extraordinary story out of it, but you can explain, can’t you?”

 

“That is all?” I said. “You have told me everything?”

 

“Ye-es,” said Mrs. Ackroyd. “Oh! yes,” she added firmly.

 

But I had noted the momentary hesitation, and I knew that there was still

something she was keeping back. It was nothing less than a flash of sheer genius

that prompted me to ask the question I did.

 

“Mrs. Ackroyd,” I said, “was it you who left the silver table open?”

 

I had my answer in the blush of guilt that even rouge and powder could not

conceal.

 

“How did you know?” she whispered.

 

“It was you, then?”

 

“Yes—I—you see—there were one or two pieces of old silver—very interesting. I

had been reading up the subject and there was an illustration of quite a small

piece which had fetched an immense sum at Christy’s. It looked to me just the

same as the one in the silver table. I thought I would take it up to London with

me when I went—and—and have it valued. Then if it really was a valuable piece,

just think what a charming surprise it would have been for Roger?”