“What! A robbery! Tell me: what was stolen?”
“Nothing of the slightest value, Mr. Harley, to any one but myself—or so I should have supposed.” The speaker coughed nervously. “The thief had gained admittance to my private study, where there are several cases of Oriental jewellery and a number of pieces of valuable gold and silverware, all antique. At what hour he came, how he gained admittance, and how he retired, I cannot imagine. All the doors were locked as usual in the morning and nothing was disturbed.”
“I don’t understand, then.”
“I chanced to have occasion to open my bureau which I invariably keep locked. Immediately—immediately—I perceived that my papers were disarranged. Close examination revealed the fact that a short manuscript in my own hand, which had been placed in one of the pigeonholes, was missing.”
“A manuscript,” murmured Harley. “Upon a technical subject?”
“Scarcely a technical subject, Mr. Harley. It was a brief account which I had vaguely contemplated publishing in one of the reviews, a brief account of a very extraordinary patient whom I once attended.”
“And had you written it recently?”
“No; some years ago. But I had recently added to it. I may say that it was my purpose still further to add to it, and with this object I had actually unlocked the bureau.”
“New facts respecting this patient had come into your possession?”
“They had.”