The Long Arm of Mannister. E. Phillips Oppenheim

there was no opportunity just then for any one else in the room to say a word. From the other room came Miss Bella Delmain, a burning spot of colour in her cheeks, her eyes lit with anger, her voice shrill with passion.

      "My bracelet!" she cried. "I took it off only ten minutes ago, and it has gone. Don't let any one leave the room. Lock the doors, please, until my bracelet is found."

      Mrs. De la Mere turned quickly round.

      "You don't mean your diamond bracelet, Bella!" she exclaimed.

      "I do!" was the excited response. "It cost five hundred pounds. It was given me by—never mind. It was my diamond bracelet, I tell you. Some one has taken it, some one who is in the room now. If this is a joke, for Heaven's sake drop it. I want my bracelet back. Do you hear, all of you? Who has it?"

      There was a dead silence. The musicians had left off playing. Every one was drawing toward the little group of which Bella Delmain was the centre. Mannister intervened.

      "Where did you leave the bracelet?" he asked.

      "On the piano, not ten minutes ago," was the quick reply.

      "It may have slipped down," some one suggested, and a search was made. They moved the piano, they shook the music books, they went on hands and knees upon the carpet, but there was no bracelet anywhere near the spot where it had been left. Mannister spoke again, and this time his voice was graver.

      "This is a very unpleasant thing," he said. "With your permission, Mrs. De la Mere, we will lock the doors."

      Traske objected vigorously.

      "Such rot!" he exclaimed. "The girl will find the bracelet in a moment or two, probably upon her arm. I want to go. Do you hear, Mannister?"

      Mannister eyed him coldly.

      "I am afraid," he said, "that you will have to curb your impatience. Ladies and gentlemen," he added, turning back into the room, "this is a most unpleasant affair, and there is only one way out of it. First of all we must search the room, and then we must search one another."

      Traske, who was more than half drunk, shook the handle of the door with his hand.

      "Rubbish!" he exclaimed. "I won't be searched, and I won't stop here while you go through such an absurd performance. Do you hear, I want to go home."

      Mannister turned towards him, smiling, and at that moment Traske felt the blood run cold in his veins. There was something in Mannister's face which he did not understand, something which seemed ominous in the faint, complacent smile with which he was regarded. Vaguely he felt that he was in some sort of danger, that he was trapped, and that Mannister knew all about it, and he lost for a moment control of himself.

      "Give me the key, d—n you, Mannister!" he cried. "I am not going to stay for this buffoonery,"

      Mannister caught him by the shoulders and addressed him with mock gravity.

      "My young friend," he said, "you will excuse me, but you will certainly not leave here until you have undergone the same search as we others are willing to submit to. As you are in so great a hurry, however, and as you were on the point of bidding us a somewhat unceremonious farewell, we will consult your convenience by searching you first,"

      Then Traske knew what was coming, and his knees shook and his cheeks were ashen pale. He was not even surprised when the bracelet was drawn from his breast pocket. He looked wildly around and saw the same thing in every face.

      "I never took it!" he cried. "My overcoat was on the floor, and some one must have put the bracelet there. Sophy, Mannister, Hambledon, you don't really believe that I stole it!"

      But there was no reply from any one of the three. Only Mrs. De la Mere crossed the room swiftly, and stooping down pressed the electric bell.

      "What is that for?" Traske cried. "What are you going to do?"

      Mrs. De la Mere faced him coldly.

      "I can stand a great deal," she said, "from those who have been my friends, but such a theft as this, in my own rooms, passes even my forgiveness. John," she added, turning to the night porter who had answered the bell, "I want you to call up a policeman, please."

      Traske raved, and struggled to escape, but Mannister's hand was like a vise upon his shoulder. The musicians and the few remaining guests hurried away by the other door. When the policeman arrived, only Bella Delmain, Mrs. De la Mere, Mannister, and Traske himself, were left. Traske fell on his knees.

      "You are not going to charge me with this," he cried. "You know very well that it will ruin me."

      Mannister smiled. Already they could hear the heavy footsteps ascending the stairs.

      "It may ruin you," he said, "but it will at least save that unfortunate young woman whom you were talking of marrying, from making a fatal mistake,"

      Traske understood then, and his face was white with despair.

      "You are going through with this?" he gasped. "You are going to have me convicted?"

      Mannister shook his head.

      "Not necessarily," he said. "The evidence will probably be insufficient. But before the magistrates you certainly will go, and every one who pays a penny for a newspaper to-morrow will know how you spent the evening."

      {[dhr]} Curiously enough, Mannister's words were prophetic. Traske was somewhat reluctantly discharged in the morning by a magistrate who obviously believed in his guilt. The young lady in the garden was hurried off to Switzerland by her aunt, and Mannister, taking a sheet of paper from his pocket, deliberately ruled a firm thick line through the first name.