I went over to the New Town very quickly and showed the umbrella to the lady, who identified it—with the exception of the initials—and showed marks and points about the ivory handle which proved it hers beyond doubt. I kept the umbrella, and went to the jeweller who had undertaken the engraving of the initials. He described the gentleman who had left the umbrella, and, turning up his books, gave me the name and address, which I soon found to be fictitious. He stated, however, that the umbrella was to be called for on the following day, and I arranged to be there at least an hour before the stated time to receive him. When I had been there a couple of hours or so—seated in the back shop reading the papers—a single stroke at a bell near me, connected with the front shop, told me that my man had come. I advanced and looked through a little pane of glass, carefully concealed from the front, and took a good look at him. What was my astonishment to find that the “gentleman” was no other than my old acquaintance, John Atkinson, the valet! According to the arrangement I had made with the jeweller—in anticipation of finding the thief to be a man in a good position in society—the umbrella was handed over to the caller, the engraving paid for, and the man allowed to leave the shop. I never followed any one with greater alacrity or a stronger determination not to let him slip. I fully expected him to go to his place in Moray Place, and intended to just let him get comfortably settled there, and then go in and arrest him before his master, who had been very wrathful at the last “insult to his trusted servant.” But John did not turn his face in that direction at all. He moved away out to a quiet street at the South Side, where he stopped before a main door flat bearing the name “Miss Huntley” on a brass plate. A smart servant girl opened the door, and John was admitted by her with much deference. When he had been in the house a short time, I rang the bell and asked for him. “He is with Miss Huntley,” said the girl, with some embarrassment, evidently wishing me to take the hint and leave. “Indeed! and she is his sweetheart, I suppose?” The girl laughed merrily, and said she supposed so. I only understood that laugh when I saw Miss Huntley—a toothless old woman, old enough to be my mother, or John’s grandmother. From the girl I learned that her mistress was possessed of considerable property, and that John and she were soon to be made one. I doubted that, but did not say so. I had no qualms whatever, and sharply demanded to be shown in. John became ghastly pale the moment he sighted my face. Miss Huntley had the stolen umbrella in her hands, and was admiringly examining her initials on the gold top. “Is that your umbrella, ma’am?” I asked, in a tone which made her blink at me over her spectacles. “Yes, I’ve just got it in a present from Mr Atkinson,” she answered.