royal jewels graced the display of Miss Wyvern's wedding gifts on the
morrow.

But it was fruitful of other "gifts," fruitful of an even greater
surprise, that "morrow." For the first time since the day he had given
his promise, no "souvenir" from "The Man Who Called Himself Hamilton
Cleek," no part of last night's loot came to Scotland Yard; and it was
while the evening papers were making screaming "copy" and glaring
headlines out of this that the surprise in question came to pass.

Miss Wyvern's wedding was over, the day and the bride had gone, and it
was half-past ten at night, when Sir Horace, answering a hurry call from
headquarters, drove post haste to Superintendent Narkom's private room,
and passing in under a red and green lamp which burned over the doorway,
entered and met that "surprise."

Maverick Narkom was there alone, standing beside his desk, with the
curtains of his window drawn and pinned together, and at his elbow an
unlighted lamp of violet-coloured glass, standing and looking
thoughtfully down at something which lay before him. He turned as his
visitor entered and made an open-handed gesture toward it.

"Look here," he said laconically, "what do you think of this?"

Sir Horace moved forward and looked; then stopped and gave a sort of
wondering cry. The electric bulbs overhead struck a glare of light down
on the surface of the desk, and there, spread out on the shining oak,
lay a part of the royal jewels that had been stolen from Wyvern House
last night.