"Oh, the fellow with the book. Why, sir?"
"He's a detective, I think. Anyhow, he is shadowing Jones, whom he suspects is a thief."
He then told Arthur frankly of his former conversation with Le Drieux, and of the puzzling photograph.
"It really resembles the boy," he admitted, with a frown of perplexity, "yet at the same time I realized the whole thing was absurd. Neither Patsy nor I can believe that Jones is the man who robbed an Austrian countess. It's preposterous! And let me say right now, Arthur, that I'm going to stand by this young fellow, with all my influence, in case those hounds try to make him trouble."
Arthur did not reply at once. He puffed his cigar silently while he revolved the startling accusation in his mind.
"Both you and Patsy are staunch friends," he observed, after a while, "and I have noticed that your intuition as regards character is seldom at fault. But I advise you, in this instance, not to be hasty, for—"
"I know; you are going to refer to those pearls."
"Naturally. If I don't, Le Drieux will, as you have yourself prophesied. Pearls—especially such pearls as these—are rare and easy to recognize. The world does not contain many black-pearls, for instance, such as that you are wearing. An expert—a man with a photograph that strongly resembles young Jones—is tracing some stolen pearls of great value—a collection, I think you said. We find Jones, a man seemingly unknown here, giving away a number of wonderful pearls that are worthy a place in any collection. Admit it is curious, Uncle John. It may be all a coincidence, of course; but how do you account for it, sir?"
"Jones has an island in the South Seas, a locality where most of the world's famous pearls have been found."
"Sangoa?"