“It is a beautiful coin,” I remarked; “but what about it?”
“It doesn’t belong to you, then?” he asked.
“No. I wish it did.”
“Have you ever seen it before?”
“Never, to my knowledge.”
“What about the pencil-case?”
I picked it up and turned it over in my fingers. “No,” I said; “it is not mine and I have no recollection of ever having seen it before.”
“And the button?”
“It is apparently a waistcoat button,” I said after having inspected it, “apparently belonging to a tweed waistcoat; and judging by the appearance of the thread and the wisp of cloth that it still holds, it must have been pulled off with some violence. But it isn’t off my waist-coat, if that is what you want to know.”
“I didn’t much think it was,” he replied, “but I thought it best to make sure. And it didn’t come from
