ned. When you learn who those two men are, you will know that
one of them did not take the money, and I give you my assurance that
the other did.'

'You speak in mystery, Mr. Dacre.'

'But certainly, for I am speaking to Monsieur Eugene Valmont.'

'I echo your words, sir. Admirably answered. You put me on my mettle,
and I flatter myself that I see your kindly drift. You wish me to
solve the mystery of this stolen money. Sir, you-do me honour, and I
drink to your health.'

'To yours, monsieur,' said Lionel Dacre, and thus we drank and parted.

On leaving Mr. Dacre I took a hansom to a cafe in Regent Street, which
is a passable imitation of similar places of refreshment in Paris.
There, calling for a cup of black coffee, I sat down to think. The
clue of the silver spoons! He had laughingly suggested that I should
take by the shoulders the first man I met, and ask him what the story
of the silver spoons was. This course naturally struck me as absurd,
and he doubtless intended it to seem absurd. Nevertheless, it
contained a hint. I must ask somebody, and that the right person, to
tell me the tale of the silver spoons.

Under the influence of the black coffee I reasoned it out in this way.
On the night of the twenty-third one of the six guests there present
stole a hundred pounds, but Dacre had said that an actor in the silver
spoon episode was the actual thief. That person, then, must have been
one of Mr. Gibbes's guests at the dinner of the twenty-third. Probably
two of the guests were the participators in the silver spoon comedy,
but, be that as it may, it followed that one at least of the men
around Mr. Gibbes's table knew the episode of the silver spoons.
Perhaps Bentham Gibbes himself was cognisant of it. It followed,
therefore, that the easiest plan was to question each of the men who
partook of that dinner. Yet if only one knew about the spoons, that
one must also have some idea that these spoons formed the clue which
attached him to the crime of the twenty-third, in which case he was
little likely to divulge what he knew to an entire stranger.

Of course, I might go to Dacre himself and demand the story of the
silver spoons, but this would be a confession of failure on my part,
and I rather dreaded Lionel Dacre's hearty laughter when I admitted
that the mystery was too much for me. Besides this I was very well
aware of the young man's kindly intentions towards me. He wished me to
unravel the coil myself, and