"Precisely!" said my uncle; "and it is the very best sense that I ever heard of in the law."
He held the gold cross out in his big palm.
"Take this case," he said. "What is the use to speculate about who stole the emeralds, when it is certain that they have not been stolen!"
"Not stolen!" cried Randolph. "They are gone!"
"Yes," replied Abner, "they are gone, but they are not stolen. . . . I would ask you to consider this fact: If these emeralds had been stolen out of the cross, the tines of the metal which held the stones in place, would have been either broken off or pried up, and we would find either the new break in the metal, or the twisted projecting tines. . . . But, instead," he continued, "the points of the setting are all quite smooth. What does that indicate?"
Randolph took the cross and examined it with care.
"You are right, Abner," he said; "the settings are all worn away. I am not surprised; the cross is very old."
"And if the settings are worn away," continued my uncle, "what has become of the stones?"
Randolph banged the table with his clenched hand.
"They have fallen out. Lost! By gad, sir!"
My uncle leaned back in his chair, like one to whom a comment is superfluous. But Randolph delivered an oration. It was directed to Mammy Liza, and the tenor of it was felicitations upon the happy incident that turned aside suspicion from any mem-
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