"Quite a mysterious affair!" I continued. "It is
almost the first burglary I have ever read of in which the police have not
been said to possess a clew."
Mr. Samuelson, who seemed gratified by his reception, lit a cigarette and
crossed his legs, displaying a very nice pair of patent boots, with gray
suede tops.
"It is a very queer affair, indeed," he told me confidentially. "The
police have been taking a lot of trouble about it, and a very intelligent
sort of fellow from Scotland Yard has been in and out of the house ever
since."
"Any clew at all?" I asked.
"Rather hard to say," Mr. Samuelson replied. "You'll be wondering what
I've come to see you about. Well, I'll just explain. Of course there's
always the chance that some one may have entered the house while we were
all at dinner--crept upstairs quietly and got away with the jewel case;
but this Johnny I was telling you about, from Scotland Yard, seems to have
got hold of a theory that has rather knocked me of a heap. Very delicate
matter," Mr. Samuelson continued, "as you will understand when I tell you
that he thinks it may have been one of my guests who was in the show."
"Seems a little far-fetched to me," I remarked; "but one never knows.
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