"I wrote him a letter in which I said: 'You will find your treasure in the bath-tub,'" laughed Holmes.
"And that will drive him from New York, and close his mouth forever!" I observed, sarcastically. "So very likely!"
"No, Jenkins, not that, but the address, my dear boy, the address. I put that message in an envelope, and left it on his table where he'll surely see it the first thing when he gets back to-night, addressed to 'Bob Hollister,' Diamond Merchant, Cell No. 99, Pentonville Prison."
"Aha!" said I, my doubts clearing.
"Likewise—Ho-ho," said Holmes. "It is a delicate intimation to Sir Henry Darlington that somebody is on to his little game, and he'll evaporate before dawn."
A week later, Holmes brought me a magnificent pearl scarf-pin.
"What's that?" I asked.
"Your share of the swag," he answered. "I returned the pearl necklace to
Bar, LeDuc & Co., with a full statement of how it came into my possession.
They rewarded me with this ruby ring and that stick-pin."
Holmes held up his right hand, on the fourth finger of which glistened a brilliant blood-red stone worth not less than fifteen hundred dollars.
I breathed a sigh of relief.