n he had left. Opening them, he peered out and down the fire-escape;
he had always had a notion that anybody foolish enough to want to burgle
his rooms would find it easy to effect an entrance via the fire-escape,
whose bottom rung was only eight feet or so above the level of the
backyard. And now, since the Twenty-ninth Street houses had been torn
down, lending access easy via the excavation, such an attempt would be
doubly easy.

But he had every evidence that his rooms hadn't been broken into by any
such route; although--of course!--an astute burglar might have thought
to cover up his tracks by relocking the windows after he had entered. On
the other hand, the really wise marauder would have almost certainly
left them open to provide a way of escape in emergency.

Baffled and wondering, Staff returned to his study. An examination of
the hall-closet yielded nothing illuminating. Everything was
undisturbed, and there wasn't room enough therein for anybody to hide.

He shut the closet door and reviewed the study more carefully. Not a
thing out of place; even that wretched bandbox lay where he had kicked
it, with a helpless, abused look, the dented side turned pitifully to
the light--much like a street beggar exposing a maimed limb to excite
public sympathy.

He struggled to think: what did he possess worth stealing? Nothing of
any great value: a modest collection of masculine jewelry--stick-pins
and the like; a quantity of clothing; a few fairly good pictures; a few
rare books. But the merest cursory examination showed that these were
intact, one and all. What cash he had was all upon his person. His desk,
where the lamp had been lighted, held nothing valuable to anybody other
than himself: manuscripts, account books, some personal papers strictly
non-negotiable. And these too proved undisturbed.

Swinging round from the desk, he rested his elbows on his knees, clasped
his hands, and lapsed into the most profound of meditations; through
which he arrived at the most amazing discovery of all.

Very gradually his eyes, at first seeing not what they saw, focussed
upon an object on the floor. Quite excusably he was reluctant to believe
their evidence. Eventually, however, he bent forward and picked up the
thing.

It lay in his hand, eloquently absurd--in his study!--a bow of
violet-coloured velvet ribbon, cunningly knotted, complete in itself.
From its reverse, a few broken threads of silk hung, suggesting that it
ha