shop to look for the cross.
I thought perhaps it might have been put in one of the showcases, or
laid on the shelf, perhaps forgotten. Really I was so distressed, I
didn't know what to think. I did not want to tell any one what I was
looking for, so I went about quietly. But I could not find it. Then I
was obliged to ask Darcy about it, secretly, of course, and without
hinting as to the ownership.

"But he had never seen it. He said Mrs. Darcy had not given it to him,
nor asked him to repair it. Nor was it in the shop, as far as he knew,
and he went over all the stock to furnish a list to the police, so they
could tell whether or not there had been a robbery."

"And there was none?"

"None, unless you call the taking of the diamond cross a theft. For
that alone is missing. And I'd give half my fortune to get it back.
Cynthia's husband may ask about it at any moment, and what excuse can
she give?"

"It is rather a ticklish matter," agreed the detective. "Well, I'll
see what I can do. First I thought you wanted me to work on the murder
case. But as I am already engaged on that, to try to clear Darcy, I
can as well include the diamond cross mystery also. I wonder if they
have any connection."

"I don't see how they can have. Mrs. Darcy may merely have put the
cross away secretly, and it may take a careful search of the place to
find it."

"Maybe so. I'll have to nose around a bit."

There came a knock on the office door.

"Come!" called out the colonel.

His clerk handed him a telegram. Tearing it open the detective read a
message from one of his agents in a distant western city: It said:

"Spotty Morgan arrested here to-day. Big diamond cross found on him.
Do you want him?"

"Do I want him?" fairly yelled the colonel. "I should say I did!
Here, get me Blake on the long distance. This is no time for a wire.
I've got to telephone!" And he hurried to a private booth in a back
office, leaving Grafton to himself.

After he had telephoned. Colonel Ashley sat in silence in the booth,
musing.

"Now I wonder," he said to himself, "if Grafton is telling me the
truth. Almost any one would believe his story--it sounds straight
enough--and yet I can't take any chances. I guess I mustn't lose sight
of you, Aaron Grafton.

"And perhaps Larch isn't so bad a chap as you'd have me believe. Trust
a disgruntled lover for saying the worst about the other chap. Yes, I
can't afford to take any cha