“Please don’t laugh, Mr. Thorold. Yes, I did suspect. There was something in the demeanour of your servant Lecky that gave me the idea... I did mean to catch you. Why you, a millionaire, should be a burglar, I cannot understand. I never understood that incident at the Devonshire Mansion; it was beyond me. I am by no means sure that you didn’t have a great deal to do with the Rainshore affair at Ostend. But that you should have stooped to slander is the worst. I confess you are a mystery. I confess that I can make no guess at the nature of your present scheme. And what I shall do, now that I have caught you, I don’t know. I can’t decide; I must think. If, however, anything is missing to-morrow morning, I shall be bound in any case to denounce you. You grasp that?”
“I grasp it perfectly, my dear journalist,” Cecil replied. “And something will not improbably be missing. But take the advice of a burglar and a mystery, and go to bed, it is half-past three.”
And Eve went. And Cecil bowed her out and then retired to his own rooms. And the Count’s apartment was left to the moonlight.
V.
“Planchette is a very safe prophet,” said Cecil to Kitty Sartorius the next morning, “provided it has firm guidance.”
They were at breakfast.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that Planchette prophesied last night that I should restore to you your bracelet. I do.”
He took the lovely gewgaw from his pocket and handed it to Kitty.