“You shut up the windows and doors the night before. Did you fasten all

the windows?”


“Yes.”


“Were they all fastened this morning?”


“Yes.”


“You have a maid who has a sweetheart? I think that you remarked to your

uncle last night that she had been out to see him?”


“Yes, and she was the girl who waited in the drawing-room, and who may

have heard uncle’s remarks about the coronet.”


“I see. You infer that she may have gone out to tell her sweetheart, and

that the two may have planned the robbery.”


“But what is the good of all these vague theories,” cried the

banker impatiently, “when I have told you that I saw Arthur with the

coronet in his hands?”


“Wait a little, Mr. Holder. We must come back to that. About this girl,

Miss Holder. You saw her return by the kitchen door, I presume?”


“Yes; when I went to see if the door was fastened for the night I met her

slipping in. I saw the man, too, in the gloom.”


“Do you know him?”


“Oh, yes! he is the greengrocer who brings our vegetables round. His

name is Francis Prosper.”


“He stood,” said Holmes, “to the left of the door—that

is to say, farther up the path than is necessary to reach the door?”


“Yes, he did.”


“And he is a man with a wooden leg?”


Something like fear sprang up in the young lady’s expressive black eyes.

“Why, you are like a magician,” said she. “How do you know

that?” She smiled, but there was no answering smile in Holmes’

thin, eager face.


“I should be very glad now to go upstairs,” said he. “I shall

probably wish to go over the outside of the house again. Perhaps I had better

take a look at the lower windows before I go up.”


He walked swiftly round from one to the other, pausing only at the large one

which looked from the hall onto the stable lane. This he opened and made a very

careful examination of the sill with his powerful magnifying lens. “Now

we shall go upstairs,” said he at last.