“But you haven’t helped me.  You have made the affair far more difficult.  What sort of burglars are they who steal silver and then throw it into the nearest pond?”

“It was certainly rather eccentric behaviour.  I was merely going on the idea that if the silver had been taken by persons who did not want it—­who merely took it for a blind, as it were—­then they would naturally be anxious to get rid of it.”

“But why should such an idea cross your mind?”

“Well, I thought it was possible.  When they came out through the French window, there was the pond with one tempting little hole in the ice, right in front of their noses.  Could there be a better hiding-place?”

“Ah, a hiding-place—­that is better!” cried Stanley Hopkins.  “Yes, yes, I see it all now!  It was early, there were folk upon the roads, they were afraid of being seen with the silver, so they sank it in the pond, intending to return for it when the coast was clear.  Excellent, Mr. Holmes—­that is better than your idea of a blind.”

“Quite so, you have got an admirable theory.  I have no doubt that my own ideas were quite wild, but you must admit that they have ended in discovering the silver.”

“Yes, sir—­yes.  It was all your doing.  But I have had a bad setback.”

“A setback?”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes.  The Randall gang were arrested in New York this morning.”

“Dear me, Hopkins!  That is certainly rather against your theory that they committed a murder in Kent last night.”

“It is fatal, Mr. Holmes—­absolutely fatal.  Still, there are other gangs of three besides the Randalls, or it may be some new gang of which the police have never heard.”

“Quite so, it is perfectly possible.  What, are you off?”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes, there is no rest for me until I have got to the bottom of the business.  I suppose you have no hint to give me?”

“I have given you one.”

“Which?”

“Well, I suggested a blind.”

“But why, Mr. Holmes, why?”

“Ah, that’s the question, of course.  But I commend the idea to your mind.  You might possibly find that there was something in it.  You won’t stop for dinner?  Well, good-bye, and let us know how you get on.”

Dinner was over, and the table cleared before Holmes alluded to the matter again.  He had lit his pipe and held his slippered feet to the cheerful blaze of the fire.  Suddenly he looked at his watch.

“I expect developments, Watson.”

“When?”

“Now—­within a few minutes.  I dare say you thought I acted rather badly to Stanley Hopkins just now?”

“I trust your judgment.”

“A very sensible reply, Watson.  You must look at it this way:  what I know is unofficial, what he knows is official.  I have the right to private judgment, but he has none.  He must disclose all, or he is a traitor to his service.  In a doubtful case I would not put him in so painful a position, and so I reserve my information until my own mind is clear upon the matter.”