"Nothing," responded the policeman, after a miserable pause. "Without pictures of the jewels to put in the newspapers the sensation will be weak and will wobble at the knees."
Mrs. Shinevonboodle leaned against the fence and groaned inwardly.
"It is too bad," muttered the policeman, as he bit into the two-for cigar and walked silently away.
Mrs. Shinevonboodle sat down in her most expensive flower bed and wept bitterly.
Just then the policeman came running back.
"Perhaps you remember the jewels well enough to get a photograph from memory?" he suggested.
A smile chased itself over the face of Mrs. Shinevonboodle, and she picked herself up from the geraniums.
"I remember them perfectly," she whispered, "because when my husband got the bill for them he had four different styles of fits in four minutes. Three of these fits were entirely new and original with him, so I remember the jewels perfectly."
"Good!" said the policeman. "I will have 18 detectives and 219 reporters up here in ten minutes. Calm yourself, now, calm yourself, because what is lost will soon be found in the newspapers."
The policeman rushed away to the telephone, and with a glad cry of thanksgiving Mrs. Shinevonboodle ran in the house and began to beat Mozart out of the piano.