ndon, and having the stones
which I had brought back in my pockets valued, I found that there were
many worthless ones among them, and that the few good ones, when sold,
only realised sufficient to pay the rather heavy expenses of my journey
to and from Baghdad, with a very little over for myself to repay me for
the loss of my time.

MYSTERY NO. VIII

SHIN SHIRA AND THE MAD BULL

The Verrinder children were in a state of great excitement and glee, for
we were going to spend the day at Burnham Beeches.

The plan was to drive over in a wagonette and have a picnic under the
trees in the middle of the day.

Lionel was amongst the party, and Lady Betty, a young friend of the
Verrinders, so that we were a merry crowd as we scrambled into the
wagonette.

"It doesn't matter about your being old," said Fidge, snuggling up to me
and catching hold of my arm; "you're not like most grown-ups, and don't
mind us larking about a bit."

"I hope not," I said smilingly.

"Besides, he isn't old," chimed in Lady Betty, "at least not very," she
qualified. "He hasn't even got a beard, and if he wasn't a little bit
grown-up he couldn't afford to take us about," she added practically.

"I expect we'll have some jolly decent grub," I heard Dick whisper to
Lionel. "Mrs. Putchy makes ripping pastry. I know, because we used to
stay at his place sometimes before you came."

Marjorie looked up from her book and smiled and nodded across at me.
"It's lovely," she said, as we drove along. "We're going to have a
perfectly splendid day."

We were sitting three aside, and there was just comfortable room for us;
and when we had got well into the country I began to tell the younger
ones, Fidge and Lady Betty, a story. Marjorie closed her book too and
leaned forward to listen, but the two big boys, evidently considering it
_infra dig_. to listen to anything so childish, were eagerly comparing
school experiences. Dick was at Harrow and Lionel at Marlborough, so
they had a lot to talk about.

Presently, in the middle of my story, Marjorie called out, without
looking up, "Move further along, Dick, don't crowd so."

"I'm not!" retorted Dick, "it's you. I can't move any further without
crowding Lionel out of the trap."

"Oh, it's this cushion," cried Marjorie, turning about and trying to
remove what looked at first like a yellow silk cushion beside her.

It was evidently too heavy though, and she gave a start as she touched
it. "Why!" s