Basil did not say a word. Miss Nelson suddenly raised her pale face. She rose to her feet. "Not high heroics," she said, "but deep grief; I had a memento of the past—a young and happy past. I treasured it. It was stolen from me about ten days ago. I don't know by whom. I don't know why it was stolen. Now it has been returned—like this."
Miss Wilton took the broken ivory in her hand.
"Dear, dear," she said. "How disgracefully this miniature has been cracked and distorted. A child's face, I see, painted in a weak, washed-out style, and glass and ivory are both broken, and frame bent. This miniature must have been subjected to very rough usage. The miniature is yours, Miss Nelson?"
"Yes. It is a likeness of my—my sister. Give it back to me, please, Miss Wilton."
"And you say it was stolen from you?"
"Yes. It always hung over that mantelpiece. It was taken away the day after the boys came home from school."
Miss Wilton stood quite still for a moment; she was a very downright, practical sort of person. "Extraordinary as my question must seem, Basil," she said, turning suddenly to her nephew, "I am forced to ask it, as you appear to be mixed up in the affair. Did you take the miniature?"
"I? Certainly not," said Basil, coloring high.
"But you know something about it?"
"Yes; I know something about it."