. “With that money in my pocket I went over to Princes Street, and bought, in a first-class jeweller’s, a necklace, brooch, and ear-rings. They were set with diamonds and pearls, and, I believe, full value for the money I paid for them, which was only a pound or two less than I had drawn from the bank. They were very pretty trinkets, and, though no admirer of such things generally, I could not help looking more than once at these. I mention these facts just to let you understand that they were _bona-fide_ jewels, paid for at the highest price, and bought from a man above suspicion, and no trick affairs made up in some magic way to deceive the eyes or fingers, and then vanish into gas or air before one’s eyes. After I had paid for the jewels they were put into a small casket covered with morocco and lined with velvet, and this casket, wrapped in paper, was placed in my own hands, and carried by me to my own home. I still said nothing of my purchase to anyone. The page-boy was in the hall as I entered, but the casket was at that moment in my coat pocket, and he could not possibly have guessed that I carried anything uncommon. I left my hat, and umbrella, and boots in the hall, and went straight up to my study. This room is always closed with a check-lock, and no one can enter it during my absence. There is no furniture in the room which could screen any person from sight. When you enter the room you see at a glance all that is in it—my book-case, my writing-table, and a sofa and four chairs. There is a fire and fire-place, of course, but no one could conceal himself there, as the grate is a small register one, and the fire was blazing up when the magical disappearance took place. I always light the fire and trim it myself, and the page never gets further than the outside of the door when he fills and brings up the coal scuttle. The floor is covered with one piece of wax-cloth, so there are no crevices or holes into which any small trinket could drop or roll. You are following me clearly, I hope?” “Yes, sur—as clear as day,” answered M^cSweeny, with rather less confidence in his tones.