Strone was immediately
in front of him. The cage was badly crowded--no one could move. But
practically every one else was with friends, you understand--laughing,
talking, paying no attention to this--ah--creature. As I got in, I
noticed that Mrs. Strone's brooch, a gold bar set with several large
diamonds, was apparently loose--pin had parted from the catch, you
know--and meant to warn her she was in danger of losing it; but I
couldn't, without shouting over this fellow's head, so waited until we
got out; and then, when I managed to get to her, the brooch was gone.
Later, I remembered this--fellow--and looking round the lobby, saw him
in a corner, apparently concealing something about his person. So I
spoke to you about it."

P. Sybarite's face settled into grim lines. "Shaynon," he said slowly,
without visible temper, "this won't get you anything but trouble.
Remember that, when I come to pay you out--unless you'll have the
grace to retract here and now."

As if he had not heard, Shaynon deliberately produced a gold case,
supplied himself with a cigarette, and lighted it.

"Meanin', I take it," the detective interpolated, "you plead not
guilty?"

P. Sybarite nodded curtly. "It's a lie, out of whole cloth," he
declared. "You've only to search me. I'm not strong for
that--mind--and I'm going to make the lot of you smart for this
indignity; but I'm perfectly willing to prove my innocence now, by
letting you search me, so long as it affords me an earlier opportunity
to catch Mister Shaynon when he hasn't got you to protect him."

"That's big talk," commended the detective, apparently a little
prepossessed; "and it's all to the good if you can back it up." He
rose. "You don't mind my going through your pockets--sure?"

"Go ahead," P. Sybarite told him shortly.

"To save time," Shaynon suggested dispassionately, "you might explore
his coat-tail pockets first. It was there that I saw him put away the
brooch."

Nervously in his indignation, P. Sybarite caught his coat-tails from
beneath his Inverness, dragged them round in front of him, and
fumbling, found a pocket.

Groping therein, his fingers brushed something strange to him--a
small, hard, and irregular body which, escaping his clutches, fell
with a soft thud to the carpet at his feet.

Transfixed, he stared down, and gulped with horror, shaken by a
sensation little short of nausea, as he recognised in the object--a
bar of yellow metal studded with winking b