“Hardly,” was the reply. “They would be worthless to a thief.”
“First I’ve heard of this attempt, Lorian,” said Edie. “Anything missing?”
“No. The thing is an utter mystery. There were some odds and ends lying about which no ordinary burglar could very well have overlooked.”
“If any loss had been sustained,” said the Colonel, half jestingly, “I should have put it down to the Riddle!”
“Don’t quite follow you. Colonel,” remarked Edie. “What riddle?”
“The family Riddle of the Ragstaffs,” explained Lorian. “You’ve seen it—over there by the staircase.”
“Oh!” exclaimed the other, “you mean that inscription on the panel—which means nothing in particular? Yes, I have examined it several times. But why should it affect the fortunes of Sir Julius?”
“You see,” was the Colonel’s reply, “we have a tradition in the family, Edie, that the Riddle brings us luck, but brings misfortune to anyone else who has it in his possession. It’s never been copied before; but I let Lorian—Sir Julius—make a drawing of it for his forthcoming book on Decorative Wood-carving. I don’t know,” he added smilingly, “if the mysterious influence follows the copy or only appertains to the original.”
“Let us have another look at it,” said Edie. “It has acquired a new interest!”
The whole party of us passed idly across the hall to the foot of the great staircase. From the direction of the drawing-room proceeded the softly played strains of the Duetto from Cavalleria. I knew Sybil Reynor was the player, and I saw Lorian glance impatiently in the direction of the door. Hulme detected the glance, too, and an expression rested momentarily upon his handsome face which I found myself at a loss to define.