‘I shall wear my dark blue satin and diamonds,’ she said to her maid, who was dressing her hair, but the diamonds, when looked for, were not in their usual place.

Sarah had not put them away, nor in fact had she seen them at all, for they were not upon the bureau when she went to arrange her mistress’ room the morning after the party.  The diamonds were gone, nor could any amount of searching bring them to light.  And they looked everywhere, in every box and drawer and corner, and Mrs. Tracy grew cold and sick and faint, and finally broke down in a fit of crying, as she explained to her husband that her beautiful diamonds were stolen.  She called it that, now, and the whole household was roused and questioned as to when and where each had last seen the missing jewels.  But no one had seen them since they were in the lady’s ears, and she knew she had left them upon her bureau when she went down to breakfast.  She was positive of that.  No one had been in the room, or that part of the house, except Tom, Fred Raymond, Charles and Sarah.  Of these the first two were not to be thought of for a moment, while the last two had been in the family for years, and were above suspicion.  Clearly, then, it was some one from outside, who had watched his or her portunity and come in.

Had any one been seen about the house at that hour?  Yes, Charles remembered having met Harold Hastings coming out of the rear door; ‘but,’ he added, ‘I would sooner suspect myself than him.’

And this was the verdict of all except Mrs. Tracy, who now recalled the fact that she, too, had seen Harold ’sneaking through the door as if he did not wish to be seen.’

That was the way she expressed herself, and her manner had in it more meaning even than her words.

’What was Harold doing in the house?  What was his errand?  Does any one know?’ she asked, but no one volunteered any information until Charles suggested that he probably came on some errand to Mr. Arthur; he would inquire, he said, and he went at once to his master’s room.

Arthur was sitting by his writing-desk, busy with a letter, and did not turn, his head when Charles asked if he remembered whether Harold Hastings had been to his room the morning after the party.

‘No, I have not seen him for more than a week,’ was the reply.

‘But he must have been here that morning,’ Charles continued.  ’Try and think.’

’I tell you no one was here.  I am not quite demented yet.  Now go.  Don’t you see you are interrupting me?’ was Arthur’s rather savage response, and without having gained any satisfactory information Charles returned to the group anxiously awaiting him: 

‘Well?’ was Mrs. Tracy’s sharp interrogatory, to which Charles responded: 

’He does not remember what happened that morning; but that is not strange.  He was very tired and unusually excited after the party, and when he is that way he does not remember anything.  Harold might have been there a dozen times and he would forget it.’