es
green, this one white, and this a bilious yellow, which is not becoming
to either of us, I am sure. Now will you examine the connection, and see
if there is anything peculiar about it?"

Mr. Hines at once set to work. But beyond the fact that the whole
contrivance was the work of an amateur hand, he found nothing strange
about it, except the fact that it worked so well.

Mr. Gryce showed disappointment.

"He made it, then, himself?" he asked.

"Undoubtedly, or some one else equally unacquainted with the latest
method of wiring."

"Will you look at these books over here and see if sufficient knowledge
can be got from them to enable an amateur to rig up such an arrangement
as this?"

Mr. Hines glanced at the shelf which Mr. Gryce had pointed out, and
without taking out the books, answered briefly:

"A man with a deft hand and a scientific turn of mind might, by the aid
of these, do all you see here and more. The aptitude is all."

"Then I'm afraid Mr. Adams had the aptitude," was the dry response.
There was disappointment in the tone. Why, his next words served to
show. "A man with a turn for mechanical contrivances often wastes much
time and money on useless toys only fit for children to play with. Look
at that bird cage now. Perched at a height totally beyond the reach of
any one without a ladder, it must owe its very evident usefulness (for
you see it holds a rather lively occupant) to some contrivance by which
it can be raised and lowered at will. Where is that contrivance? Can you
find it?"

The expert thought he could. And, sure enough, after some ineffectual
searching, he came upon another button well hid amid the tapestry on the
wall, which, when pressed, caused something to be disengaged which
gradually lowered the cage within reach of Mr. Gryce's hand.

"We will not send this poor bird aloft again," said he, detaching the
cage and holding it for a moment in his hand. "An English starling is
none too common in this country. Hark! he is going to speak."

But the sharp-eyed bird, warned perhaps by the emphatic gesture of the
detective that silence would be more in order at this moment than his
usual appeal to "remember Evelyn," whisked about in his cage for an
instant, and then subsided into a doze, which may have been real, and
may have been assumed under the fascinating eye of the old gentleman who
held him. Mr. Gryce placed the cage on the floor, and idly, or because
the play pleased him, old an