The morning of May twenty-second was a busy one, I am told, and a whole lot of people, singly and in groups, were continually passing up and down the marble steps and along the two galleries.

Partaking of the feelings of the one whose odd impulses I am endeavoring to describe, I was very uneasy and very restless until these crowds had thinned and most of the guests vanished from the building.

The hands of the clock were stealing toward twelve--the hour of greatest quiet and fewest visitors.
As it reached the quarter mark, I saw what I was looking for, the man X reaching for one of those arrows hanging in the southern gallery, and slipping it inside his coat .-- Did you speak, sir ?" No, Mr.Gryce had not spoken; and Sweetwater, after an interval of uncertainty, went quietly on: "As I saw both of his hands quite free the next minute, I judge that something had been attached to the lining of that coat to hold the arrow by its feathered head.

But this is a deduction rather than a fact." He stopped abruptly.

An exclamation--one of Mr.Gryce's very own--had left that gentleman's lips, and Sweetwater felt that he must pause if only for an instant, to enjoy his small triumph.