Reclining shepherds and shepherdesses in Watteau costume, with their dogs and their sheep, formed the adornments of the pedestal.

Such had the vase been in the days of its prosperity, when it stood on the top of the book-case.

By what accident had it become broken?
And why had Major Fitz-David's face changed when he found that I had discovered the remains of his shattered work of art in the cabinet drawer?
The remains left those serious questions unanswered--the remains told me absolutely nothing.

And yet, if my own observation of the Major were to be trusted, the way to the clew of which I was in search lay, directly or indirectly, through the broken vase.
It was useless to pursue the question, knowing no more than I knew now.
I returned to the book-case.
Thus far I had assumed (without any sufficient reason) that the clew of which I was in search must necessarily reveal itself through a written paper of some sort.

It now occurred to me--after the movement which I had detected on the part of the Major--that the clew might quite as probably present itself in the form of a book.
I looked along the lower rows of shelves, standing just near enough to them to read the titles on the backs of the volumes.