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Jamieson relentlessly. "The nex' mornin' I come back along the path an' down where I dun see the man night befoh, I picked up this here." The old man held out a tiny object and Mr. Jamieson took it. Then he held it on his extended palm for me to see. It was the other half of the pearl cuff-link! But Mr. Jamieson was not quite through questioning him.
"I think I lost one here last night. You didn't happen to find it, did you?" "A cuff-link? Humph!" he grunted. "No, I haven't found it, but I wouldn't be surprised if I was lookin' for that same cuff-link." All this time I was searching the bank with my eyes. A scrubby, little bush overhung the creek and I kicked at it with my foot.
"And you never thought then that the intruder who came later that night might be a woman the woman, in fact, whom you saw on the veranda?" "I had reasons for thinking it was a man," I said remembering the pearl cuff-link. "Now we are getting down to business. WHAT were your reasons for thinking that?" I hesitated. "If you have any reason for believing that your midnight guest was Mr.
They may adhere by habit or desire to the uniform of their class, they may preserve their anonymity even to a cuff-link, yet in some occult way we are apprised of their personal fancy; we see a last-remaining vestige of that high courage that made their ancestors clothe themselves in original and astonishing vestments.
Even a woman wouldn't have expected to find him playin' Noah's Ark in the coffee-room with the Mayor's two kids!" "I like that!" said Lady Hannah meditatively, arranging the Pompadour transformation, not apparently the worse for the candle-accident of the previous night. "Because you're a woman and sentimental," said her spouse, wrestling with a cuff-link.
I decided to keep what clues I had, the cuff-link, the golf-stick and the revolver, in a secure place until I could see some reason for displaying them. The cuff-link had been dropped into a little filigree box on my toilet table. I opened the box and felt around for it. The box was empty the cuff-link had disappeared! At ten o'clock the Casanova hack brought up three men.
On the night before Arnold Armstrong was murdered, Jack Bailey had made his first attempt to search for the secret room. He secured Arnold's keys from his room at the club and got into the house, armed with a golf-stick for sounding the walls. He ran against the hamper at the head of the stairs, caught his cuff-link in it, and dropped the golf-stick with a crash.
"Well, you've found out, haven't you? Nothin'. All right then, you go on into the city and see if you can find out anything more!" I walked on down the sloping bank, searching the ground to see if I could find the gun that might reveal so much. I could feel the eyes of the inspector boring into my back. "What are you looking for?" he demanded. "A cuff-link," I answered easily.
As an afterthought I brought out the pearl cuff-link. "I have no doubt now," I said, "that it was Arnold Armstrong the night before last, too. He had a key, no doubt, but why he should steal into his father's house I can not imagine. He could have come with my permission, easily enough. Anyhow, whoever it was that night, left this little souvenir."
Hoping I could retrieve the revolver later, and realizing that nothing could be gained by staying there longer, I started toward the car. I had hardly taken five steps when I heard a joyful yell and turned to see Robinson struggling to his feet, the muddy revolver in his hand. "Here's your cuff-link," he cried.
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