le in her whole bearing, I began to
regard a glimpse of her features as imperative. Moving forward, I came
upon her suddenly.

"Excuse me, Miss Smith," I boldly exclaimed; then paused, for she had
turned instinctively and I had seen that for which I had risked this
daring move. "Your pardon," I hastily apologized. "I mistook you for
another young lady," and drew back with a low bow to let her pass, for I
saw that she thought only of escaping both me and the room.

And I did not wonder at this, for her eyes were streaming with tears,
and her face, which was doubtless a pretty one under ordinary
conditions, looked so distorted with distracting emotions that she was
no fit subject for any man's eye, let alone that of a hard-hearted
officer of the law on the look-out for the guilty hand which had just
appropriated a jewel worth anywhere from eight to ten thousand dollars.

Yet I was glad to see her weep, for only first offenders weep, and first
offenders are amenable to influence, especially if they have been led
into wrong by impulse and are weak rather than wicked.

Anxious to make no blunder, I resolved, before proceeding further, to
learn what I could of the character and antecedents of the suspected
one, and this from the only source which offered--Mr. Deane's affianced.

This young lady was a delicate girl, with a face like a flower.
Recognizing her sensitive nature, I approached her with the utmost
gentleness. Not seeking to disguise either the nature of my business or
my reasons for being in the house, since all this gave me authority, I
modulated my tone to suit her gentle spirit, and, above all, I showed
the utmost sympathy for her lover, whose rights in the reward had been
taken from him as certainly as the jewel had been taken from Mrs.
Burton. In this way I gained her confidence, and she was quite ready to
listen when I observed:

"There is a young lady here who seems to be in a state of even greater
trouble than Mr. Deane. Why is this? You brought her here. Is her
sympathy with Mr. Deane so great as to cause her to weep over his loss?"

"Frances? Oh, no. She likes Mr. Deane and she likes me, but not well
enough to cry over our misfortunes. I think she has some trouble of her
own."

"One that you can tell me?"

Her surprise was manifest.

"Why do you ask that? What interest have you (called in, as I
understand, to recover a stolen jewel) in Frances Glover's personal
difficulties?"

I saw that I mu