"It was here then of course," the inspector said. "I noticed it particularly, for I was in two minds whether I should begin to read it last night, but there was so much to be done that I decided to leave it until after the inquest to-day. Now, dolt, ass that am, I shall never forgive myself, some one has been before me."
"But who could have taken it?" Cardyn looked as amazed as he felt. "And how could anyone get into the room at all? You had the key."
"It has not been out of my possession for a moment," the inspector said. "But that book held a secret that might have hanged some one—and that some one had the means of getting into the room."
Cardyn's eyes turned to the open window.
"Suppose—suppose the—the man came back?" he hazarded.
"And got into the room and got out again without being seen by the two men watching—I think not," the inspector observed.
Then, while the two men were still staring at one another, there came an oddly incongruous sound in the stillness—the sharp ring of the telephone bell.
There was a moment's hesitation, then the inspector took up the receiver.
"Hullo! Furnival speaking. Who are you?"
"Wilkins, Scotland Yard," came back the answer. "The pearls—the long string with the diamond clasp for which we were to make inquiries—they were found at the first place we went to."
"Where was that?"
"Messrs. Spagnum and Thirgood, Bond Street. Sold there last month by Lady Anne Daventry herself."
Chapter VIII
"It is, take it all in all, about the queerest case I was ever engaged upon."
Inspector Furnival was the speaker. He and Bruce Cardyn were in a taxi on their way to Messrs. Spagnum and Thirgood's. Furnival was keeping Cardyn religiously by his side during his investigations—a fact that was beginning to puzzle the younger detective, with whom it was more or less a tradition that the "Force" distrusted all private or unofficial detectives.
"I expect we shall find that they have made a mistake at Spagnum and Thirgood's," Bruce rejoined. "Probably the thief said they were sent by Lady Anne Daventry."
"Likely enough," the detective assented, his small eyes looking particularly alert as their taxi stopped before a well known jeweller's establishment in Bond Street.
Inspector Furnival and his companion, on the production of the former's card, were shown at once to the manager's office. That functionary received them affably.
"I have been expecting you, gentlemen," he said at once. "Come about this matter of Lady Anne Daventry's pearls, haven't you? What a terrible affair this murder of hers is! You might have knocked me down with a feather when I saw it in this morning's paper. Lady Anne Daventry was such an old customer of ours. I feel as if it were a personal loss. Was the crime committed to obtain money, inspector?"
The inspector graciously admitted that it might have been, and asked to see the pearls.
The manager produced them from a safe close by.
"I thought you would want to see them first thing. Here they are. You see there is no mistake about them."
The inspector took the much talked-of pearls in his hand and examined them. They had all been matched with great care both in size and colour, and the clasp was unmistakable.
Inspector Furnival drew a deep breath.
"Yes. It is the pearls right enough. Now, who brought them to you?"
"Lady Anne Daventry herself," the manager answered promptly. "She came about them twice."
"Lady Anne Daventry herself!"
For once the inspector was really amazed.
"Who told you it was Lady Anne Daventry?"
"Who told me it was Lady Anne Daventry?" the manager repeated explosively. "Why, bless my life, inspector, don't you understand that I know Lady Anne Daventry personally? I have only been manager here the last six months. Before then I was head assistant for some twenty years. I have seen Lady Anne here on many occasions, and since she grew more invalided I have waited on her at the house in Charlton Crescent on several occasions with trays of jewellery from which she would select a wedding or birthday present. It was a great pleasure to me to know that she was well enough to come here again."
The inspector regarded him keenly.
"Do you seriously mean to tell me that you really believe it was Lady Anne Daventry herself who brought the pearls here?"
It was the manager's turn to look amazed now.
"I tell you that I know it was Lady Anne Daventry. Her first visit was preceded by a note saying that she was coming, so we were expecting her."
"Was the note written by Lady Anne herself?" questioned the inspector sharply.
The manager hesitated.
"N—o; I don't think it was. It was written on her paper I know, for I remember noticing her crest, but it was written, I presume, by her secretary."
"Have you the letter?"
The manager shook his head.
"I should say it is not in the least likely. If you wish I will have inquiries made. But it was not regarded as of any importance, especially after Lady Anne's visit."
"It is most important that it should be found now, though."
The manager shrugged his shoulders as he said a few words down a speaking tube. It was evident to Bruce Cardyn, watching him, that he looked upon the inspector as both interfering and officious.
"Now with regard to the price?" the inspector went on. "What did you give her for them? And in what form? There is no record of such a transaction in her bank book."
"No," the manager paused. "Of course in an ordinary case all details would be confidential. But I have no choice here."
"None!" the inspector interposed firmly.
"We offered two thousand for it," the manager said reluctantly, "and she accepted at once. As to the form, she explained that she did not wish anyone to know that she had parted with her pearls. We gathered that she wanted the money for some member of her family who had got into trouble, therefore she did not want to have a cheque as it would be easily traced. She asked us to give her the amount in notes. We gave her that day ten notes of a hundred each and arranged to pay the other instalment at a later date. We should, of course, have sent it to her, but she explained that she would come for it in person, as practically all her correspondence passed through her secretary's hands."
"Then this second thousand—"
"It is still waiting for her. Some three days ago we received a note from her saying that she would come to our establishment to complete her business with us on Thursday, the 5th of February, which, of course, is next week. We replied that everything would be ready for her. The next thing we saw was in the paper telling of her cruel murder. You can hardly imagine what a shock it gave us."
"It must have done," the inspector agreed, a certain amount of sympathy in his tone. "And now, I am afraid you must prepare for another shock. Lady Anne Daventry did not sell her pearls to you. She had not found out that they were missing until the afternoon of her death when she wanted to show them to some friends. She herself summoned Scotland Yard to her assistance and I was on the point of starting for Charlton Crescent to interview her on the subject when the news of her brutal murder arrived."
"What!"