"Well, well, what happened?" he asked brusquely at last.
"It was perhaps five o'clock when I fell asleep," Mrs. Roswell continued after a moment. "About twenty minutes later I was aroused by a scream of 'Jeanette, Jeanette, Jeanette.' Instantly I was fully awake. The screaming was that of a cockatoo which I have kept in my room for many years. It was in its usual place on a perch near the window, and seemed greatly disturbed.
"My first impression was that Jeanette had been in the room. I went into her room and even shook her gently. She was asleep so far as I could ascertain. I returned to my own room and then was amazed to see the vault door standing open. All the jewels and papers from the vault were scattered over the floor. My first thought was of burglars who had been frightened away by the cockatoo. I tried every door and every window in both Jeanette's room and mine. Everything was securely fastened.
"When I picked up the tiara I found that a diamond was missing. It had evidently been torn out of the setting. I searched for it on the floor and inside the vault. I found nothing. Then of course I could only associate its disappearance with some act of-of my step-daughter's. I don't believe the cockatoo would have called her name if she had not been in my room. Certainly the bird could not have opened the vault. Therefore I-I--"
There was a fresh burst of tears and for a long time no one spoke.
"Do you burn a night lamp?" asked The Thinking Machine finally.
"Yes," replied Mrs. Roswell.
"Did the bird ever disturb you at any time previous to last night-that is I mean at night?"
"No."
"Has it any habit of speaking the word 'Jeanette.' "
"No. I don't think I ever heard it pronounce the word more than three or four times before. It is stupid and seems to dislike her."
"Was there anything else missing-any letter or paper or jewels?"
"Nothing but the one small stone."
The Thinking Machine took down a volume of an encyclopaedia which he studied for a moment.
"Have you any record anywhere of that combination?" he inquired.
"Yes, but it would have been impossi--"
The scientist made a little impatient gesture with his hands.
"Where is this record?"
"The combination begins with the figure three," Mrs. Roswell hastened to explain. "I jotted it down in a French copy of 'Les Miserables' which I keep in my room with a few other books. The first number, three, appears on Page 3, the second on Page 33, and the third on Page 333. The combination in full is 3-14-9. No person could possibly associate the numbers in the book with the combination even if they should notice them."
Again there was the quick, impatient gesture of the hands. Mr. Field interpreted it aright as annoyance.
"You say your daughter is nervous," The Thinking Machine said. "Is it serious? Is there any somnambulistic tendency that you know of?"
Mrs. Roswell flushed a little.
"She has a nervous disorder," she confessed at last. "But I know of no somnambulistic tendency. She has been treated by half a dozen specialists. Two or three times we feared-feared--"
She faltered and stopped. The Thinking Machine squinted at her oddly, then turned his eyes toward the ceiling again.
"I understand," he said. "You feared for her sanity. And she may have the sleep-walking habit without your knowledge?"
"Yes, she may have," faltered Mrs. Roswell.
"And now your son. Tell me something about him. He has an allowance, I suppose? Is he inclined to be studious or other wise? Has he any love affair?"
Again Mrs. Roswell flushed. Her entire manner resented this connection of her son's name with the affair. She looked inquiringly at Mr. Field.
"I don't see--" Mr. Field began, remonstratingly.
"My son could have nothing--" Mrs. Roswell interrupted.
"Madam, you have presented an abstract problem," broke in The Thinking Machine impatiently. "I presumed you wanted a solution. Of course, if you do not--" and he made as if to arise.
"Please pardon me," said Mrs. Roswell quickly, almost tearfully. "My son has an allowance of ten thousand a year; my daughter has the same. My son is inclined to be studious along political lines, while my daughter is interested in charity. He has no love affair except-except a deep attachment for his step-sister. It is rather unfortunate--"
"I know, I know," interrupted the scientist again. "Naturally you object to any affection in that direction because of a fear for the girl's mental condition. May I ask if there is any further prejudice on your part to the girl?"
"Not the slightest," said Mrs. Roswell quickly. "I am deeply attached to her. It is only a fear for my son's happiness."
"I presume your son understands your attitude in the matter?"
"I have tried to intimate it to him without saying it openly," she explained. "I don't think he knows how serious her condition has been, and is for that matter."
"Of your knowledge has either your son or the girl ever handled or looked into the book where the combination is written?"
"Not that I know of, or ever heard of."
"Or any of your servants?"
"No."
"Does it happen that you have this tiara with you?"
Mrs. Roswell produced it from her hand bag. It was a glittering, glistening thing, a triumph of the jeweller's art, intricate and marvellously delicate in conception yet wonderfully heavy with the dead weight of pure gold. A single splendid diamond of four or five carats blazed at its apex, and radiating from this were strings of smaller stones. One was missing from its setting. The prongs which had held it were almost straight from the force used to pry out the stone. The Thinking Machine studied the gorgeous ornament in silence.
"It is possible for you to clear up this matter without my active interference," he said at last. "You do not want it to become known outside your own family, therefore you must watch for this thief-yourself in person. Take no one into your confidence, least of all your son and step-daughter. Given the same circumstances, the A B C rules of logic-and logic is inevitable-indicate that another may disappear."
Mrs. Roswell was frankly startled, and Mr. Field leaned forward with eager interest.
"If you see how this second stone disappears," continued The Thinking Machine musingly, without heeding in the slightest the effect of his words on the others, "you will know what became of the first and will be able to recover both."
"If another attempt is to be made," exclaimed Mrs. Roswell apprehensively, "would it not be better to send the jewels to a safe deposit? Would I not be in danger myself?"
"It is perfectly possible that if the jewels were removed the vault would be opened just the same," said The Thinking Machine quietly, enigmatically while his visitors stared. "Leave the jewels where they are. You may be assured that you are in no personal danger whatever. If you learn what you seek you need not communicate with me again. If you do not I will personally investigate the matter. On no condition whatever interrupt or attempt to prevent anything that may happen."
Mr. Field arose; the interview seemed to be at an end. He had one last question.
"Have you any theory of what actually happened?" he asked. "How was the jewel taken?"
"If I told you you wouldn't believe it," said The Thinking Machine, curtly. "Good day."