isoned
for only ten days."

"So you fell off the water-wagon, eh,--even in the watery city?"
commented Holmes. "Well, were you sober when you put away the Earl's
shirt last night, with the diamond cuff-buttons in it,--that is, sober
enough to notice that the buttons were really there in the cuffs?"

"Oh, yes, sir. I am quite sure that the cuff-buttons must have been
stolen during the night."

"Did you hear any noise Sunday night to indicate that burglars were
getting in?"

"No, sir; not a thing. I didn't even hear the dog bark, as he usually
does. I think that the cuff-buttons were stolen by somebody inside the
castle."

"Ah, ha! This is getting interesting," said Holmes, with animation.
"And whom do you suspect? Anybody in particular?"

"Yes, sir. I suspect Donald MacTavish, the second footman. I saw him
with something shiny in his hand last night, which he hastily
concealed when he saw me coming."

"That will be all, Luigi," said Holmes; "you are excused."

The valet looked like Mephistopheles, as he glanced around with a
triumphant expression on his swarthy face, and left the room.

"Bring in Lord Launcelot's valet next, Thorneycroft," said Holmes.
"And we may as well sit down, as the examination of this crowd will
take some time."

The Earl and the rest of us found chairs in the drawing-room as
Thorneycroft, looking very important, hustled out in the corridor to
rope in the next victim. The constables had the servants all
considerably frightened, and they stood around on one foot with mixed
expressions on their faces. In a moment the other valet confronted us.

"State your name, age, previous place of employment, and whether you
have ever been arrested," commanded Holmes, who seemed to be speeding
up a little on his inquisition.

I wondered at my friend's somewhat more nervous manner as he questioned
the second servant, until I noticed his old cocaine-squirter being
shoved gently back into his pocket with his left hand, as he pointed
his right forefinger at the servant. Holmes had evidently just sneaked
in an extra shot in the arm without any one's getting wise, and I, who
knew him of old, was sure that he would have a fit on for several
hours.

"Peter Adrian Van Damm. Twenty-nine. Pretorius Brothers'
diamond-importing house in Amsterdam, Holland. No, sir," replied the
valet, just as quickly as Holmes had questioned him.

"I see that you are not to be flustered," nodded Holmes approvingly;
"also