“A likely story! As if a man bent on felony would slam his door so as to

wake a household. What did they say, then, of the disappearance of these

gems?”


“They are still sounding the planking and probing the furniture in the

hope of finding them.”


“Have they thought of looking outside the house?”


“Yes, they have shown extraordinary energy. The whole garden has already

been minutely examined.”


“Now, my dear sir,” said Holmes, “is it not obvious to you

now that this matter really strikes very much deeper than either you or the

police were at first inclined to think? It appeared to you to be a simple case;

to me it seems exceedingly complex. Consider what is involved by your theory.

You suppose that your son came down from his bed, went, at great risk, to your

dressing-room, opened your bureau, took out your coronet, broke off by main

force a small portion of it, went off to some other place, concealed three gems

out of the thirty-nine, with such skill that nobody can find them, and then

returned with the other thirty-six into the room in which he exposed himself to

the greatest danger of being discovered. I ask you now, is such a theory

tenable?”


“But what other is there?” cried the banker with a gesture of

despair. “If his motives were innocent, why does he not explain

them?”


“It is our task to find that out,” replied Holmes; “so now,

if you please, Mr. Holder, we will set off for Streatham together, and devote

an hour to glancing a little more closely into details.”


My friend insisted upon my accompanying them in their expedition, which I was

eager enough to do, for my curiosity and sympathy were deeply stirred by the

story to which we had listened. I confess that the guilt of the banker’s

son appeared to me to be as obvious as it did to his unhappy father, but still

I had such faith in Holmes’ judgment that I felt that there must be some