He heard his name cried out, and he jumped as if he had been scalded, but it was only Toby Smith, Mrs Brandy’s shopman.

“Oh! Mr Black!” cried Toby, hurrying up. “There you are! You generally walk so fast, sir! I was sure you would be in Harley-street by now. Mrs Brandy sends her compliments, sir, and says you left this by your chair.”

Toby held out a silver diadem, a delicate band of metal of a size to fit Stephen’s head exactly. It had no ornament other than a few odd signs and queer letters cut into its surface.

“But this is not mine!” said Stephen.

“Oh!” said Toby, blankly, but then he appeared to decide that Stephen was joking. “Oh, Mr Black, as if I have not seen it upon your head a hundred times!” Then he laughed and bowed and ran back to the shop, leaving Stephen with the diadem in his hand.

He crossed over Piccadilly into Bond-street. He had not gone far when he heard shouting, and a tiny figure came running down the street. In stature the figure appeared no more than four or five years old, but its dead-white, sharp-featured face belonged to a much older child. It was followed at a distance by two or three men, shouting “Thief!” and “Stop him!”

Stephen sprang into the thief’s path. But though the young thief could not entirely escape Stephen (who was nimble), Stephen was not quite able to fasten on to the thief (who was slippery). The thief held a long bundle wrapped in a red cloth, which he somehow contrived to tip into Stephen’s hands, before darting in among a crowd of people outside Hemmings’s, the goldsmith. These people were but newly emerged from Hemmings’s and knew nothing of the pursuit, so they did not spring apart when the thief arrived among them. It was impossible to say which way he went.

Stephen stood, holding the bundle. The cloth, which was a soft, old velvet, slipped away, revealing a long rod of silver.

The first of the pursuers to arrive was a dark, handsome gentleman sombrely, but elegantly dressed in black. “You had him for a moment,” he said to Stephen.

“I am only sorry, sir,” said Stephen, “that I could not hold him for you. But, as you see, I have your property.” Stephen offered the man the rod of silver and the red velvet cloth but the man did not take them.

“It was my mother’s fault!” said the gentleman, angrily. “Oh! How could she be so negligent? I have told her a thousand times that if she left the drawing-room window open, sooner or later a thief would come in by it. Have I not said so a hundred times, Edward? Have I not said so, John?” The latter part of this speech was addressed to the gentleman’s servants, who had come running up after their master. They lacked breath to reply, but were able to assure Stephen by emphatic nods that the gentleman had indeed said so.