“So the ‘Thumbograph’ is now in Mrs. Hornby’s possession?”

“Yes, unless she has destroyed it.  She spoke of doing so.”

“I hope she has not,” said I, in some alarm, “for Dr. Thorndyke is extremely anxious, for some reason, to examine it.”

“Well, she will be down in a few minutes, and then we shall know.  I told her you were here.  Have you any idea what Dr. Thorndyke’s reason is for wanting to see it?”

“None whatever,” I replied.  “Dr. Thorndyke is as close as an oyster.  He treats me as he treats every one else—­he listens attentively, observes closely, and says nothing.”

“It doesn’t sound very agreeable,” mused Miss Gibson; “and yet he seemed very nice and sympathetic.”

“He is very nice and sympathetic,” I retorted with some emphasis, “but he doesn’t make himself agreeable by divulging his clients’ secrets.”

“I suppose not; and I regard myself as very effectively snubbed,” said she, smiling, but evidently somewhat piqued by my not very tactful observation.

I was hastening to repair my error with apologies and self-accusations, when the door opened and an elderly lady entered the room.  She was somewhat stout, amiable and placid of mien, and impressed me (to be entirely truthful) as looking rather foolish.

“Here is Mrs. Hornby,” said Miss Gibson, presenting me to her hostess; and she continued, “Dr. Jervis has come to ask about the ‘Thumbograph.’  You haven’t destroyed it, I hope?”

“No, my dear,” replied Mrs. Hornby.  “I have it in my little bureau.  What did Dr. Jervis wish to know about it?”

Seeing that she was terrified lest some new and dreadful surprise should be sprung upon her, I hastened to reassure her.

“My colleague, Dr. Thorndyke, is anxious to examine it.  He is directing your nephew’s defence, you know.”

“Yes, yes,” said Mrs. Hornby.  “Juliet told me about him.  She says he is a dear.  Do you agree with her?”

Here I caught Miss Gibson’s eye, in which was a mischievous twinkle, and noted a little deeper pink in her cheeks.

“Well,” I answered dubiously, “I have never considered my colleague in the capacity of a dear, but I have a very high opinion of him in every respect.”

“That, no doubt, is the masculine equivalent,” said Miss Gibson, recovering from the momentary embarrassment that Mrs. Hornby’s artless repetition of her phrase had produced.  “I think the feminine expression is more epigrammatic and comprehensive.  But to return to the object of Dr. Jervis’s visit.  Would you let him have the ‘Thumbograph,’ aunt, to show to Dr. Thorndyke?” “Oh, my dear Juliet,” replied Mrs. Hornby, “I would do anything—­anything—­to help our poor boy.  I will never believe that he could be guilty of theft—­common, vulgar theft.  There has been some dreadful mistake—­I am convinced there has—­I told the detectives so.  I assured them that Reuben could not have committed the robbery, and that they were totally mistaken in supposing him to be capable of such an action.  But they would not listen to me, although I have known him since he was a little child, and ought to be able to judge, if anyone is.  Diamonds, too!  Now, I ask you, what could Reuben want with diamonds? and they were not even cut.”