terous fury.

"What's the game?" he demanded. "What are you talking about?"

"I am talking of 'the _Oritoga_ mystery,'" I replied.

"The _Oritoga_ mystery?"

His expression changed, and he dropped down into an armchair from
which he had evidently arisen upon hearing my voice below. I observed
a copy of a daily paper lying upon the carpet, and the conspicuous
headline was sufficient to show me that he had actually been reading
the latest reports concerning the case at the time of my arrival. I
had judged my man pretty accurately by this time, and drawing up
another chair which stood near me I sat down facing him, holding out
my open cigar-case.

"I quite understand your sensitiveness in the circumstances," I said
soothingly; "but there is no occasion to suppose that I have come to
remind you of your misfortune. Have a cigar. I want a chat with you."

He continued to watch me in a lowering way, but I was gradually
getting him in hand. With very poor grace he accepted a cigar, lighted
it, and threw the match away without offering to light mine. I did
not appear to notice his churlishness, but immediately approached the
matter about which I had come.

"Although I am not a member of the Criminal Investigation Department,"
I continued, "I am nevertheless in a sense an agent of Scotland Yard,
and I must ask you to listen very seriously to what I have to say. You
have in your possession a certain gold amulet--"

He was on his feet in a moment, the patches of skin visible between
the strapping assuming a purple color. A more choleric young man I had
never met.

"Damn you!" he cried. "What has it to do with you?"

"Sit down!" I said sternly. "I have given you one warning; I shall not
give you another. You will either answer my questions civilly here and
now or answer them in court, whichever you please. I shall not give
you another opportunity of choosing. I will repeat my remark: you have
in your possession a certain gold amulet in the form, I believe, of a
cat."

He was choking and muttering and glaring at me as I spoke, but I
stared at him coolly, and finally he resumed his seat and reached out
one hand towards a chest-of-drawers which stood beside his chair.
Pulling one of the drawers open, he took out a little gold figure of
Bast, and holding it towards me:

"Is this the thing you mean?" he jerked uncivilly.

"It is," I replied; "allow me to examine it."

He seemed rather reluctant to do so, but nevertheles