Diamonds, you say?"

"Yes, yes, diamonds!"

"I hope they were not lost," said the doctor simply.

"Yes; lost, lost!" cried Mark frantically. "The night you were struck
down!"

"Here, hold hard!" cried Poynter sharply. "Look here, Mr Mark Heath,
you came here that night?"

"Why do you interfere, sir?"

"Never mind. P'r'aps I know something."

"You know something?"

"P'r'aps so. You say you came here--late?"

"Yes, very late."

"That night the doctor was struck down?"

"Yes; but why do you ask?"

"Because, you scoundrel, we've got the clue at last. You were the man!"

So sudden was the charge that Mark literally staggered back, and, weak
from his illness, he gasped, and looked to a superficial observer as
much like a guilty man as ever recoiled from a sudden denunciation. But
as a wave of the advancing tide merely retires to gain fresh force, Mark
Heath recovered himself.

"You scoundrel!" he cried; and he would have sprung at Poynter's throat,
but for the restraining arm of Janet and Hendon.

"Scoundrel yourself!" cried Poynter savagely. "Look at his face!
Here--the police!"

He strode towards the door, upon which at that moment there was a loud
tapping; and before he could reach it, Bob stood in the opening, very
rough of head, very ragged, and looking as if he had not been washed
since he was missed.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

BOB IS EXPLANATORY.

"Here, boy," cried Poynter, "quick! Fetch a policeman. Half-a-crown."

He thrust his hand into his pocket, but at that moment even that
outrageously large sum had not the slightest effect upon the boy, who
looked quickly round from one to the other till his eyes lit upon Mark,
at whom he rushed with the notion of a well-trained dog, seizing him by
the arm and breast of his coat, and clinging tightly.

"I've got him," he said shrilly. "Fetch the perlice. I've got him,
Miss Rich; I see him come that night."

Poynter raised his fist, and struck it into his open hand.

"I knew it!" he cried. "I knew I was right! Now, Mr Mark Heath, what
have you got to say?"

"Hendon, lad, lay hold of this boy. He's mad."

"No, I ain't," cried Bob. "Had 'nuff to make me, though."

"Let go, you dog!" roared Mark.

"All right, I'm a-going to," said the boy, shrinking away as Rich came
to him.

"Bob," she cried, "what is this you're saying?"

"Well, I d'know, Miss," he said, scratching his head; "and I don't think
now it weer him. But I'll sweer he