iest
and the safest plan would be to leave the box where he had found it and
have nothing more to do with it. With this more or less wise resolution,
he rose and had taken a step forward, when he heard a sound behind him,
felt a hand fall heavily on his shoulder, and, turning, met the stern
and agitated gaze of Inspector Brown.

"I arrest you for robbery and attempted murder!" said the Inspector.

His voice, for all its sternness, shook and his face was red and
working; for this was the most important moment of Inspector Brown's
life, and it was little wonder that he was agitated and strung up. While
the great detective from Scotland Yard was doing nothing, here had he,
the Inspector, actually discovered the criminal, caught him red-handed,
so to speak!

"It is no use your offering any resistance," he said, brusquely. "Three
or four constables are within call; you could not possibly escape. I've
had my eye upon you for some time, my man, and have taken precautions."

This assertion was not strictly true, but the Inspector almost felt it
was.

Derrick stared at the red face in a kind of stupefied amazement; at last
he said:

"You mean that you are charging me with stealing this thing?"

"I do," replied the Inspector; "and you may as well hand it over to me
without any fuss."

"I shall be delighted to do so," said Derrick, grimly.

He had not yet realized the full significance of the Inspector's first
formal words; for the moment Derrick's mind was engrossed by the
sardonic irony of Fate. Here it was again! There was something really
monotonous in the way in which this peculiar phase of misfortune dogged
him. Was he really going to be again charged with an offence he had not
committed? He opened his lips to speak; to say where he had found the
box; then he remembered the words "attempted murder," and instead of
giving information--which the Inspector would certainly have received
with incredulity--Derrick said quietly and with a sudden pallor,

"Did I understand you to charge me with attempted murder as well as
robbery?"

"I did," responded the Inspector, sternly. "The attempted murder of the
Marquess of Sutcombe."

Derrick did not start, made no exclamation, but the pallor of his face
increased and he gave a little nod. If this box had been stolen, the man
who had hidden it was, in all probability, the thief--and attempted
murderer. Percy--the Marquess's own son! Confused and bewildered as he
was, Derrick