"It is certainly most extraordinary," said the inspector. "I never
remember a case like it. Let us see the watchman." The commissionaire was called--a soldierly, honest-faced man, who
seemed as concerned as Ward Mortimer at the incident. "No, sir, I never heard a sound," he answered, in reply to the
questions of the inspector. "I made my rounds four times, as usual,
but I saw nothing suspicious. I've been in my position ten years, but
nothing of the kind has ever occurred before." "No thief could have come through the windows?" "Impossible, sir." "Or passed you at the door?" "No, sir; I never left my post except when I walked my rounds." "What other openings are there in the museum?" "There is the door into Mr. Ward Mortimer's private rooms." "That is locked at night," my friend explained, "and in order to reach
it anyone from the street would have to open the outside door as well." "Your servants?" "Their quarters are entirely separate." "Well, well," said the inspector, "this is certainly very obscure. However, there has been no harm done, according to Mr. Purvis." "I will swear that those stones are genuine." "So that the case appears to be merely one of malicious damage. But
none the less, I should be very glad to go carefully round the
premises, and to see if we can find any trace to show us who your
visitor may have been." His investigation, which lasted all the morning, was careful and
intelligent, but it led in the end to nothing. He pointed out to us
that there were two possible entrances to the museum which we had not
considered. The one was from the cellars by a trap-door opening in the
passage. The other through a skylight from the lumber-room,
overlooking that very chamber to which the intruder had penetrated. As
neither the cellar nor the lumber-room could be entered unless the
thief was already within the locked doors, the matter was not of any
practical importance, and the dust of cellar and attic assured us that
no one had used either one or the other. Finally, we ended as we
began, without the slightest clue as to how, why, or by whom the
setting of these four jewels had been tampered with. There remained one course for Mortimer to take, and he took it. Leaving
the police to continue their fruitless researches, he asked me to
accompany him that afternoon in a visit to Professor Andreas. He took
with him the two letters, and it was his intention to openly tax his
predecessor with having written the anonymous warning, and to ask him
to explain the fact that he should have anticipated so exactly that
which had actually occurred. The Professor was living in a small villa
in Upper Norwood, but we were informed by the servant that he was away
from home. Seeing our disappointment, she asked us if we should like
to see Miss Andreas, and showed us into the modest drawing-room. I have mentioned incidentally that the Professor's daughter was a very
beautiful girl. She was a blonde, tall and graceful, with a skin of
that delicate tint which the French call "mat," the colour of old
ivory, or of the lighter petals of the sulphur rose. I was shocked,
however, as she entered the room to see how much she had changed in the
last fortnight. Her young face was haggard and her bright eyes heavy
with trouble. "Father has gone to Scotland," she said. "He seems to be tired, and
has had a good deal to worry him. He only left us yesterday." "You look a little tired yourself, Miss Andreas," said my friend. "I have been so anxious about father." "Can you give me his Scotch address?" "Yes, he is with his brother, the Rev. David Andreas, 1, Arran Villas,
Ardrossan." Ward Mortimer made a note of the address, and we left without saying
anything as to the object of our visit. We found ourselves in Belmore
Street in the evening in exactly the same position in which we had been
in the morning. Our only clue was the Professor's letter, and my
friend had made up his mind to start for Ardrossan next day, and to get
to the bottom of the anonymous letter, when a new development came to
alter our plans. Very early on the following morning I was aroused from my sleep by a
tap upon my bedroom door. It was a messenger with a note from Mortimer. "Do come round," it said; "the matter is becoming more and more
extraordinary." When I obeyed his summons I found him pacing excitedly up and down the
central room, while the old soldier who guarded the premises stood with
military stiffness in a corner. "My dear Jackson," he cried, "I am so delighted that you have come, for
this is a most inexplicable business." "What has happened, then?" He waved his hand towards the case which contained the breastplate. "Look at it," said he. I did so, and could not restrain a cry of surprise. The setting of the
middle row of precious stones had been profaned in the same manner as
the upper ones. Of the twelve jewels eight had been now tampered with
in this singular fashion. The setting of the lower four was neat and
smooth. The others jagged and irregular. "Have the stones been altered?" I asked. "No, I am certain that these upper four are the same which the expert
pronounced to be genuine, for I observed yesterday that little
discoloration on the edge of the emerald. Since they have not
extracted the upper stones, there is no reason to think the lower have
been transposed. You say that you heard nothing, Simpson?" "No, sir," the commissionaire answered. "But when I made my round
after daylight I had a special look at these stones, and I saw at once
that someone had been meddling with them. Then I called you, sir, and
told you. I was backwards and forwards all night, and I never saw a
soul or heard a sound." "Come up and have some breakfast with me," said Mortimer, and he took
me into his own chambers.--"Now, what DO you think of this, Jackson?" he asked. "It is the most objectless, futile, idiotic business that ever I heard
of. It can only be the work of a monomaniac." "Can you put forward any theory?" A curious idea came into my head. "This object is a Jewish relic of
great antiquity and sanctity," said I. "How about the anti-Semitic
movement? Could one conceive that a fanatic of that way of thinking
might desecrate----"

"No, no, no!" cried Mortimer. "That will never do! Such a man might
push his lunacy to the length of destroying a Jewish relic, but why on
earth should he nibble round every stone so carefully that he can only
do four stones in a night? We must have a better solution than that,
and we must find it for ourselves, for I do not think that our
inspector is likely to help us. First of all, what do you think of
Simpson, the porter?" "Have you any reason to suspect him?" "Only that he is the one person on the premises." "But why should he indulge in such wanton destruction? Nothing has
been taken away. He has no motive." "Mania?" "No, I will swear to his sanity." "Have you any other theory?" "Well, yourself, for example. You are not a somnambulist, by any
chance?" "Nothing of the sort, I assure you."