of the string, examining each stone in turn. The expression on Mr. Huntley's face would have made him a star in the "movies."
"Hell!" he cried, and threw Chain Lightning's Collar down on the desk.
"What's the matter?" Mr. Minot smiled.
"Glass," snarled Huntley. "Fine old bottle glass. What do you know about that?"
"But really—it can't be—" put in Harrowby.
"Well it is," Mr. Huntley glared at him. "The inspector might have known you moth-eaten noblemen ain't got any of the real stuff left."
"I won't believe it—" Harrowby began, but caught Minot's eye.
"It's true, just the same," Minot said. "By the way, Mr. Huntley, how much is that little ornament worth?"
"About nine dollars and twenty-five cents." Mr. Huntley still glared angrily.
"Well—you can't take Lord Harrowby back for not declaring that, can you?"
"No," snorted Huntley. "But I can go back myself, and I'm going—on that midnight train. Good-by."
