"Let's go to Europe."
 
 THE 
 WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 ERNEST DAVIES 
 
 AUTHOR OF " DIVES & SON," "THE MOMENT' 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THE DEVIN-ADAIR COMPANY 
 1913
 
 Copyright, 1913, by 
 ERNEST DAVIES
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 INTRODUCTORY 7 
 
 BOOK I 
 JEST ii 
 
 BOOK II 
 EARNEST 55 
 
 BOOK III 
 WHAT JAMES McVmE DISCOVERED 81 
 
 BOOK IV 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 157 
 
 BOOK V 
 
 WHAT NO ONE DISCOVERED. . 281
 
 T T was very hot. Even at ten o'clock in the 
 * morning the dining-room of the flat on West 
 Forty-Seventh Street was airless, and the smell of 
 stale coffee lingered unpleasantly in spite of the 
 wide-open window. The table had not been 
 cleared. At one end a dish, stained with the 
 scrapings of scrambled egg, jostled a loaf of bread 
 and some dirty plates. At the other was a Jap- 
 anese tray of cheap red and black lacquer, upon 
 which two jugs stood in a small puddle of milk. 
 A butter-plate, hastily put down, was tilted up 
 against the edge. The butter was soft, and a 
 greasy streak marked the original outline of the 
 pat. Near the centre of the table, a tall china 
 dish, lined with leaves, held a stump of banana- 
 stalk from which the fruit had been torn. 
 
 The room was very small and too heavily fur- 
 nished. The chairs were upholstered in stamped 
 velvet, somewhat the worse for wear, and the walls 
 were covered with popular engravings elaborately 
 framed in oak and gold. Facing the window Was 
 a walnut-wood sideboard, with a plate-glass back 
 flanked by small shelves, each of which held a piece 
 of ornamental pottery a long-necked cat, a to- 
 bacco jar in the form of a monk's head with a pink 
 tonsure, a large Japanese vase, and a base copy of 
 a Sevres lady in a crinoline. 
 
 [7]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 In one corner was an oak escritoire. There 
 were some open shelves nailed to the wall above it, 
 and the higher ones were crowded with soiled 
 magazines and a few books, untidily pushed to- 
 gether. Upon the lowest stood a gilt clock, such 
 as is found in the bedrooms of old-fashioned 
 French hotels. The gilding was tarnished and fly- 
 blown, and one of the hands was missing. Along- 
 side, an American drum clock ticked noisily. 
 
 In an armchair by the window sat Luke Johns, 
 well known to the police and the criminal lawyers 
 of New York as a private inquiry agent of con- 
 siderable ability. He was wearing a flashy tweed 
 suit, a fancy waistcoat unbuttoned at the top, and 
 felt slippers; and while he read his morning news- 
 paper he was quietly and systematically picking his 
 teeth. 
 
 Facing him, Mrs. Luke Johns sat idly, with her 
 hands in her lap. Even at forty she was a pretty 
 woman, of the emaciated type which is now fash- 
 ionable; but at the moment she was far from 
 looking her best. Her hair was twisted up into 
 a careless knot, her blue and white wrapper was 
 crumpled and had been too often to the laundry, 
 and her small, smartly cut shoes were rubbed 
 through at the toes and trodden over at the heels. 
 
 Luke Johns laid down his paper, and for a few 
 minutes looked out of the window while he in- 
 vestigated a difficult place with his toothpick. At 
 length, turning to his wife, he said: 
 
 "Janie, if I stay here I'm going to be sick." 
 [8]
 
 INTRODUCTORY 
 
 She stirred and raised her head, looking at him 
 with thoughtful eyes. 
 
 "It's about time for a holiday," she answered. 
 "There's no work on hand, and not likely to be 
 yet." 
 
 "That's so. And we've got a thousand dollars 
 in the bank." 
 
 "It isn't much. We've had no luck lately." 
 
 "We're stale, you and me; and that's a fact." 
 
 "Perhaps we are. I don't seem able to think, 
 even if anything did come along." 
 
 "I've got an idea. Don't shriek!" 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Let's go to Europe." 
 
 Mrs. Johns shot a surprised glance at him. 
 Then she laughed. 
 
 "Well, why not?" she said. "We ought to go 
 some time." 
 
 "We'll go now." 
 
 "Can we manage on a thousand dollars?" 
 
 "Yes. There are other places to stay besides 
 the Ritz." 
 
 "My! It would be good." 
 
 "You're on?" 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 "Then I'll go down to the steamship office. 
 Can you start to-morrow?" 
 
 "Ye-es. I'll want a few things." 
 
 "Come with me. We'll fix it right now." 
 
 He sprang up and took her affectionately by the 
 arm, adding: 
 
 [9]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "We'll have a look at Europe. Perhaps it'll 
 change the luck for us when we come back. Any- 
 way, it couldn't be worse than lately." 
 
 "Perhaps it will. I don't care; we'll risk it. 
 We've chanced more than this before now, haven't 
 we?" 
 
 "Guess we have. Come on, and don't worry 
 about things, Janie. We always snatch the dollars 
 out of some one when we want 'em bad enough." 
 
 [10]
 
 BOOK I 
 JEST
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 "1LTAVE you got the clocks?" Hilda Carew 
 -* * whispered. 
 
 Ethel Vawdrey nodded. 
 
 "Where are they?" 
 
 "In my room twelve of them." 
 
 It was the after-tea hour at Gains. The men had 
 drifted away to the billiard-room, with the excep- 
 tion of Arthur Drury, who was sitting beside Mrs. 
 Dayrell-Wing, talking to her in a low tone. Her 
 pretty, made-up face, with its tip-tilted, impertinent 
 nose and its coronet of auburn hair, wore an ex- 
 pression of satisfied proprietorship. She liked 
 Drury, and she did not find his attentions less 
 pleasing because he was her junior by some years. 
 
 Mrs. Vawdrey was laying out the cards for her 
 daily game of patience; and Lady Benyon was pre- 
 tending to be interested, while she yawned behind 
 her fan, and reflected on the dulness of country 
 houses. She did not like dulness any more than she 
 liked patience; and the hours between five and seven 
 were always difficult to fill. 
 
 Ethel Vawdrey, in a velvet tea-gown of the latest 
 fashion, was smoking a cigarette and turning over 
 the pages of The Sketch. She was a very pretty 
 girl of two and twenty, with a marvelous com- 
 plexion and a slight, lissome figure. She would 
 have been pretty in rags, and with the unlimited 
 
 [13]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 allowance of a millionaire's only child she deserved 
 her reputation for positive loveliness. The lace 
 sleeve falling back and the supple gold bracelet 
 hanging loosely on her wrist undoubtedly enhanced 
 the beauty of her arm as it rested on the back of 
 the sofa. 
 
 To the eye Hilda Carew was less attractive, 
 though she was by no means plain. She was tall 
 and sturdily built, of the open-air type which looks 
 its best in country clothes. Her hands and feet 
 were large and well shaped; her waist suggested 
 healthy development rather than elegance, and her 
 wide brow and clear blue eyes would not have in- 
 spired a passionate sonnet, though they might have 
 made a man fall in love with her. She was known 
 as a good comrade, level-headed, and useful in an 
 emergency. Leslie Eraser's sarcastic tongue had 
 once summed her up as an excellent wife for a 
 country squire who had broad acres and wanted 
 broad children. 
 
 "Twelve !" she whispered. "How splendid ! I 
 suppose the shopman thought you were quite mad ?" 
 
 "I told him the servants couldn't wake, and I 
 wanted one for each of them. He looked per- 
 fectly incredulous, and asked : 'An' ye have twelve 
 servants?' I said we had ever so many more than 
 that, only some of them slept together." 
 
 ^Excellent! It will be all over Stilkirk." 
 
 "Sure to be. But we already have such a repu- 
 tation for extravagance that it can't add much 
 to it." 
 
 [14]
 
 JEST 
 
 "Let's go up and see them." 
 
 "Come along, then." 
 
 They crossed the hall, and went up the great 
 staircase to Ethel's boudoir. The room was filled 
 with the sound of ticking, and on a table there were 
 twelve American alarm clocks, looking aggres- 
 sively new and cheap in their shiny tin cases. 
 
 "Oh!" cried Hilda delightedly, as she took one 
 up. "Aren't they lovely !" 
 
 "Gorgeous! It really was a heavenly idea of 
 yours." 
 
 "Yes, I think they will avenge the apple-pie 
 beds. Willie will be in a very contrite mood to- 
 morrow morning." 
 
 "He'll be very cross. He simply won't sleep a 
 wink." 
 
 "I wouldn't promise that with him." 
 
 "But, my dear why, they would rouse the 
 seven sleepers !" 
 
 "Maudie declares she hears him snoring through 
 the wall; and if that's true, he'll simply snore 
 down the noise of these. Have you tried one?" 
 
 "They let one off in the shop. It was awful. I 
 said I wanted them extra loud." 
 
 '.'Let's do one now. How do they work?" 
 
 "You have to set the dial. Let me." 
 
 Ethel took the clock and turned the alarm hand 
 to five minutes past six. In a moment the ticking 
 of the twelve clocks was drowned in a discord- 
 ant metallic buzzing, which continued for thirty 
 
 f'5]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 seconds, and died away in a series of gurglir 
 clicks. The two girls burst out laughing. 
 
 "Perfectly heavenly 1" Hilda cried. "I do wis 
 we could see him when they go off." 
 
 "That's the drawback. We shall miss the be 
 of the fun." 
 
 "Maudie must keep awake; she'll be able i 
 hear him raging. Let's get her up here." 
 
 "Oh, she's talking to Arthur Drury. Bett 
 not disturb them." 
 
 "I suppose it's a case with him. Do you thir 
 she's interested?" 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know. I shouldn't think s< 
 I always find him rather tiresome." 
 
 "He's so conceited, isn't he?" 
 
 "He wants well snubbing." 
 
 There was a moment's pause. Then Hilda sai< 
 
 "Oh, but, Ethel won't Willie hear this awf 
 ticking? I don't mean when he's asleep, but wh< 
 he goes to bed." 
 
 "I thought of that. The shopman said, if tl 
 clocks were wrapped up in a cloth, with the alar 
 sticking out, it would be all right." 
 
 "Then, let's do it. What shall we wra 
 them in?" 
 
 "Dusters, I should think. I'll ring." 
 
 "I'll cover them up with this paper. We dor 
 want the maid to see them." 
 
 Two dozen clean dusters were ordered and pr 
 duced, and the girls began to swathe each clock 
 thick folds. 
 
 [16]
 
 JEST 
 
 "We must set them first," Hilda said. 
 
 "Yes. Let's see what time shall we put the 
 first at?" 
 
 "Two o'clock, and then every hour." 
 
 "That's two, three, four, five, six, and seven." 
 
 "And the grand slam at seven; there'll be seven 
 at once. I'm sure he won't go to sleep again after 
 that." 
 
 They burst out laughing again at the thought of 
 Willie Pfeiffer roused by the simultaneous clang- 
 ing of seven American alarm clocks from the deep 
 sleep which he was supposed to enjoy. The legend 
 had grown from a protest made by Mrs. Dayrell- 
 Wing who occupied the room next to his at Gains. 
 She had accused him of snoring so loudly that she 
 was kept awake, and since then the party had 
 teased him without mercy. At dinner, whatever 
 subject was started, the conversation invariably 
 came round to Willie Pfeiffer in bed; and since 
 Vawdrey had gravely asked him, apropos of some 
 new novel, whether he had ever read the story of 
 Rip Van Winkle, he was always addressed as Rip. 
 It was the useful joke, without which no house- 
 party is completely at ease; and, in a way well 
 known to pantomime comedians, repetition in- 
 creased its popularity. 
 
 Like a musical theme, it lent itself to a great 
 variety of treatment. At tea-time on the previous 
 day, the butler had brought in a neat chemist's 
 parcel addressed to Pfeiffer. On being opened, it 
 was found to contain a small box labelled "Vinolia
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 Pills (Violet flavor). A certain cure for sleepi- 
 ness. To be administered as required." 
 
 Pfeiffer, attributing this attention to Hilda 
 Carew, resolved upon a revenge; and, with 
 Drury's help, he made apple-pie beds for the two 
 girls. The clocks were the answer to this indignity. 
 
 "Now, have we got them all right?" Ethel 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes. Two, three, four, five, six; and seven 
 for seven o'clock," Hilda answered, checking them 
 off. 
 
 "Then we'd better roll them up in the dusters, 
 and they'll be ready for after dinner." 
 
 "Mind you leave the alarms sticking out." 
 
 "Rather like that." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You can still hear the ticking." 
 
 "Only just. He won't notice it." 
 
 "I don't think so." 
 
 "Well, let's go down. They may suspect some- 
 thing if we keep out of the way." 
 
 "It's almost dressing-time, isn't it?" 
 
 "There's half an hour yet. We'll go and show 
 ourselves in the billiard-room." 
 
 In the evening, while the men were still in the 
 dining-room, finishing a bottle of Mr. Vawdrey's 
 excellent port, Ethel and Hilda ran upstairs and 
 fetched the clocks. They went into Pfeiffer's 
 room and distributed them in various hiding-places. 
 One was put in the wardrobe, the door being left 
 ajar; another in the clothes basket, two more 
 [18]
 
 JEST 
 
 under the chest of drawers, one in the boot-cup- 
 board, and the grand slam under the bed. 
 
 "Bon soir, monsieur," Ethel said, with a deep 
 curtsey toward the empty bed, as they left the 
 room. 
 
 [19]
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE old house at Gains used to possess an 
 historic and antiquarian interest inferior to 
 none in Scotland; but, in the latter part of the 
 eighteenth century, it had been burnt to the ground, 
 and the Fraser of that day rebuilt it as a comforta- 
 ble dwelling-house of the period, without attempt- 
 ing to reproduce its original design. Its appear- 
 ance, therefore, was scarcely in harmony with the 
 wild .moorland country. Its neat Georgian eleva- 
 tion was almost townish; and, if it harbored a 
 ghost, it was certainly one in a velvet suit and 
 buckled shoes. The furniture, too, carried one 
 no further back than the days of card-playing and 
 duelling and of those polite manners which indus- 
 trialism has taken from us. It belonged to the 
 age of mahogany, and tall silver candlesticks, and 
 immense wine-coolers the age of port and of 
 uncustomed French brandy in convenient wooden 
 kegs. 
 
 The house was stone-built and flat-fronted, with 
 a wing running back at right angles to the main 
 structure. The entrance door in the centre of the 
 south frontage opened into the great hall, and on 
 either side of the door there were seven tall win- 
 dows. Above was a. stately range of fifteen win- 
 dows corresponding with those below ; and, above 
 again, fifteen dormer windows behind a brick 
 [20]
 
 JEST 
 
 coping completed the mathematical elevation which 
 bears witness in every town in England to the 
 popularity of Wren and his followers. 
 
 The estate of Gains had belonged to the Erasers 
 for more than six centuries before it passed to 
 Leslie Eraser, the present representative of the 
 family. Port and card-playing had proved costly 
 amusements, and the family fortunes had waned 
 grievously since the time when Fraser of Gains 
 had entertained James V and had led a thousand 
 men in his defence. So, when Leslie Fraser in- 
 herited the property from his father, he found 
 that the revenue was barely sufficient to pay in- 
 terest on the mortgages. 
 
 He had no profession, and in addition to the 
 necessity of maintaining himself in the state of 
 comfort to which he was accustomed, he had to 
 provide a substantial allowance for his mother, 
 who, for some years previously, had lived in 
 London. 
 
 On learning how greatly the estate was im- 
 poverished, she declared with tears in her eyes that 
 she would cut down expenses and "manage" on 
 eight hundred a year; but as she was a very bad 
 bridge player, and played seven nights in the week, 
 Leslie interpreted her statements as a pious prayer 
 to fortune rather than as a fact upon which he 
 could rely. He knew, indeed, that the last mort- 
 gage upon Gains had been raised within a few 
 months of his father's death, to meet the losses of 
 
 [21]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 some "terribly unlucky evenings"; and such his- 
 tory is most apt to repeat itself. 
 
 Consultations with the family lawyer left him 
 with the choice between marrying an heiress and 
 selling Gains. For some days he balanced the 
 disadvantages, and carefully considered the girls 
 of his acquaintance who were reported to have 
 more than a hundred thousand pounds. But he 
 could find none with whom he could imagine him- 
 self living happily for a lifetime; and being, at 
 eight and twenty, far more at home in an armchair 
 at his club than in a stone house on a moor, he 
 chose the less disagreeable alternative and put 
 Gains on the market. 
 
 As in the case of Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch 
 Hall, the ideal purchaser was not long in coming 
 forward; and Tom Vawdrey was so obviously 
 ideal that the matter was settled, and the deposit 
 paid, within a fortnight. Any one who cares to 
 look him up in Who's Who will find him thus 
 described : 
 
 "Vawdrey, Thomas, of Shrotton, Yorks., and 
 South Audley Street, London. Ironmaster. Chair- 
 man of the Shrotton Coal & Iron Co., Ltd., and 
 owner of various large interests in the Yorkshire 
 coalfields. Born, 3 July, 1854. Educated, Leeds 
 Grammar School. Married, 21 May, 1887, Mary, 
 daughter of Francis Kay, of London. Clubs, Re- 
 form and Garrick. Recreations, shooting and 
 fishing." 
 
 He was one of Fortune's favorites. His father 
 [22]
 
 JEST 
 
 had worked for wages all his life, but with the 
 development of the Shrotton coalfield the son's 
 chance came, and he grasped it firmly in his strong 
 Yorkshire hands. At thirty he was a rich man; 
 at fifty he was more than a millionaire; and, more 
 remarkable still, he had made his money without 
 incurring envy or losing a friend. He was as 
 popular among the class from which he had sprung 
 as among the extravagant, easy-going set in which 
 he now moved. Indeed, there was something 
 lovable in him which few could resist: he was so 
 cheerful, so free from cares, so intent on having a 
 good time, and so anxious that every one else should 
 have one. 
 
 In business he was scrupulously fair. He liked 
 money, and spent it lavishly; but he never drove an 
 unconscionable bargain, and he never tried to get 
 the better of his workmen. At one time there had 
 been trouble at the Shrotton pits, and a strike was 
 declared. It was midwinter, and the men were 
 ill-provided with money, so that within a week 
 many families were threatened with starvation. 
 Vawdrey could easily have whipped them back to 
 work under pressure of hunger, but he disregarded 
 his manager's advice and took a different line. 
 He telegraphed to Leeds, and had a complete camp 
 equipment set up near the pit-heads. Then he in- 
 terviewed the men's leaders. 
 
 "Now, boys," he said, "there's breakfast, dinner, 
 and tea for every woman and child as long as the 
 strike lasts. That'll set you free from thinking 
 
 [23]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 about them, and we can discuss this thing on level 
 terms. Send in a deputation to-morrow morning, 
 and we'll try and settle it." 
 
 Terms were soon agreed, and one of the leaders 
 said of him afterwards: "He's a dirty capitalist, 
 but, all the same, he treats you like a man." 
 Probably that was the secret of his success. He 
 treated every one like a man until he caught him 
 cheating. Then he made himself extraordinarily 
 unpleasant. 
 
 [24]
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 A T Gains the girls of the party usually came 
 * *- down to breakfast before the men, and on the 
 morning after the episode of the clocks Ethel and 
 Hilda were exceptionally early. They had agreed 
 that Willie Pfeiffer could not possibly go to sleep 
 again after the grand slam at seven o'clock, and 
 they did not mean to miss his entry into the dining- 
 room. 
 
 But the time went on and he did not appear. 
 At nine o'clock the door opened and they looked 
 up expectant; but it was only Mrs. Dayrell-Wing. 
 
 "Good morning," Ethel said. 
 
 "Good morning," Mrs. Dayrell-Wing answered, 
 in a very curt voice. 
 
 Then she added vindictively: "Oh, you wretched 
 girls!" 
 
 "Why, what's the matter?" Hilda asked. 
 
 "I simply haven't slept a wink. Why didn't I 
 stop you, or ask for another room? I'm just worn 
 out." 
 
 "The clocks!" Ethel exclaimed. "Oh, I am 
 sorry. I never thought you'd hear them through 
 the wall." 
 
 "There's a door between, you know," Hilda 
 reminded her. 
 
 "But it's got a thick curtain over it. Do you 
 mean to say you heard them all ? Or was it only 
 the seven o'clock reveille?" 
 
 [25]
 
 THE WIDOWS NECKLACE 
 
 "My dear, I heard every single one of them. I 
 was strongly tempted to knock up Mr. Pfeiffer and 
 tell him there were a dozen of them, and that he'd 
 better find them and throw them out of the win- 
 dow. But I hate to spoil sport." 
 
 They all laughed, and Ethel said : 
 
 "You poor thing! I feel perfectly abject 
 about it." 
 
 "I wouldn't have minded so much," Mrs. Day- 
 rell-Wing complained, "only it's my belief that the 
 wretch slept through it." 
 
 "Didn't you hear him moving about?" 
 
 "I didn't hear a sound, except those miserable 
 alarms. And then, loud snores." 
 
 "Impossible! They must have woke him." 
 
 "I'm certain they didn't. At seven, when they 
 all went off together, I heard a movement as if 
 he was turning over in bed." 
 
 "Hush ! Here's some one coming." 
 
 It was Arthur Drury; but a few minutes later 
 Willie Pfeiffer appeared. He looked fresh and 
 healthy, as he always did, and showed no signs of 
 a sleepless night. His black hair was brushed 
 smoothly back, his little moustache was carefully 
 trimmed and brilliantined, and his eyes were clear 
 and bright. The girls stared at him in fascinated 
 amazement. 
 
 His first glance was, as ever, at Ethel. And she 
 replied to it by wishing him good morning and 
 asking how he had slept. 
 
 "A 1, thanks. I defy any one to keep awake in 
 [26]
 
 JEST 
 
 Scotland after midnight. Hope I didn't snore, 
 Mrs. Dayrell-Wing?" 
 
 "Oh er not more than usual," she answered. 
 
 "By Jove!" he said. "You don't mean to say 
 that joke's wearing thin at last? It's only been 
 running since Tuesday." 
 
 "My good man," she answered, with sudden 
 energy, "if you slept in the next room to yourself 
 you'd find there wasn't any joke about it." 
 
 "Architectural problem," said Drury, as he be- 
 gan on the cold grouse. "Can you sleep in the 
 next room to yourself?" 
 
 "My problem is how to sleep in the next room 
 to Mr. Pfeiffer." 
 
 "This is too brilliant for me," Pfeiffer declared. 
 "My brain's a bit sluggish in the morning. Please, 
 Mrs. Dayrell-Wing, please drop your rapier until 
 after lunch." 
 
 "It's a shame to tease Rip," Drury said. "Let 
 him eat his porridge." 
 
 "Yes. Live and let live, that's what / say," 
 Pfeiffer put in. 
 
 "Sleep and let sleep I wish you'd say that in- 
 stead," Mrs. Dayrell-Wing retorted. 
 
 Pfeiffer laid down his spoon and glanced round 
 the table with imploring eyes. 
 
 "She won't leave me alone," he wailed. "Miss 
 Vawdrey, please draw her fire while I eat a morsel. 
 Really, you know, I'm hungry." 
 
 "He shall, he shall," Ethel answered, with danc- 
 ing, smiling eyes. 
 
 [27]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 Hilda, who could not believe that he had not 
 heard the alarms, had been watching him sus- 
 piciously. She guessed that he meant to disappoint 
 them by pretending that he had slept as soundly 
 as usual, and she was not going to resign herself to 
 that without a struggle. 
 
 "/ couldn't sleep last night," she said, raising 
 her voice a little to attract attention. "I think it 
 must have been something at dinner, for I so sel- 
 dom lie awake. Didn't you feel it, Mr. Pfeiffer?" 
 
 "I? Not a bit," he answered openly. 
 
 "Do you mean that you slept right on till you 
 were called?" she pressed. 
 
 "Well, almost. I woke once about seven; 
 some one was ringing a bell like mad. I thought 
 it was the telephone in my chambers, till I remem- 
 bered where I was." 
 
 Then, catching the expression of mingled in- 
 credulity and disappointment on her face, and 
 glancing quickly at Mrs. Dayrell-Wing and at 
 Ethel, light broke upon him. They had been try- 
 ing a practical joke on him ! Some foolery with 
 an electric bell ! 
 
 "You've been up to something," he cried. "The 
 old joke with a new face on it. I thought it couldn't 
 have died so easily. What is it?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing, nothing," Hilda answered, as the 
 three of them broke into a peal of laughter. 
 
 "Nothing?" Pfeiffer cried. "Come, now, that 
 won't wash. You've been fooling with the bells, 
 trying to wake me up." 
 
 "Nothing, really nothing," Ethel gasped. 
 [28]
 
 JEST 
 
 "Now I come to think of it," Pfeiffer went on, 
 "I found something uncommonly odd in my boot 
 cupboard this morning. I thought at first it was 
 part of the wash, but when I pulled it out it was a 
 clock wrapped up in a cloth. And I found another 
 just like it in the wardrobe, hung up among my 
 coats." 
 
 "Any more?" Hilda asked. The laughter had 
 become almost hysterical. 
 
 "Any more? You don't mean to say there were 
 any more?" 
 
 "Only a few." 
 
 With a gesture of despair Pfeiffer turned to 
 Mrs. Dayrell-Wing. 
 
 "Did you have a hand in this?" he asked. 
 
 "A hand in what?" 
 
 "In this clock joke. I suppose it was a joke, 
 wasn't it? You all seem frightfully amused." 
 
 "I wasn't a bit amused, I can assure you. I 
 seem to have been the only person who heard the 
 abominable things." 
 
 "Well, I'm awfully sorry I didn't do what was 
 expected of me. I'd have kept awake if I'd 
 known." 
 
 "You couldn't," Ethel dared. 
 
 "I don't believe you could," Mrs. Dayrell-Wing 
 said with judicial precision. "Any one who can 
 sleep through five American alarms, and think it 
 was the telephone when seven more go off together 
 in his ear, cannot have any self-control whatever." 
 
 Before Pfeiffer could retort, Sir Charles Benyon 
 sauntered in. 
 
 [29]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "Mornin'," he said. "You're all very early this 
 rnin'." 
 
 Tes," said Drury, "there's been a joke, 
 Pfeiffer's been caught napping." 
 
 "In the act?" 
 
 "In the act red-handed flagrante delicto." 
 
 Sir Charles unfolded his napkin and put up his 
 eyeglass, saying in the slow, drawling voice he 
 affected : 
 
 "Very sad. Sorry for you, Willie. Comes of 
 not obeyin' doctor's orders. Why did you forget 
 your Vinolia pill?" 
 
 Pfeiffer thumped his fist on the table. 
 
 "If you people," he protested, "can't get a new 
 joke by this evening, I swear I'll leave the house." 
 
 Fraser, coming into the room, caught only the 
 last words. 
 
 "Why will you leave the house?" he asked. 
 
 "To retrieve his reputation," Sir Charles said. 
 "Canada, and that sort of thing, you know. A new 
 life in a new country." 
 
 "What have you been doing, Willie?" Fraser 
 asked. 
 
 "I've committed the regrettable crime of dis- 
 appointing Miss Vawdrey. She never told me I 
 had to wake up when the bell rang, so of course I 
 didn't. And that spoiled the joke." 
 
 "You haven't spoiled the joke," Ethel laughed. 
 "You've made it ever so much better." 
 
 "If I may advise you," Drury said to her, "I 
 suggest a cartridge with a time-fuse for to-night." 
 [30]
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 OON after breakfast the men went out shoot- 
 ing. Pfeiffer, who was usually the best shot 
 of the party, seemed preoccupied, and found him- 
 self missing every other bird; and when they re- 
 turned to the house he was silent and took little 
 part in the conversation. Later, in the billiard- 
 room, he drew Eraser and Drury aside, saying: 
 
 "Look here, what are we going to do to wipe 
 out the memory of the clocks? I've been racking 
 my brain all day about it." 
 
 "H'm," said Drury, "it's difficult. We can't do 
 apple-pie beds again." 
 
 "Of course not. We've got to find something 
 absolutely fresh and unexpected. Those clocks were 
 a damned clever idea, and I was a perfect idiot 
 not to spot them." 
 
 "Didn't you really hear them?" Fraser asked. 
 
 "Not a blessed one, except the last lot; and 
 then I didn't think anything of it. I suppose I do 
 sleep pretty sound when I'm fairly off." 
 
 "You'll never hear the last of it," Drury said, 
 laughing. 
 
 "Unless we can wipe it out by a better retort. 
 We simply must. I've been hatching out an 
 elaborate post-office hoax, with telegrams and so 
 on. But there isn't much in it." 
 
 "There are booby traps," Fraser suggested.
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "Oh, they're rotten pillows on top of your head 
 and all that. Besides, girls hate having their hair 
 rumpled." 
 
 "Can't you suggest anything?" Eraser asked, 
 turning to Drury. 
 
 "Hanged if I can." 
 
 "Couldn't we work a telegram 'All is dis- 
 covered, fly at once' that sort of thing?" 
 
 "There's nothing in it," Pfeiffer reiterated with 
 some impatience. "I thought of that. We want 
 something new." 
 
 Drury, staring into the grate, with his hands in 
 his pockets, suddenly looked up, saying : 
 
 "Let's hide Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's necklace." 
 
 Pfeiffer heaved a sigh of relief. 
 
 "Good man !" he cried. "That's brilliant." 
 
 "Brilliants, you mean," Drury returned, with a 
 grin. "And devilish expensive ones, too." 
 
 "What's it worth?" Eraser asked. 
 
 "Twenty thou. My firm has insured it for that." 
 
 "In that case, you'd better do the hiding," 
 Pfeiffer said. "Then you won't have any nervous 
 qualms. It might spoil your dinner if it didn't 
 turn up when it's wanted." 
 
 "Oh, I shouldn't worry unduly. We've laid off 
 all the risk except a thousand." 
 
 "Gad! We shall hear her screams for miles 
 when she find it's gone," Pfeiffer said, rubbing his 
 hands. "When shall we do it ? It ought to be be- 
 fore dinner." 
 
 "There's plenty of time," Fraser answered, look- 
 [32]
 
 JEST 
 
 ing at his watch. "It's not half past six 
 yet." 
 
 "Good. We'll hide it now," Pfeiffer said. 
 "And about eight o'clock, when she goes to put it 
 on, the fun will begin. We can keep it up till 
 nearly nine, even if it does spoil the dinner." 
 
 "It'll rather miss fire if she doesn't mean to wear 
 it to-night," Drury suggested. 
 
 "Oh, she always does." 
 
 "Where does she keep it?" Fraser asked. 
 
 "Don't know," Drury answered. "We shall 
 have to get hold of her maid and take her into 
 partnership." 
 
 "Well, you two run up and do it," Pfeiffer said. 
 "I'll stay here in case any of them come in and ask 
 questions." 
 
 "What are you fellows whispering about?" 
 Vawdrey asked, coming toward them with a cue 
 in his hand. He had just finished a game with Sir 
 Charles. 
 
 "Oh, nothing," Pfeiffer answered blandly. 
 
 "There's some mischief afoot, I'm sure. We'd 
 better be in it eh, Benyon?" 
 
 "No, this is a juvenile comedy; there's no room 
 for you. You've got to play the heavy father, 
 with a clean handkerchief and a white beard. 
 Benyon can be the wicked baronet; he doesn't want 
 any make-up for that." 
 
 "Willie, if you make me an apple-pie bed, I'll 
 drag you out in your pyjamas, and make you apol- 
 ogize on your knees," Vawdrey said severely. 
 
 "You're quite safe. By the laws of drama the 
 
 [33]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 heavy father is sacred from molestation except at 
 the hands of the wicked baronet. You ought to 
 know that." 
 
 "I don't want to be the heavy father. I never 
 could snivel. If I can't be the hero, I'll be the 
 lady's friend, a la Wyndham, and hold her hand. 
 So just tell me what it's all about." 
 
 "No, no, no!" Pfeiffer cried. "Run off, you 
 fellows; I'll keep Mr. Vawdrey in play." 
 
 He caught Vawdrey by the lappets of his coat, 
 and they engaged in a friendly struggle while 
 Drury and Fraser escaped from the room. 
 
 To avoid attention, they went by the back-stairs, 
 and picked up Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's maid on the 
 way. Drury whispered to Fraser: 
 
 "What shall I give her a kiss or a sovereign ?" 
 
 "Sovereign's best, and comes cheaper in the 
 end." 
 
 The maid, a quick-witted, laughter-loving French 
 girl, entered into the joke at once. She took them 
 into Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's room and showed them 
 the small, flat jewel-case in which the necklace lay 
 by itself on one shelf of the dressing-table. It was 
 not locked, for in London all the jewelry was kept 
 together in a safe, and Mrs. Dayrell-Wing was 
 wise enough to know that a lock is no protection 
 to the thin, leather-covered boxes which have to be 
 used when travelling. 
 
 Drury pressed the spring, and the lid flew open. 
 
 "Ripping, isn't it!" he said, as the light flashed 
 upon it. 
 
 [34]
 
 JEST 
 
 "Take it out," Fraser said quietly. 
 
 "By Jove! It's worth bagging. With that in 
 your pocket and what ho ! for the Continong." 
 
 They looked at each other and smiled. Then, 
 turning to the maid, Drury added: 
 
 "Thank you, mademoiselle. You can now leave 
 us while we make the necklace disappear. When 
 madame asks for it this evening, ask her where she 
 has put it, with appropriate gestures of surprise and 
 horror." 
 
 "Oui, monsieur. Je comprends parfaitement." 
 
 "Monsieur Fraser and I will miss that part of 
 the play, which I am sure you will do excellently. 
 Then you must ring the bell as hard as you can, 
 and cry out, and we shall rush in do you see?" 
 
 "Oui, monsieur." 
 
 "That's all right, then." 
 
 She went out and closed the door, but the two 
 men did not move. They were looking at the neck- 
 lace, feasting their eyes upon it as it hung on 
 Drury's hand a miniature river of ice and fire. 
 They stood there for a full minute, until Fraser 
 broke the spell by saying suddenly and rather 
 curtly : 
 
 "Where's it to go?" 
 
 "Under the pillow," Drury answered, with a 
 glance round the room. 
 
 He put the necklace back in its case, and went 
 toward the bed, the head of which was against the 
 inner wall, facing the windows. He carefully 
 turned back the sheet, and pushed the case between 
 
 [35]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 the pillow and the bolster. Then, opening the 
 door, he tiptoed along the corridor followed by 
 Fraser. 
 
 Pfeiffer was still in the billiard-room. 
 
 "All right?" he asked, as they entered. 
 
 Drury nodded. 
 
 "Where is it?" 
 
 "Under the pillow." 
 
 "Good." 
 
 Vawdrey and Sir Charles had begun another 
 game, and the others did not stay long. Fraser 
 went to his room, to write to his mother, who, at 
 Dinard, had suffered a new series of "terribly un- 
 lucky evenings." Drury, also, had arrears of cor- 
 respondence on his mind, and Pfeiffer went to the 
 gun-room. It was agreed that they should dress 
 early and meet in the hall at eight o'clock. 
 
 [36]
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 dinner-hour at Gains was nominally a 
 quarter past eight, but no one was ever punc- 
 tual, and Gibson usually allowed them ten minutes' 
 grace. So, when Fraser came slowly down the 
 staircase as the clock was striking eight, only 
 Pfeiffer and Drury were in the hall. He strolled 
 up and joined them in front of the fire. He looked 
 tired, and rather worried, as if his letter to his 
 mother had not been an easy one to write. 
 
 Neither Drury nor Pfeiffer said anything. The 
 house was unusually silent, for every one was 
 dressing, and the servants were busy in their quar- 
 ters with the preparations for dinner. Outside a 
 dog began to bark, and footsteps approached, 
 crunching the gravel, and died away again. Then 
 a door banged, leaving the silence more noticeable 
 than before. 
 
 A feeling of suspense and discomfort settled 
 upon the conspirators. Drury was seized with 
 nervousness, beginning to fear that Mrs. Dayrell- 
 Wing might take the joke amiss and be offended. 
 He wished he had not suggested it; jokes were 
 always dangerous, and one never knew how a 
 woman was going to look at them. And with 
 things as they were between them it was idiotic to 
 run risks. 
 
 Pfeiffer, too, in the period of waiting, grew 
 
 [37]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 somewhat apprehensive. He did not know Mrs. 
 Dayrell-Wing very intimately, and it would be tire- 
 some if she got angry at being hoaxed. The thing 
 did not look quite so funny as when Drury had first 
 proposed it. Still, it had to be carried through 
 now. He glanced at his watch, and shut it with 
 a snap. 
 
 "I feel like Guy Fawkes," he said. 
 
 Fraser smiled, but made no reply. 
 
 Suddenly a bell rang a loud, long, excited peal. 
 
 "That's it," Fraser said. "Now for mademoi- 
 selle's scream and we'll rush up." 
 
 They waited, but the scream did not come. In- 
 stead, they heard the sound of a door opening and 
 a murmur of voices which ceased almost imme- 
 diately. 
 
 "She's forgotten her part," Drury said. 
 
 In a moment Gibson, the portly butler, appeared 
 at the end of the hall and came toward the foot 
 of the stairs. He was the only one of the servants 
 who claimed the privilege of using the main stair- 
 case. 
 
 "What's up, Gibson?" Pfeiffer asked. 
 
 "Mrs. Dayrell-Wing wishes to see the master, 
 sir." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "She did not say, sir," Gibson answered, in a 
 tone of grave reproval. 
 
 He moved on, and the three men exchanged 
 doubtful glances. 
 
 "Shall we go up?" Pfeiffer asked. 
 [38]
 
 JEST 
 
 "Better wait," Drury answered. "We shall hear 
 something in a moment." 
 
 They heard Gibson knock, and presently Vaw- 
 drey was seen going toward Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's 
 room. Hilda Carew, on her way down, halted at 
 the top of the stairs, and then walked on to see 
 what was the matter. The Benyons, too, gave 
 way to curiosity and followed her. 
 
 "Come on," Pfeiffer said. "We mustn't miss 
 any more." 
 
 As they expected, Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's door 
 was open and a good deal of eager conversation 
 was going on in the room. Sir Charles, with 
 eyeglass fixed, was standing impassive on the 
 threshold. 
 
 "What's up?" Pfeiffer inquired, with successful 
 carelessness. 
 
 Sir Charles turned slowly toward him and 
 stared, as he always did when asked a sudden 
 question. 
 
 "Burglars," he said, after his usual period of 
 deliberation. "They've got the necklace." 
 
 Pfeiffer whistled, and pushed past him into the 
 room. Mrs. Dayrell-Wing, glancing swiftly from 
 one to another with anxious wide-open eyes, was 
 saying for the tenth time that she kept it in the case 
 on her dressing-table, and had put it there last 
 night. 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know," Vawdrey said, rather im- 
 patiently. "But either you or your maid must have 
 moved it. Look in the cupboards and places." 
 
 [39]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "I declare I haven't, and I've asked Celeste, 
 too. Ask her yourself if you don't believe me. I 
 tell you it's gone." 
 
 Vawdrey was about to reply, when he caught 
 sight of the newcomers, and an idea flashed into 
 his mind. He drew Pfeiffer aside, while Mrs. 
 Dayrell-Wing buttonholed Arthur Drury and be- 
 gan her story afresh, showing a strong inclination 
 to burst into tears on his shoulder. 
 
 "Willie, this is some of your deviltry, I sup- 
 pose?" Vawdrey whispered. "If you think I'm 
 going to play heavy father in this act you're mis- 
 taken." 
 
 "Don't give it away," Pfeiffer pleaded. "It'll 
 be found before we sit down to dinner." 
 
 "Yes, by Jove, I'll see to that. I'll give you ten 
 minutes' run before I expose you." 
 
 "Oh, more than that please." 
 
 "Not a second. I hate waiting for dinner." 
 
 "All right. We'll have a hot search for ten 
 minutes. Give me a wink when time's up." 
 
 He turned to the others, saying in a loud voice : 
 
 "It can't really be lost. Let's all search the 
 room. Mrs. Dayrell-Wing, have we your permis- 
 sion to pry into the mysteries?" 
 
 "You may turn the room upside down, if only 
 you'll find it. But I know you won't. Mr. Vaw- 
 drey, I wish you'd send for the police." 
 
 Ethel, who had just come in, joined Lady 
 Benyon and Hilda in examining the wardrobe, 
 while Celeste hovered round them, making voluble 
 comments in French. 
 
 [40]
 
 JEST 
 
 "Don't look in the bottom drawer," Mrs. Day- 
 rell-Wing screamed. "There's a new frock, and 
 you're not to see it." 
 
 The men, with the exception of Vawdrey who 
 stood with his watch in his hand occupied them- 
 selves in shaking the curtains, peering under the 
 furniture, and opening the drawers of the writing 
 table. At first, Eraser and Drury were rather 
 lethargic; but, urged on by Pfeiffer, they warmed 
 to the sport. Soon they were moving all the furni- 
 ture into the middle of the room, in case, as they 
 explained, the necklace should have slipped behind 
 anything. 
 
 Mrs. Dayrell-Wing watched their efforts with 
 angry scorn in her eyes. In spite of the fact that 
 they were obviously struggling with suppressed 
 merriment, the idea of a practical joke had not yet 
 entered her mind. 
 
 "I suppose," she said viciously, "you men think 
 I'm an absolute idiot. It's just likely that a sane 
 woman would put a diamond necklace under the 
 bed, isn't it?" 
 
 Pfeiffer, lying prone on the floor, to watch for 
 any clue which the moving of the bed might re- 
 veal, buried his face in the thick carpet and wrestled 
 for self-control. 
 
 "There's nothing here but these," he said, hold- 
 ing up a pair of very elegant bedroom slippers. 
 
 Vawdrey grinned, saying: 
 
 "They're something we haven't seen before, 
 anyway." 
 
 The girls, who had finished ransacking the ward-
 
 robe, stood wondering what was to be done next. 
 They did not suspect a hoax, and the thought of a 
 burglar's visit frightened them. 
 
 "Father, won't you let the police know?" Ethel 
 asked. "The man may still be in the neighbor- 
 hood." 
 
 "I shall in a few minutes," he answered, pitch- 
 ing his words at Pfeiffer. 
 
 At that moment the gong sounded for dinner. 
 
 "Ring for Gibson, my dear," Mrs. Vawdrey 
 said. "We can't go down just yet. And we'd 
 better have the maids up and question them ; they 
 may have moved it when they dusted." 
 
 Vawdrey rang, and presently Gibson's broad 
 figure filled the doorway. He did not know why 
 every one was congregated in Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's 
 room, and, even if he had known, he would not 
 have held dinner back without the most explicit 
 instructions. He lived in a madcap household, and 
 if it should ever arrive that the dinner hour was to 
 be liable to variation without due notice the last 
 and chief anchorage of his orderly mind would be 
 gone. 
 
 "You rang, sir?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes. Send the housemaids up here." 
 
 "Yes, sir. Dinner is served, sir." 
 
 "I know it is; we shall be down directly." 
 
 "Don't talk of dinner," Mrs. Dayrell-Wing 
 cried. "I sha'n't move from this room till the 
 police come. It's perfectly heartless of you to think 
 of eating when I'm in such distress." 
 [42]
 
 JEST 
 
 "It is indeed simply heroic," Pfeiffer chimed 
 in, with a show of indignation. 
 
 "Gallioic, don't you mean?" Fraser murmured. 
 
 Pfeiffer ignored the amendment, and said to 
 Mrs. Dayrell-Wing: 
 
 "But you are insured, aren't you?" 
 
 "Yes, thanks to Mr. Drury. But I shall hate 
 taking the money from him. I never thought I 
 should have to or I wouldn't have done it." 
 
 "My dear old boy," Pfeiffer said, drawing a 
 long face at Drury, "this is a nasty knock for you." 
 
 The housemaids now appeared, hovering at the 
 door, and in answer to the same or similar ques- 
 tions repeated a dozen times, they declared that the 
 jewel-case had been on the dressing-table that morn- 
 ing, and that they had not touched it. Then they 
 withdrew, to stir the servants' hall with the story 
 of the robbery. 
 
 Vawdrey, hungry after his day's shooting, de- 
 cided to cut short the last act of the comedy. 
 
 "Now," he said, moving toward Pfeiffer, "in 
 tw r o minutes I'm going down to dinner. Have you 
 fellows looked everywhere?" 
 
 "Afraid we have at least everywhere except the 
 bed. It might have been put there." 
 
 "Who by, I should like to know?" Mrs. Day- 
 rell-Wing demanded with quick fury. 
 
 "Well, don't you ever sleep with it under your 
 pillow? I should have thought a valuable thing 
 like that " 
 
 "Never." 
 
 [43]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "Anyway, there's a lump of some sort here," he 
 said, thumping the pillow. 
 
 He thrust his hand in and drew out the jewel- 
 case. There was a moment of gasping silence. 
 Then Mrs. Dayrell-Wing cried: 
 
 "You wretch! You put it there. I know you 
 did." 
 
 Pfeiffer maintained his grave expression. 
 
 "Joy never kills," he said. "But temporarily it 
 has been known to cause hallucinations. Very sad." 
 
 "You're a graceless hooligan," she went on, half 
 laughing and half angry, as she took the case from 
 Pfeiffer. "I'll never speak to you again." 
 
 "Perfectly monstrous," Ethel joined in, holding 
 herself very erect. 
 
 "Et tu Beauty?" the irrepressible Pfeiffer 
 asked. 
 
 Then every one laughed, and Ethel colored up 
 and looked prettier than ever. Her flirtation with 
 Willie Pfeiffer had been serious enough to give a 
 new point to the old quip. 
 
 "Come along now. Dinner's waiting," Vawdrey 
 cut in. "Let's all kiss and be friends, or we sha'n't 
 get any food to-night." 
 
 "By all means," Pfeiffer cried. "I love kissing 
 and being friends. Where do I begin?" 
 
 Vawdrey caught him by the elbows and ran him 
 out of the room, singing: "Fall in and follow me." 
 The others crowded behind them, and in a minute 
 they were all eating the rather tepid soup which had 
 been waiting for them. 
 
 [44]
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 T7~AWDREY, who was rather particular about 
 * his food, laid down his spoon, saying: 
 
 "Willie, like Augustus, has let our soup get 
 cold." 
 
 " 'And on the fifth day he was dead,' Hilda 
 quoted. "Poetic justice." 
 
 "I don't think so; it was probably the cook's 
 fault. He said the soup was nasty." 
 
 "If glances could kill," Pfeiffer complained, "I 
 could not hope for even four more days in the sun- 
 shine of Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's society." 
 
 "Are you speaking to me?" Mrs. Dayrell-Wing 
 asked. "If so, pray don't imagine that I would 
 honor you with a glance even for the purpose of 
 removing you from my path." 
 
 "Have you a path? I thought one so lovely 
 could only dwell among the untrodden ways." 
 
 "Yes. Four doors from Grosvenor Square," 
 she answered crisply. 
 
 "What a change from Shepherd's Bush!" 
 
 To Gibson's extreme annoyance, the second foot- 
 man sniggered. Mrs. Dayrell-Wing appealed to 
 the table with outstretched arms. 
 
 "Now, do I look as if I came from Shepherd's 
 Bush?" she demanded. 
 
 [45]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "It must have been in the pre-necklace period," 
 Vawdrey said. "Before the stone age, in fact." 
 
 Pfeiffer bent toward her with a smile, saying; 
 
 "Of course. Now you mention it, I remember 
 you perfectly. It was about B.C. a million, at a 
 cave-warming close to the White City. You were 
 wearing a very fetching rabbit skin, with a dis- 
 tinctly Frenchy cut about it." 
 
 Mrs. Dayrell-Wing tried not to laugh. She was 
 really a good deal annoyed with Pfeiffer for fright- 
 ening her about her necklace, and she would have 
 liked to snub him into a proper state of contrition. 
 But it was impossible to stand aloof when the table 
 was rocking with merriment, and after a momen- 
 tary struggle she gave way. 
 
 "You'd better not describe any more," Lady 
 Benyon said to Pfeiffer. 
 
 "Oh, there wasn't any more," he answered. 
 
 The second footman ruined his prospects for- 
 ever by making a sudden dash for the door. 
 
 Mrs. Vawdrey, who preserved an unfashionable 
 capacity for being shocked, thought that Willie 
 Pfeiffer had "gone too far." And, with a view to 
 closing the subject, she summed it up with the 
 remark : 
 
 "I'm sure dear Mrs. Dayrell-Wing would look 
 charming whatever she wore." 
 
 When the ladies had left the room the subject of 
 the necklace again came uppermost. 
 
 "I say, Drury," Vawdrey said, "you'd have 
 [46]
 
 JEST 
 
 looked a bit green if you hadn't been in the 
 plot eh?" 
 
 "Well, rather. It would have been a nasty 
 quarter of an hour." 
 
 "But you don't stand to lose the whole amount, 
 do you?" 
 
 "Good Lord, no. A risk like that is spread over 
 several firms." 
 
 "So it isn't a matter of committing suicide if it 
 ^oes wrong?" Pfeiffer asked. 
 
 "No. But it wouldn't be exactly pleasant." 
 
 "I suppose you get big losses sometimes?" Eraser 
 L iggested. "Otherwise people wouldn't insure." 
 
 "We don't reckon to get many, or we wouldn't 
 do it at the price." 
 
 "We had a fire at Shrotton last year," Vawdrey 
 said, "and rather a nice picture which hung over 
 the chimney piece was damaged. I'd given a hun- 
 dred and tw y enty guineas for it at the Academy, and 
 I claimed that; and after fussing a bit they paid it." 
 
 "Oh, they pay all right, as long as they don't 
 suspect fraud." 
 
 The conversation halted, and then swung back 
 again to the necklace, Vawdrey saying: 
 
 "Did you ever hear the history of Mrs. Dayrell- 
 Wing's necklace ? She told me the other day, 
 though I fancy she generally keeps it to herself. 
 There's rather a nasty story hanging to it." 
 
 "Oh? What is it?" Pfeiffer asked, as he lighted 
 his cigar. 
 
 [47]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 \ 
 
 "It came from Paris. Aren't you smoking, 
 Fraser? Have a small one." 
 
 "No, thanks." 
 
 Vawdrey pushed his chair back from the table 
 and went on : 
 
 "It's some years ago now. At that time Mrs. 
 Dayrell-Wing was living in Melbourne, and her 
 husband used to come to Europe every twelve 
 months or so on business. She generally came with 
 him, but on his last visit something happened to 
 prevent her; and, to make up for it, he determined 
 o take her back a real good present." 
 
 "As he ought," Pfeiffer said. 
 
 "Well, he looked at all the usual things, but 
 nothing pleased him. Then, one day, he saw an 
 advertisement in the paper of some jewels which 
 were to be sold at the Hotel Dronot, and he went 
 to have a look at them. The necklace caught his 
 eye at once, and after consulting an expert he left 
 it in his hands to buy it for him." 
 
 "What did he give for it?" 
 
 "I think about half a million francs. There 
 were several buyers after it, and when the business 
 was settled the man congratulated him on having 
 got it; for, he said, it was probably matchless. 
 And then he told him all about it. It had been got 
 together and made up to the order of one of those 
 fabulously rich Brazilians who go to Paris to amuse 
 themselves." 
 
 "I know. They're a stock character in French 
 novels from Balzac's 'Henri MonteY onward." 
 [48]
 
 JEST 
 
 "Well, this one fell very much in love with a 
 lady, and laid violent siege to her. But apparently 
 she didn't like him or, at all events, she liked 
 "ome one else better. The Brazilian scattered the 
 greater part of half a dozen jewelers' shops at her 
 lovely feet, but it didn't have the desired effect, 
 and he began to feel that life was a burden." 
 
 "Mais il y a d' autres," Fraser murmured. 
 
 "Oh, quite so; but his eye was prejudiced. At 
 last he went nap on this necklace, which he ordered 
 specially; and all Europe was ransacked to match 
 the stones and make it the finest thing possible of 
 its kind?" 
 
 "And ?" 
 
 "That settled it. She consented to make him the 
 happiest man on earth, and for a time she suc- 
 ceeded. But he was a jealous, suspicious sort of 
 cove, and before long he began to suspect that he 
 hadn't got all he bargained for. He set a trap 
 and she fell into it. There was a royal row frantic 
 recriminations, tears, curses, and all the rest of it 
 and it ended in her tearing off the necklace and 
 throwing it on the floor, telling him to take it back 
 and get out of her sight." 
 
 "Well?" Pfeiffer asked, keenly interested. 
 
 "He turned livid, for he was desperately fond 
 of her; but for a moment he did not say a word. 
 Then, quite quietly and politely, he picked up the 
 necklace and begged her pardon for having caused 
 a scene. But, he said, he could not allow her to 
 return it. When he gave a present he did not take 
 
 [49]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 it back again, and she must do him the honor of 
 wearing the necklace as long as she lived. With 
 that he put it round her neck, and drew the ends 
 tight in his hands with all his force. 
 
 "Strangled her?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Pah ! What a beastly story I" 
 
 "Isn't it?" 
 
 "Still, it's a magnificent necklace," Drury said. 
 
 "Oh, quite," Vawdrey answered, as he rose. 
 "But I'm superstitious enough not to want it my- 
 self. There's blood on it." 
 
 [50]
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 ' I A HE hoaxing of Mrs. Dayrell-Wing, and the 
 -*- hilarious dinner which followed, had pitched 
 the mood of the party too high for the usual game 
 of bridge or pool; and when the men came from 
 the dining-room an impromptu dance was sug- 
 gested. 
 
 "Oh, do let's!" Ethel cried. "Mother will 
 play won't you, mother?" 
 
 "Of course I will, dear. You had better ring 
 for Gibson to push back the chairs and move the 
 rugs." 
 
 "Is it fancy dress?" Vawdrey asked. "If so, 
 will somebody find me a false nose and an opera 
 hat?" 
 
 In a few minutes the hall was cleared, and Mrs. 
 Vawdrey began to play The Blue Danube. Vaw- 
 drey led off with Lady Benyon, Drury following 
 with Mrs. Dayrell-Wing; while Sir Charles, with 
 a laconic "Shall we?" took possession of Hilda 
 Carew. Eraser never danced if he could avoid it, 
 and by tacit agreement Ethel was left to Willie 
 Pfeiffer. 
 
 "Our dance?" he said in a low voice. 
 
 "If you like," she answered, with a quick smile. 
 "There's not much choice of partners, is there?" 
 
 "Enough forme." 
 
 For a minute or two he sat beside her on the
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 sofa, while she drew on her long white gloves. 
 Then they went spinning down the hall together, 
 past the other couples and back again, as Mrs. 
 Vawdrey's music quickened to a close. The draw- 
 ing-room door was open, and he guided her in, 
 threading a hazardous way between the tables and 
 chairs until they reached the far end of the room. 
 She was breathless with the pace they had made, 
 and looked up at him with a flushed face and 
 laughing eyes. She was irresistibly lovely, and his 
 passion for her, which he had been struggling to 
 keep in check for months past, surged up within 
 him and burst its bonds. He bent toward her im- 
 pulsively, and caught her hands in his as he 
 whispered: 
 
 "Darling." 
 
 The word had been on his lips so many times, 
 and he had choked it back because he was poor and 
 in debt and she was a millionairess. He knew 
 that he must marry money; but this flirtation with 
 Ethel, begun as a pastime which might possibly 
 lead to a successful business arrangement, had 
 deepened into love. The disparity of fortune, 
 which at first had attracted him to her, now seemed 
 unbearable, for he wanted to give and not to take. 
 He wanted her for herself, and not for the money 
 she would bring. 
 
 The nearer he drew to the attainment of his 
 hopes the more he dreaded the verdict of the world, 
 the impartial acceptance of him as a clever fortune- 
 hunter who had "pulled it off." Her parents would 
 [52]
 
 JEST 
 
 suspect him, even she herself could scarcely avoid 
 doing so, and the thought had restrained him again 
 and again from asking her to marry him. If only 
 he were rich! If only even he were free from the 
 load of foolish debts which his extravagance had 
 put round his neck! Before he married Ethel, 
 Vawdrey would have to pay them ; and the thought 
 which a year ago would have been pleasant enough 
 was now offensive to his conscience. 
 
 But the moment had come when nothing could 
 avail to stem his desire. He forgot everything as 
 he looked into her eyes. 
 
 Her color deepened, but she did not draw back. 
 She let him kiss her on the lips. Then, without a 
 word, they turned and went back into the hall. 
 
 As they came out of the drawing-room they met 
 Vawdrey face to face, and at the sight of him 
 Pfeiffer's anxieties returned upon him more acutely 
 than ever. If only, he thought, he were free from 
 debts ! Then he would not mind so much. 
 
 [53]
 
 BOOK II 
 EARNEST
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 TT was after one o'clock before the dancing came 
 *- to an end. Mrs. Dayrell-Wing went to her 
 room and began slowly to undress. She was tired 
 and excited by the events of the evening, and she 
 wished that she had not given Celeste permission to 
 go to bed. She put on a kimono, and sat down by 
 the fire to brush her hair; but her thoughts began 
 to wander and soon her hands lay idly in her lap. 
 She was thinking about Arthur Drury how nice 
 he was ; and, she reflected with a thrill of pleasure, 
 how devoted. 
 
 He was in love with her. And in telling herself 
 this she was careful to guard herself against the 
 optimism of a woman no longer in the flush of 
 youth. She knew she could be attractive to any 
 man sensible enough to realize that loveliness has 
 its times and seasons. She knew there were hours 
 when she could hold her own even against a 
 girl like Ethel Vawdrey; and, good heavens, how 
 much cleverer she was ! Ethel was lovely, but she 
 had not yet shaken off the gaucherie of eighteen; 
 she had not yet learnt that nature never yet made a 
 woman's lips red enough. 
 
 She knew she could hold Arthur against any girl 
 in the world. But would she always hold him ? She 
 was getting unwisely fond of him, counting too 
 much on his attention ; showing, perhaps too openly, 
 
 [57]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 that she expected it. That was dangerous. Would 
 he "last" ? At forty would he be content with a 
 woman older than himself, who dare not meet him 
 until she had spent an hour in preparation? That 
 was the maddening quality of youth, that power of 
 waking up lovely. But then, youth had no reti- 
 cence, no reserve of charm; it was as open as the 
 day, and as lacking in surprises. 
 
 She smiled as she recalled the light which had 
 flashed into Arthur's eyes when he met her last 
 night on the way down to dinner. She was wear- 
 ing a white frock of daring simplicity, and across 
 her shoulders Celeste had thrown a wrap of ban- 
 danna silk widely edged with blue. The effect had 
 pleased her, and when she saw Arthur's eyes her 
 pleasure swelled into triumph. He had flushed up 
 as he looked at her; and then, as they went down 
 the staircase together, he had lightly touched her 
 hand. Oh, yes; he was in love with her. And, 
 unless she was deceiving herself, he would propose 
 as soon as she let him do so. The question was, 
 should she accept him ? Why not ? It was a risk, 
 for there was nearly ten years between them ; but 
 a woman's life seemed to be made up of risks risk 
 of failure, of ill-health, of swiftly declining charm, 
 of defeat. Was not the happiest woman facing 
 these always? 
 
 She sat, engrossed in her thoughts, until she was 
 roused by a clock striking two. Then, with an at- 
 tempt to put Arthur out of her mind, she went 
 to bed. 
 
 [58]
 
 EARNEST 
 
 She dozed off ; but her sleep was light, and was 
 broken by scraps of vivid dreaming, in which 
 Arthur, and the necklace, and masked burglars 
 played disjointed parts. Several times she woke, 
 only to fall again immediately into the state of 
 semi-consciousness which is the battleground be- 
 tween an overtired body and the deep sleep for 
 which it craves. Once she thought some one was 
 in her room ; she heard, or seemed to hear, the 
 click of a door. She turned on her back and 
 listened, but there was not a sound; and she told 
 herself that it must have been part of a dream. 
 
 She drew the bed-clothes closer about her and 
 fell asleep more soundly now, for her mind was 
 rested, and was able to yield itself to nature's de- 
 mands'. For some hours she lay in complete uncon- 
 sciousness. Then she awoke refreshed. The cur- 
 tains were closely drawn and the room was dark; 
 but the fire had gone out, and she guessed it must 
 be nearly time for Celeste to come. She pressed 
 the knob of a repeater which stood by her bedside 
 and was disappointed to find that it was not yet 
 six o'clock. 
 
 She lay back again and tried to go to sleep ; but 
 she could not keep her eyes closed. The absolute 
 stillness of the house began to get on her nerves. 
 For a few minutes she tossed and turned, shaking 
 up her pillows and changing her position. At last,, 
 certain that her efforts were useless, she got up. 
 She would draw the curtains and read until Celeste 
 brought the early tea. 
 
 [59]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 She felt her way cautiously across the room to 
 the windows. She pulled back the curtains and 
 drew up the blinds, letting in a flood of daylight. 
 One window was open at the top, but the room felt 
 close and stuffy, and she raised the bottom sash, 
 pushing it up as high as she could. The effort tired 
 her, and for a few minutes she sat down on the 
 broad window-seat, breathing in the delicious air, 
 which was as crisp and cool as a glass of spring 
 water. Then, feeling chilly, she looked round for 
 the book she wanted before going back to bed. 
 
 The dressing-table stood across the corner near 
 the right-hand window, slanted toward the wall so 
 as to catch the light upon the glass. As she turned 
 her eyes fell on it; and, indefinitely for the first 
 moment, she missed something which ought to have 
 been there. 
 
 "My necklace!" 
 
 She took a hasty step forward. The little jewel- 
 case, which stood on the right-hand shelf beside the 
 glass, was gone. Quickly she looked round on 
 the table and the other shelves, in the little drawers, 
 then about the room. 
 
 "But I put it there last night," she said, looking 
 again at the empty shelf. "I'm sure I put it there." 
 She stood thinking, hurriedly, excitedly. 
 
 "I know I put it there," she said, "but where 
 is it?" 
 
 She began carefully to search every table and 
 shelf and cupboard, spurring herself to recall that 
 she had put it "somewhere safe" when she took it 
 [60]
 
 EARNEST 
 
 off last night. She remembered unfastening it and 
 laying it in its case ; and the more she thought the 
 more certain she was that she had put the case on 
 the top right-hand shelf of the dressing-table as 
 usual. 
 
 And it had disappeared. 
 
 After a fruitless ten minutes she stopped and 
 stood thinking. Then a rather angry smile crossed 
 her face as a possible explanation of the mystery 
 occurred to her. 
 
 "I suppose it's another joke," she said. "I'm 
 rather tired of Willie Pfeiffer's jokes. I think I'll 
 lose my temper this time." 
 
 Her mind was set at rest. She moved a step 
 forward, meaning to get into bed and read. Then 
 a sudden thought stopped her. She always slept 
 with her door bolted, and from where she stood she 
 could see that it was bolted now. 
 
 Again she searched every corner of the room, 
 ransacked every drawer; following, even, Willie 
 Pfeiffer's example of the night before in looking 
 under the bed. It was gone, spirited away through 
 a bolted door. If Celeste had been with her but 
 she always trusted her absolutely; and, besides, 
 she had not been with her. 
 
 She gazed round the walls, searching for any 
 clue which might guide her. She knew that neck- 
 laces, however valuable, did not vanish through 
 solid walls and ceilings at the bidding of either a 
 practical joker or a professional burglar; and she 
 could not help imagining that she must have put 
 [61]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 it in some place which she could not now remember. 
 And yet, how absurd such an idea was. 
 
 "It must have been stolen," she said at length. 
 "But how? I thought I heard a door close." 
 
 In her agitation she had overlooked the inner 
 door which led into Pfeiffer's room and was covered 
 by a curtain. It caught her attention now, and she 
 went toward it and lifted the curtain. The bolt 
 on her side was unfastened. 
 
 "Then it was a joke !" 
 
 Relieved at knowing that her necklace was safe 
 she became extremely angry with Willie Pfeiffer. 
 To use the door between her room and his, and to 
 come into her room at night it was outrageous, 
 compromising, odious. What would everybody 
 think? Why, naturally, that he had come that way 
 before ! What would what would Arthur think? 
 Oh, it was hateful! 
 
 She slipped on a dressing-gown and sat down at 
 the writing-table. Snatching up a pen, she began 
 to write rapidly : 
 
 DEAR MR. PFEIFFER: 
 
 "I am afraid your sense of humor is 
 rather beyond what I am accustomed to, 
 and though I never wish to spoil sport, I 
 must ask you to leave me out of any future 
 plans you may devise. 
 
 "Will you kindly return my necklace by 
 my maid, who will deliver this note? And 
 will you refrain from mentioning your 
 cleverness to any one at all ? 
 [62]
 
 EARNEST 
 
 "If you do not see your way to do this I 
 shall have to take the matter more seriously 
 so seriously that you will find it desirable 
 to leave the house. 
 
 "Yours truly, 
 "M. DAYRELL-WING." 
 
 She put the letter into an envelope and addressed 
 it to Pfeiffer. Then she got into bed again and 
 tried to concentrate her attention upon her book. 
 
 At eight o'clock Celeste knocked at the door. 
 Mrs. Dayrell-Wing slipped out of bed and drew 
 back the bolt, calling: "Come in." Then, as 
 Celeste put the tea-tray by the bedside, she held out 
 the letter, saying: "Take this to Mr. Pfeiffer's 
 room, please. Knock, and give it him yourself, and 
 wait there for an answer. Don't send one of the 
 men you understand?" 
 
 "Oui, madame." 
 
 She heard Celeste knock on Pfeiffer's door once, 
 and then again more slowly. Then a sleepy voice 
 called out: 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 Celeste explained that there was a letter awaiting 
 reply, and after a moment Mrs. Dayrell-Wing 
 heard him go to the door. He closed it again, and 
 a long silence followed. A feeling of panic began 
 to take possession of her. What was he doing? 
 Why did he not give Celeste the jewel-case? What 
 could he be thinking about? Was it possible that 
 he meant to carry the joke further? It was mon- 
 strous. Her reputation ! 
 
 [63]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 She flushed up hotly, and her anger rose higher. 
 She would not suffer it; she would go at once to 
 Mr. Vawdrey and have Pfeiffer turned out of the 
 house. Not that that would help her with Arthur, 
 for nothing could do that. Whatever she said or 
 did, he would never believe that Pfeiffer had been 
 in her room uninvited. Joke or no joke, he would 
 suspect her, and he would quietly draw away 
 from her. 
 
 "And I do care for him," she cried, suddenly 
 bursting into tears. 
 
 Her vain little life, so gay until a few hours ago, 
 seemed on the point of ruin at the hands of a clumsy 
 jester trying to raise a laugh. It was cruel. 
 
 Unable to bear the suspense longer she opened 
 the door an inch and called softly : 
 
 "Celeste." 
 
 "Madame?" 
 
 "Where is the answer to my note?" 
 
 "Monsieur Pfeiffer told me to wait. I am wait- 
 ing, madame." 
 
 "Knock again and say you must have it at once. 
 And then come in to me." 
 
 She closed the door and listened. Should she 
 speak to Pfeiffer through the door which separated 
 their rooms? No, it would only compromise her 
 further. 
 
 In a moment she heard Pfeiffer respond to 
 Celeste's knocking, and immediately afterwards 
 Celeste brought her a letter. 
 
 [64]
 
 EARNEST 
 
 "Where is the necklace?" rose to her lips, but 
 she checked herself and tore open the envelope. 
 
 "DEAR MRS. DAYRELL-WING: 
 
 "If this is a return joke I am afraid it is I 
 who am dense. The last I saw of your 
 necklace was when you were wearing it last 
 night. If, as you seem to imply, it has dis- 
 appeared, I cannot imagine who has taken 
 it. Yours sincerely, 
 
 "W. P." 
 
 She glanced through the letter and threw it on 
 the table. For some time she stood looking out of 
 the window, her eyes full of wild anxiety. She did 
 not know whether to believe Pfeiffer or not. At 
 last she took up a pen and wrote : 
 
 "It has disappeared. Joking apart, and 
 on your honor, do you know anything about 
 it ? For heaven's sake tell me. Say yes or 
 no to Celeste. 
 
 "M. D.-W." 
 
 "Take this to Mr. Pfeiffer," she said, "and he 
 will give you a message for me. Come back at 
 once, and do not speak to any of the servants if 
 you see them." 
 
 Celeste, aflame with curiosity, left the room. 
 She returned almost immediately, saying : 
 "Monsieur says no." 
 
 Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's first feeling was one of 
 relief, for there was no longer question of her repu- 
 tation being damaged by Pfeiffer's thoughtlessness 
 
 [65]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 or malice. That would have been far more serious 
 than the loss of the necklace. It was certain now 
 that her diamonds had been stolen, but how it had 
 been done she could not imagine. She stood tap- 
 ping the table with her fingers, her forehead drawn 
 into lines of perplexity, until Celeste's curiosity 
 overcame her discretion. 
 
 "Madame is disturbed?" she asked, wondering 
 what could have passed between Pfeiffer and her 
 mistress. In the gossip of the servants' hall their 
 names had never been coupled ; and, indeed, it was 
 well known that he was aiming higher, and that 
 she was giving favorable consideration to Arthur 
 Drury. 
 
 Mrs. Dayrell-Wing turned and looked at her, 
 saying: "Celeste, my necklace has been stolen." 
 
 "Madame!" Celeste screamed, running to the 
 dressing-table and searching it hurriedly. 
 
 "Yes; I've looked there and everywhere. It's 
 gone." 
 
 "But madame was wearing it last night. There 
 has been no one here?" she asked in a tone of 
 doubtful inquiry. 
 
 "Of course there's been no one here," Mrs. 
 Dayrell-Wing answered sharply. 
 
 "But madame remembers putting it away after 
 the dancing?" 
 
 "Yes. I remember it perfectly. And when I 
 
 woke this morning and drew back the curtains it 
 
 was gone. I thought it must be another joke. The 
 
 note you took to Mr. Pfeiffer was to ask him if, 
 
 [66]
 
 EARNEST 
 
 by some means I can't think how they had 
 hidden it again, as they did yesterday. He says 
 he knows nothing about it." 
 
 "Then it is stolen ! Some one must have entered 
 madame's room?" 
 
 "I suppose so. But how did they get in? The 
 door was bolted." 
 
 "The window through the garden." 
 
 Celeste, in a whirl of agitation, rushed to the 
 window and looked out, as if she thought the bur- 
 glar might still be in sight. 
 
 "That one was shut. The other one was only 
 open a small piece at the top and the blinds were 
 down, so I don't see how any one could have got 
 in that way." 
 
 "Then ?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," Mrs. Dayrell-Wing cried 
 impatiently. "What's the use of asking questions 
 when I tell you I know nothing?" 
 
 "Pardon, madame, but 
 
 "Yes, yes. I must think what to do. If I let 
 you go can I trust you to say nothing downstairs?" 
 
 "Ye-es, madame," Celeste answered reluctantly. 
 
 "Then take care you don't. And come back and 
 dress me in half an hour." 
 
 Left alone, Mrs. Dayrell-Wing sat down on the 
 window-seat and went again over every point in 
 the story which she would have to tell. Satisfied 
 with that, she considered what she had better do. 
 She was not an exact thinker, and, naturally, she 
 had had no training in detective methods; so, 
 [67]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 being satisfied that Pfeiffer was not hoaxing her, 
 she made no serious attempt to guess how the neck- 
 lace could have disappeared. Instead, her atten- 
 tion was directed to the most tactful way of deal- 
 ing with an awkward situation; for it was the first 
 time she had stayed with the Vawdreys, and she 
 realized that it was anything but pleasant for them 
 that such a thing should happen to her while she 
 was in their house. 
 
 By the time Celeste returned her mind was made 
 up, and she had written a note to Mrs. Vawdrey, 
 asking her to come to her room as soon as possible. 
 Celeste delivered it, and brought back the answer' 
 that Mrs. Vawdrey would be with her in a quarter 
 of an hour. 
 
 [68]
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 T TNLIKE her husband, Mrs. Vawdrey had not 
 ^ succeeded in retaining her youthfulness be- 
 yond its normal period. It requires a masculine 
 force of character to do so without taking thought, 
 and a woman seldom remains young unless she 
 makes an effort, or, more generally, a perpetual 
 series of efforts. A man may be a boy at heart 
 when he is seventy; but a girl's heart ages with her 
 face, and it is rare to find a woman of fifty who is 
 young without preserving a youthful appearance. 
 
 Mrs. Vawdrey was the last woman in the world 
 to be attracted by hair-dye and uncomfortable 
 corsets, and having married Tom Vawdrey she 
 straightway declined upon an easy existence with 
 great good humor. Before she had reached forty 
 she was spoken of as motherly. Her hair was now 
 gray, and she wore it parted in the middle and 
 brushed smoothly over her large head. Her kindly 
 eyes looked out from a ruddy face, and she was 
 growing extremely stout. She usually dressed in 
 rich black or brown materials, relieved by priceless 
 Irish lace, of which she had a large collection. Her 
 skirts followed no change of fashion : they were 
 always short enough in front to show her feet in 
 broad kid shoes, and they always trailed on the 
 ground behind with a satisfactory noise of silk. 
 
 [69]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 Her dressmaker had been the favorite modiste of 
 Queen Victoria. 
 
 "I wonder what Mrs. Dayrell-Wing wants?" 
 she said to her husband. "She asks me to go to 
 her room at once." 
 
 "She's ill, I should think. Hope it's nothing 
 serious." 
 
 Mrs. Vawdrey hurriedly finished dressing and 
 went to Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's room. 
 
 "May I come in?" she called, knocking on the 
 door. 
 
 "Is that Mrs. Vawdrey? Oh, please do." 
 
 "I hope you're not ill," Mrs. Vawdrey said, as 
 she entered. 
 
 "No, not ill, thanks. But I'm in such dreadful 
 trouble, and I thought it better to ask you to come 
 here." 
 
 "Why, what is it?" Mrs. Vawdrey asked, as 
 near to alarm as her comfortable existence ever 
 allowed her to be. 
 
 "My necklace it's been stolen." 
 
 "Stolen? And how can that be? You were 
 wearing it last night." 
 
 "I know I was. And I put it away myself. I 
 woke about six and got up to draw the curtains, 
 and when I looked on the dressing-table it wasn't 
 there." 
 
 "But are you sure? No one could have got in 
 while you were here; you'd have heard them." 
 
 "Well, some one did. I was disturbed in the 
 night. I thought I heard a door closing, and then, 
 
 [70]
 
 EARNEST 
 
 when I listened, it was all quiet, so I went to sleep 
 again." 
 
 Mrs. Vawdrey looked anxious. It was most 
 disagreeable for people to lose things when they 
 were staying with you. She believed the servants 
 to be honest, but one could never be certain, espe- 
 cially when other people's servants were there as 
 well. 
 
 "I'm very sorry," she said. "It's really dreadful. 
 Do you suspect any one your maid?" 
 
 "No. I had sent her to bed and I undressed 
 myself." 
 
 "Well, I must tell my husband at once. He will 
 know what is best to be done. Will you wait here? 
 I will come back." 
 
 Mrs. Vawdrey hastened away. She was unac- 
 customed to emergencies, for Tom Vawdrey always 
 knew how to do the right thing at the right mo- 
 ment, and she always left it to him to do. 
 
 "Tom," she said, halting at the door of his 
 dressing-room, "a terrible thing has happened! 
 Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's necklace has been stolen." 
 
 Vawdrey stopped shaving and turned to her. 
 
 "Stolen? Nonsense! When?" 
 
 "After she took it off last night." 
 
 "But where was it? Doesn't she keep it in her 
 room ?" 
 
 "Yes, that's just it. She knows it was there 
 when she went to bed, and when she woke at six 
 it was gone." 
 
 "That's a pretty tall story."
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 He rubbed his chin reflectively and looked at 
 his wife. 
 
 "Well, dear, that's what she says. I think you'd 
 better come and talk to her." 
 
 "Yes, let's go together. I'm just ready." 
 
 He put away the razor and finished dressing. 
 Then he followed his wife to Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's 
 room. His idea was that some "fooling" lay at 
 the bottom of the matter, either a repetition of last 
 night's hoax or a retort to it. 
 
 "Probably," he thought, "she has hidden it and 
 will accuse Pfeiffer of carrying it off, in order to 
 get even with him. It's a wretched attempt at a 
 joke." 
 
 But when he saw the anxious expression of her 
 face, and her evidently genuine distress, he was 
 obliged to let this theory go. 
 
 "You say," he said, when he had listened to her 
 story, "that you know you put it away last night?" 
 
 "Yes, and it was gone this morning." 
 
 "Did you leave the room after you took it off?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "And the windows were they open ?" 
 
 "One was open at the top. And the blinds were 
 both down and the curtains drawn." 
 
 "Was your door bolted?" 
 
 "The outer door was. And I thought the inner 
 one was, but when I looked this morning I found it 
 wasn't. So, of course, I thought it was another of 
 Mr. Pfeiffer's jokes." 
 
 "It probably is." 
 
 [72]
 
 EARNEST 
 
 "No. I asked him." 
 
 "Well, /'// ask him." 
 
 He went into the passage and rapped on 
 Pfeiffer's door. 
 
 "May I come in? It's me Vawdrey." 
 
 "Oh, come in. Excuse my get-up; I'm just 
 shaving. What's Mrs. Dayrell-Wing up to with 
 her necklace? She's accused me of hiding it again/' 
 
 "Well, haven't you?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Honor bright no fooling?" 
 
 "Absolutely." 
 
 "Then it's beginning to look awkward. Some- 
 body's got it. The poor little lady's nearly off her 
 head." 
 
 "By Jove! Burglars?" 
 
 "Seems so. It's altogether mysterious. She says 
 her door was bolted and the window only open at 
 the top, but the door into this room is unbolted." 
 
 "It's bolted on this side," Pfeiffer said, looking 
 at it. 
 
 "But not on hers. For the moment it looks as 
 if the thief had come through your room. Were 
 you disturbed at all?" 
 
 "No. I slept right through until the maid 
 knocked me up this morning with her note." 
 
 "You're a pretty good sleeper, of course," Vaw- 
 drey said, with a brief smile. 
 
 "Yes, I daresay some one could have come in 
 without waking me. But how did he get in ? My 
 door was bolted." 
 
 [73]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "Was it? Sure?" 
 
 "Certain. I remember unfastening it to take in 
 the note." 
 
 "There's the window." 
 
 "Yes, that's a possibility with a ladder." 
 
 "H'm. Let's make sure no one's hiding here 
 now." 
 
 They searched the room thoroughly, but found 
 nothing; and, after a pause, Vawdrey returned to 
 Mrs. Dayrell-Wing. 
 
 "No. That's all right," he said. 
 
 He stood looking about him, wondering what 
 was the best course to pursue. His wife and Mrs. 
 Dayrell-Wing waited for his decision. He guessed 
 that in some material particular Mrs. Dayrell- 
 Wing's memory must be inaccurate : either she had 
 left her room after taking off the necklace or she 
 had not put it away. The latter possibility gave 
 him an idea. 
 
 "You must have dropped it last night when you 
 were dancing," he said with conviction. "We'll 
 have a search made downstairs." 
 
 "I don't think so," she answered doubtfully. "I 
 so clearly remember taking it off." 
 
 "Oh, memories often play tricks. I'm sure that's 
 it. Come along to breakfast and I'll tell Gibson 
 to hunt for it." 
 
 He held open the door, and Mrs. Dayrell-Wing, 
 somewhat comforted by his assurance, was going 
 out when Mrs. Vawdrey said: 
 
 "But the case ?" 
 
 [74]
 
 EARNEST 
 
 "Oh, by Jove !" Vawdrey exclaimed. His 
 wife's question broke his pleasant theory in pieces. 
 
 "Yes, you weren't wearing the case, were you!" 
 he added. 
 
 "No, and I know I put it in when I undressed," 
 Mrs. Dayrell-Wing cried, turning back again. Her 
 anxiety returned upon her all the more heavily for 
 the brief respite. 
 
 "That cock won't fight, then," Vawdrey said. 
 " 'Pon my soul, it's a puzzler, isn't it?" 
 
 "We must send for the police," Mrs. Vawdrey 
 said, ready to accept the inevitable without further 
 effort. 
 
 "I suppose we must. Though I can't help think- 
 ing it will turn up." 
 
 "But how can it?" Mrs. Dayrell-Wing de- 
 manded, growing exasperated at his slowness. 
 "The police ought to come at once; every moment 
 is important." 
 
 "Yes, you're quite right," Vawdrey at length 
 agreed, not seeing what else could be done. "But 
 the village constable's no use. I'll send the motor, 
 and telegraph to Edinburgh for a detective. He'll 
 be here by lunch-time." 
 
 "I'm so sorry to be such a trouble; but it is 
 urgent, isn't it?" 
 
 "Of course it is. All I wanted was to make sure 
 that it really had been stolen. Now, with your 
 permission, I'll just search this room thoroughly 
 and lock it up. I'll lock up Pfeiffer's, too, so that 
 the servants sha'n't come in and destroy any pos- 
 
 [75]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 sible traces. Can you manage without coming in 
 here again during the morning?" 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 "You take Mrs. Dayrell-Wing down to break- 
 fast, my dear," he said to his wife. "I'll make 
 arrangements." 
 
 The two ladies went downstairs. Vawdrey went 
 to Pfeiffer's room, and, finding him gone, locked 
 the door and took away the key. Then he went 
 back to Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's room and searched 
 it. When he had finished he rang the bell. One of 
 the housemaids came, and he sent her to fetch Gib- 
 son, who presently appeared, walking with the 
 leisured dignity of an archbishop. He had heard 
 that a burglary had taken place, for Mademoiselle 
 Celeste was more voluble than discreet; but he was 
 neither excited nor hurried by the news. 
 
 "Oh, look here, Gibson," Vawdrey said. "I 
 suppose you've heard what's happened?" 
 
 "I did hear, sir," Gibson answered, with a proper 
 disinclination to admit the knowledge of facts 
 which had not been officially communicated to him. 
 "Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's maid is taken 'ysterical, sir, 
 being foreign." 
 
 "Yes, and the necklace is taken hysterical, too. 
 I'm blessed if I know what to make of it." 
 
 "No, sir. Mysterious, it looks like." 
 
 "Anyhow, I'm sending for a detective, and I'm 
 locking up these two rooms till he comes. Just sit 
 here in the passage and see that no one tries to get 
 in. Mind, I don't suspect any one in the house for 
 
 [76]
 
 EARNEST 
 
 a moment; but I want to make sure that the rooms 
 remain untouched." 
 
 "Very good, sir." 
 
 Vawdrey went to his study to write a telegram, 
 and then to the stables to find the chauffeur and 
 send him off at once. On his way out he met 
 Arthur Drury, coming down late for breakfast. 
 
 "Morning, Arthur," he said. 
 
 "Good morning. You've finished breakfast very 
 early." 
 
 "I haven't had any yet, worse luck. You've not 
 heard the news?" 
 
 "No. What news?" 
 
 "It's pretty serious. Mrs. Dayrell- Wing's neck- 
 lace has been stolen." 
 
 "Good heavens!" Drury cried, turning white. 
 "Stolen? \Vhen?" 
 
 "Last night." 
 
 Drury stammered and seemed scarcely able to 
 speak. 
 
 "B-but " 
 
 Then he added quickly : "You know my firm has 
 insured it. It'll be an awful facer." 
 
 "But you said the risk was spread about; it 
 doesn't all fall on you?" 
 
 "No, but they'll be wild. They didn't much 
 want to take it on only I pressed it. Look here, I 
 must wire to London at once; it's serious." 
 
 "All right. The car's going in two minutes. 
 I'm sending for a detective from Edinburgh. Run 
 into my study and write your message." 
 
 [77]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "I think I'll go down and wire from the tele- 
 graph office. Then I shall get an answer quicker. 
 Just let me get a coat." 
 
 "Oh, don't do that. You'd better have break- 
 fast. The chauffeur can wait and bring the 
 answer." 
 
 "No, no. I couldn't eat anything." 
 
 He rushed off to fetch his coat and rejoined 
 Vawdrey in the stable-yard. In a few moments the 
 car had started and was running on top speed 
 through the park on its way to Stilkirk, eight miles 
 away. Vawdrey had instructed the chauffeur to 
 wait at the telegraph office for a reply. Then he 
 was to go on to Montrose to meet the express from 
 Edinburgh and bring back the detective. 
 
 Both in the dining-room and in the servants' 
 hall breakfast was more than usually interrupted 
 by eager conversation, and Mrs. Dayrell-Wing, 
 like Mademoiselle Celeste, was "taken hysterical." 
 The loss of the necklace did not weigh too heavily 
 on her mind, for that was to fall on other people, 
 of whom, unfortunately, Arthur Drury was one. 
 But the thought of a burglar in her room, and of 
 what her fate might have been if she had awakened 
 and cried out, unnerved her completely. The dan- 
 ger from which she had escaped loomed terrifically 
 large, and the conversation round the table mag- 
 nified it and brought it more vividly before her. 
 
 "He'd have sandbagged you," Sir Charles said 
 with conviction. "They always do." 
 
 [78]
 
 EARNEST 
 
 The picture brought tears of abject fright to 
 her eyes. 
 
 "Well, anyway you didn't wake," Hilda Carew 
 said, attempting to encourage her. 
 
 "No; I wish I had for some things," Mrs. 
 Dayrell-Ring moaned. "Then I should at least 
 know who the thief was." 
 
 "It really is too horrible," Ethel cried. "I shall 
 be frightened to death at sleeping alone here now. 
 I suppose it isn't a joke, Mr. Pfeiffer?" she added, 
 turning to him. 
 
 "Upon my soul, no," Pfeiffer answered earnestly. 
 "I knew absolutely nothing about it till I heard 
 this morning." 
 
 Neither Pfeiffer nor Leslie Fraser had taken 
 much part in the conversation. They seemed to 
 feel that, in a measure, they might be thought re- 
 sponsible for what had happened, inasmuch as the 
 joke of the previous evening had possibly suggested 
 the idea of the robbery. Evidently, it had been 
 committed by some one familiar with the house, 
 and the opinion was general that, whoever the thief 
 was, one of the servants had had a hand in it. 
 Mrs. Vawdrey frankly declared for the second 
 footman, on no stronger grounds than because he 
 had a shifty eye. Lady Benyon, on the contrary, 
 thought it must be Celeste, because she had once 
 had a French maid who stole a brooch. 
 
 Breakfast was drawing to a close when the sus- 
 pected footman brought a message from Gibson 
 that he wished to speak to Mr. Vawdrey. 
 
 [79]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "Has he found anything?" Vawdrey asked. 
 
 He ran out of the room, and the others streamed 
 after him up the stairs. Gibson was standing by 
 the door of Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's room. 
 
 "I found this just here, under the mat, sir," he 
 said, holding out the small flat jewel-case in which 
 the necklace was kept. 
 
 It was empty. 
 
 [80]
 
 BOOK III 
 WHAT JAMES McVlTIE DISCOVERED
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 r I A HE car returned to Gains about two o'clock, 
 *- bringing the detective and his assistant, who 
 had caught the morning train from Edinburgh. 
 Arthur Drury was not with them. He had sent a 
 note by the chauffeur, saying that he had got 
 through to London on the telephone, and had de- 
 cided to go up by the afternoon express to consult 
 with his firm. 
 
 The detective, James McVitie, was an able man 
 of the official type, with a great experience of 
 criminal investigation. His appearance gave no 
 indication either of his profession or of his standing 
 in it, for he was utterly unlike the keen-eyed, 
 hatchet-faced men who, in fiction, are called in to 
 unravel a mystery. He was tall and thin, and had 
 red hair, and a moustache flecked with gray. His 
 complexion was leathery and of a uniform brownish 
 color, and the skin hung in loose folds over the 
 high cheek-bones and the strongly moulded jaw. 
 His pale blue eyes were rather narrow and almost 
 devoid of lashes. They lacked expression, and, 
 either from practice or naturally, they seldom re- 
 flected the thoughts which were passing in his mind. 
 He spoke slowly, with a slight Scotch accent, and 
 he was as economical with words as the proverbial 
 Scotchman is with money. He seemed to grudge 
 each one as it fell from his lips. He was dressed 
 
 [83]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 in a suit of dark tweed, a good deal worn, with a 
 black overcoat and square-shaped felt hat. In a 
 town he would have passed for a merchant in a 
 small way of business; in the country one might 
 have guessed him to be a tax collector or a traveler 
 for a small brewery. 
 
 On arriving at Gains he was shown into the 
 study; and Vawdrey, who had just sat down to 
 lunch, went in to see him. 
 /'Good morning," he said. "You are Mr. ?" 
 
 "McVitie." 
 
 "Ah! We've got a tiresome business here for 
 you to clear up.". 
 
 "A robbery." 
 
 "Yes. I'll tell you about it. But, first of all, 
 hadn't you better have lunch? Will you join us 
 or do you prefer to be alone?" 
 
 "I'll take it with my assistant, thank you." 
 
 "Then I'll tell the butler to bring you some in 
 here, and I'll rejoin you as soon as we've finished." 
 
 McVitie made no reply, and Vawdrey went back 
 to the dining-room, where he was assailed by eager 
 questions about the great detective. 
 
 "No," he answered, "he doesn't look like Sher- 
 lock Holmes, or Lecoq, or any of them. He's just 
 an uncommonly ugly Scotchman of the commercial 
 type the sort you see on Glasgow Central plat- 
 form in thousands." 
 
 "He doesn't sound very clever," Lady Benyon 
 said. 
 
 "Oh, detectives never are, except in France. In 
 [84]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 this country we have no use for the romantic per- 
 son who invents the theory to fit the crime; he'd be 
 upsetting no end of first-class reputations." 
 
 Fraser smiled, saying: 
 
 "Stevenson has something like that in one of his 
 books. You set a stone rolling from the top of a 
 hill and it knocks over some old bird who is quietly 
 sitting in his back-garden." 
 
 "I wish I knew the old bird who had got my 
 necklace," Mrs. Dayrell-Wing said energetically. 
 "I'd knock him over, even if he was a clergyman." 
 
 "It couldn't be a clergyman," Pfeiffer answered, 
 with a flicker of reviving merriment. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Well, a necklace like that is no use unless you 
 wear a low frock. It wouldn't look at all well on a 
 cassock." 
 
 "How silly you are," she said pettishly. 
 
 As soon as luncheon was over Vawdrey went 
 back to the study. 
 
 "Now, Mr. McVitie," he said, "if you are ready 
 let's get to work. Shall I tell you as much as I 
 know or will you see Mrs. Dayrell-Wing at once?" 
 
 "You can tell me what you know," McVitie an- 
 swered with cool indifference, as he signed to his 
 clerk to take notes. 
 
 Vawdrey gave him the outlines of the story, and 
 ended by mentioning how the empty box had been 
 found by Gibson outside Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's 
 door. McVitie sat for some minutes without 
 speaking. At last he said: 
 
 [85]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "You say her door into the passage was bolted, 
 but the door into the next room was unbolted on 
 her side?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Who sleeps in the next room?" 
 
 "Mr. Pfeiffer." 
 
 "Have the rooms been disturbed since the dis- 
 covery?" 
 
 "No; I locked them both up. Here's the key." 
 
 McVitie nodded his approval. After a further 
 pause he said: 
 
 "You will kindly give me the names of every 
 one who slept in the house last night." 
 
 "There was myself and my wife and daughter, 
 Sir Charles and Lady Benyon " 
 
 "Of Anchinsale?" 
 
 "Yes. MissCarew " 
 
 "Who is she?" 
 
 "She's the daughter of Armand Carew. They're 
 colonial merchants in a large way of business in 
 London." 
 
 "Yes. Go on, please." 
 
 "Then Mr. Leslie Eraser. I bought this place 
 from him a few months ago. I don't think he has 
 lived here for some years." 
 
 "No. It's been let mostly for the shooting. 
 He's known by reputation." 
 
 "And Mr. Pfeiffer." 
 
 "German?" 
 
 "Naturalized." 
 
 "What is his business?" 
 [86]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 "He's on the Stock Exchange." 
 
 "Do you know anything of his means?" 
 
 "Oh, he seems to spend about the same as every 
 one else." 
 
 "Unmarried?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You have known him long intimately?" 
 
 "Fairly so. He often dines with us in London 
 and one meets him about." 
 
 "Just a man about town?" 
 
 "Yes; but a very good sort," Vawdrey said. 
 Then he added: 
 
 "Aren't we wasting time rather?" 
 
 "I want to know whom I'm meeting," McVitie 
 answered curtly. 
 
 Vawdrey was nettled by his tone, but he was too 
 much a man of business to show it. From what he 
 had seen of him he did not take to McVitie, and 
 was not much impressed by his capability. He 
 struck him as being rather stupid and rather rude. 
 He did not inspire confidence or give the idea that 
 the frequent pauses in his conversation arose from 
 anything more than slowness of comprehension. 
 
 "Is there any one else?" McVitie asked. 
 
 "One other, Mr. Arthur Drury. He, as well as 
 Mrs. Dayrell-Wing, is directly interested in the 
 matter. He is an underwriter at Lloyds, and his 
 firm have insured the necklace." 
 
 "For its full value?" 
 
 "I believe so twenty thousand pounds." 
 
 "And the lady what do you know of her?" 
 
 [87]
 
 "Oh er she lives in London. She's an Aus- 
 tralian, and came to England after her husband 
 died." 
 
 "How long ago?" 
 
 "I don't know exactly. I suppose we've known 
 her for a couple of years." 
 
 "She's quite alone here no relations?" 
 
 "I never heard of any." 
 
 "Do you know anything of her means?" 
 
 "Nothing whatever. Like every one else, I 
 should say she spent a great deal of money." 
 
 "Thank you. We will go through the servants 
 next." 
 
 "I'd better get my wife to help me there." 
 
 Mrs. Vawdrey came in presently, and McVitie 
 took the names of the household staff, with notes of 
 their length of service and general character. She 
 disclosed to him her supicions of the second foot- 
 man, but he seemed as little interested in them as in 
 the unblemished record of Gibson and the house- 
 keeper. He listened always with an air of cold 
 disbelief, as if he suspected everybody of lying, or, 
 at the best, of having nothing to say which was 
 worth attention. 
 
 When he had made a list of the indoor servants 
 he went on to the garden and stable staff ; and as 
 soon as this had been completed he said abruptly : 
 
 "I'll see the lady now. We might go up to her 
 
 room." 
 
 [88]
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 TVTRS. VAWDREY went to find Mrs. Dayrell- 
 IV 1 Wing. When she came McVitie bowed awk- 
 wardly, looking her up and down with a perfectly 
 expressionless stare. 
 
 "We'll go upstairs, ma'am, if you please," he 
 said. 
 
 Vawdrey led the way and unlocked the door. 
 Gibson was still sitting in the passage. Mrs. 
 Dayrell-Wing entered the room first, followed by 
 McVitie, his assistant, and Vawdrey. McVitie 
 glanced around the room. Mrs. Dayrell-Wing, 
 high-strung and bubbling with the desire to tell her 
 story, began to speak to him, but he cut her short 
 with a terse: "Wait, please." He walked to the 
 windows and looked out; then he opened the ward- 
 robe as if, she afterward declared, he expected to 
 find the thief still hiding there. Then he lifted the 
 curtain which covered the door communicating with 
 Pfeiffer's room, dropped it, and turned to the dress- 
 ing-table. 
 
 "What's that?" he asked, pointing to the larger 
 case, in which she kept her miscellaneous jewelry. 
 
 "That's my jewel-case. The necklace, you know, 
 I kept in a separate one." 
 
 "The one I showed you downstairs," Vawdrey 
 put in. 
 
 "Where was that put?" 
 
 [89]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "Here," she said, laying her hand on the top 
 shelf beside the glass. 
 
 "Was it always put there? Could any one who 
 knew rely on finding it there?" 
 
 "It was always there. I've only been in the 
 house a week." 
 
 "When you came, did you tell your maid to put 
 it there?" 
 
 "I don't know that I told her. She put it there 
 when she unpacked, I suppose." 
 
 "Why didn't you lock it up and keep the key?" 
 
 "I never carry keys; they're so inconvenient. 
 At home my maid keeps the key of the jewel-safe." 
 
 He did not reply, and she added : 
 
 "I daresay you think that's very silly. But you 
 must trust some one when your dressmaker refuses 
 to let you have a pocket." 
 
 A faint sarcastic smile flickered across McVitie's 
 leathery face; but he said nothing, and the pause 
 lengthened. 
 
 Presently he began to question her again. 
 
 "You wore the necklace last night?" 
 
 "Yes. And when I came up to bed I remember 
 taking it off and putting it in its case. My maid 
 had a headache, and " 
 
 "Wait, please," McVitie interrupted, cutting her 
 short again. 
 
 She turned to Vawdrey with a gesture of annoy- 
 ance. She thought McVitie the most tiresome man 
 she had ever met. 
 
 "Do you remember putting the case on the 
 shelf?" he asked.
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 "Of course I do. Where else should I put it?" 
 
 "You might have put it on the table or in a 
 drawer." 
 
 "Well, I didn't," she snapped. 
 
 "After putting it there you went to bed at once?" 
 
 "Not at once. I sat by the fire for some time." 
 
 "But you did not leave the room?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You are sure you did not leave the room?" 
 
 "Positive." 
 
 "And you got up early this morning and opened 
 the blinds? And then you noticed it had gone?" 
 
 "Yes. I couldn't sleep, and I meant to read a 
 book until I was called. I had drawn back the 
 curtains, and as I turned round I saw it had gone. 
 I searched everywhere for it " 
 
 "Then you weren't quite certain you had put it 
 on the shelf," McVitie interrupted. 
 
 "Yes, I was. But I might have been mistaken." 
 
 "Ah! We will search again later." 
 
 "It's no use doing that. You won't find it here." 
 
 McVitie now went to the door, where he spent 
 some minutes in examining the lock. 
 
 "Your door was bolted?" he asked, when he had 
 finished. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Was that unusual?" 
 
 "No; I always bolt it." 
 
 "You had no special reason in your mind last 
 night to make you bolt it?" 
 
 "No. Why should I?" 
 
 "You are quite sure you bolted it last night?"
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "Quite. I remember looking; and, besides, I 
 had to get up and go to the door when my maid 
 called me." 
 
 "Were the windows open?" 
 
 "One was open at the top; the other was shut." 
 
 McVitie went to each window in turn and lifted 
 the lower sash as gently as he was able. Like most 
 Georgian windows, they were heavy and close- 
 fitting, and it was impossible to open them without 
 a good deal of noise. 
 
 "Would you have heard that if you had been 
 asleep?" 
 
 "Certainly I should. I sleep very lightly in 
 fact, I often have difficulty in sleeping at all." 
 
 "Do you ever take anything for it?" 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Any medicine?" 
 
 Mrs. Dayrell-Wing was furious. 
 
 "If you're asking me whether I take drugs I can 
 tell you I don't !" she cried energetically. 
 
 "A good many do," he answered, with unruffled 
 composure. 
 
 Vawdrey frowned. Like Mrs. Dayrell-Wing, he 
 thought McVitie remarkably wanting in manners. 
 It was not what he said which offended them, for 
 they knew it was his business to ask questions; it 
 was his disregard of all those polite forms of cir- 
 cumlocution which civilized people use as a matter 
 of habit. 
 
 McVitie turned toward the door which led into 
 Pfeiffer's room. Evidently, it was not intended to 
 
 [92]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 be used, for the curtain in front of it was not slung 
 upon rings, but was held up by a light pole passed 
 through the hem at the top. There was a space 
 about nine inches deep between the curtain and the 
 door, which opened outward from Mrs. Dayrell- 
 Wing's room, the hinges being on the side farthest 
 from the windows. 
 
 He took a tape measure from his pocket and 
 gave his assistant some notes. The dressing-table 
 being set at an angle from the window, the shelf 
 where the necklace was kept was within three feet 
 of the curtain. 
 
 "Has the table been moved?" he asked. 
 
 "No." 
 
 He lifted the curtain and looked behind it. 
 
 "Are you nervous at night?" he asked. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You don't generally look round the room be- 
 fore going to bed?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then, if any one had been behind this curtain 
 when you came up last night you would not have 
 found it out ?" 
 
 "No. I remember looking the first night I was 
 here to see if the door was bolted." 
 
 "Was it?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "It isn't now." 
 
 "I know it isn't. I discovered that this 
 morning." 
 
 "Have you at any time unbolted it?" 
 [93]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "No. Why should I?" 
 
 "You might have wished to go into the next 
 room." 
 
 Mrs. Dayrell-Wing colored up hotly, and was 
 about to speak when Vawdrey interposed, saying: 
 
 "You forget, Mr. McVitie, the room was not 
 empty. Mr. Pfeiffer had it." 
 
 McVitie nodded, but made no remark. He was 
 perfectly aware that Pfeiffer had it. 
 
 Signing to his assistant to hold back the curtain 
 he took out a magnifying glass, and carefully ex- 
 amined the bolt and the woodwork round it. The 
 paint was fresh and there were no marks upon it. 
 The bolt was a new one a small brass bolt, care- 
 fully fixed, and running easily in its channel. 
 Originally, the door seemed to have had a mortice 
 lock, with a handle and keyhole on each side; but 
 this had been removed and the holes had been 
 plugged. The work did not look recent, but, 
 owing to the paint, it was impossible to tell how 
 long ago it had been done. His glass travelled 
 down the sides of the opening, and, very slowly, 
 across the floor. 
 
 "A candle, please," he said. 
 
 He took it out of the candlestick and held it 
 close to the floor, crouching down and peering 
 through his glass at every inch of surface. At last 
 he seemed satisfied and rose from his knees, saying: 
 
 "I should like to see the woman who cleans the 
 room."
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 The order was given, and when the maid came 
 he asked her without preface : 
 
 "How often do you sweep behind this curtain?" 
 
 "I don't know, sir," she stammered, looking 
 frightened. 
 
 "Have you ever swept behind it?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, sir." 
 
 "Did you do it yesterday?" 
 
 "I don't rightly remember, sir." 
 
 "Come, don't you remember lifting the curtain 
 and passing your brush round?" 
 
 "Oh, I do remember it, sir; but I can't say posi- 
 tive as it was yesterday or the day before. Mrs. 
 Pannell's very particular about the rooms being 
 kep' clean, but there isn't no dust here to speak 
 of not like it is in London." 
 
 McVitie bore with her, though the expression 
 on his face indicated a desire to box her ears. 
 
 "When you are cleaning the room," he began 
 again, "do you ever open this door, so as to go 
 through from one room to the other?" 
 
 "No, never, sir. That I'm positive of." 
 
 "That'll do, then." 
 
 The girl withdrew, and McVitie, turning to 
 Vawdrey, said: 
 
 "I'll not trouble you further just now. I'm busy 
 here for a time. Later I'll see Mr. Pfeiffer." 
 
 "Very well. Let me know when you want him. 
 Shall we go down, Mrs. Dayrell-Wing? I expect 
 you'd like a cup of tea ; it's past four." 
 
 [95]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 When they had gone McVitie closed the door 
 behind them and turned to Shaw, his assistant. 
 
 "We needn't waste time here," he said. "It's 
 through that door." 
 
 "Have you found anything?" Shaw asked. 
 
 "Yes. Come here and take these measurements 
 down." 
 
 He hitched the curtain over a chair and set the 
 lighted candle on the floor again. Kneeling down, 
 he began to measure carefully with his tape, call- 
 ing off the results. Shaw looked rather puzzled 
 as he entered them in his note-book. 
 
 "What is it, Mr. McVitie?" he asked, when he 
 had taken the last one. 
 
 "Stoop down beside me and you'll see." 
 
 There was a faint coating of dust on the polished 
 floor behind the curtain, the accumulation of a day 
 or two. It had been disturbed, and there were 
 irregular, confused marks upon it. Toward the 
 left side of the opening, some six inches from the 
 face of the door, and nearly parallel with it, was 
 the impress, blurred but unmistakable, of a naked 
 foot. 
 
 [96]
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 TV/TcVITIE and Shaw now went into Pfeiffer's 
 
 * room. This was smaller than Mrs. Dayrell- 
 Wing's, being deeper than its width, and there was 
 only one window. The door was at the left-hand 
 corner of the back wall; a washing-stand was 
 next to it, and beyond was the bed with its head 
 toward the window. The fireplace was in the 
 middle of the partition wall between the two 
 rooms; on one side of it was a chest of drawers, 
 and on the other a wardrobe, to the right of which 
 was the door leading into Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's 
 room. A curtain-rod was fixed over the door, but 
 there was no curtain. 
 
 This door at once engaged McVitie's attention. 
 He examined it carefully with his glass, but he 
 found no trace of finger-marks. It was flush with 
 the wall, and the floor in front of it, not being 
 concealed by a curtain, had evidently been swept 
 recently. 
 
 "Nothing there," he said. 
 
 Shaw, who was his confidential assistant, and 
 had worked with him in several difficult cases, was 
 in close touch with his thoughts, and was in the 
 habit of discussing with him the problems which 
 they had to solve. 
 
 "What do you make of it, Mr. McVitie?" he 
 asked. 
 
 [97]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "The thief came through this room," McVitie 
 answered in his slow, colorless drawl. "He may 
 have hid behind the curtain before the lady went 
 to bed; but he must have got off this way, because 
 her door into the passage was found bolted inside 
 this morning." 
 
 "One of the servants was in it, I suppose." 
 
 "Certain. I'm thinking one of the servants took 
 it. I doubt if there was any outside expert work- 
 ing here." 
 
 "But isn't it too big a job for a servant? It 
 wouldn't be easy to pass off a necklace like that." 
 
 "We can assume there's a crook outside waiting 
 for it. But the actual theft seems to have been 
 done from inside." 
 
 "What makes you say that? It'd be easy 
 enough for any one to get away once he was out 
 of the room." 
 
 "True. But you're overlooking an important 
 point. We've proved that the man who took it 
 had no shoes or stockings on. You can see the toe- 
 mark plain. Now, an outsider would take his 
 shoes off, but why should he take his stockings off ?" 
 
 "Why should an insider?" 
 
 "I'd not expect it of him, I grant; but this man 
 did. He'd have partly undressed before coming 
 here, and in case of alarm he'd want to be back in 
 bed as quick as he could." 
 
 Shaw still looked unconvinced, and after a 
 minute's reflection he said: 
 
 "Isn't it a rather thin point, Mr. McVitie?" 
 [98]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 "It's a thin point," McVitie agreed, somewhat 
 reluctantly. "But it'll stand till we get something 
 against it." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "If it was an expert, as you think, he'd not 
 linger about the house, and he'd be likely to have 
 an open window or door behind him. Go down 
 and talk to the servants, and see if anything was 
 amiss this morning. If I'm right it'll do no harm 
 to let them think we're on a false track." 
 
 "Shall I go now?" 
 
 "Yes, and come back when you're finished. And 
 if any one tells you a window was found open, we'll 
 see him later; the right man won't speak the 
 truth." 
 
 Left alone, McVitie sat down to think over the 
 whole matter and to marshal the possibilities which 
 he had to examine. Although he was too shrewd 
 to prejudge a case on insufficient data, and always 
 kept his mind wide open to receive the faintest 
 impressions, he could not resist shaping a theory. 
 His experience of jewel robberies had taught him 
 that, almost invariably, a servant was implicated 
 either indirectly, by gossiping of what there was to 
 be got; or directly, by giving information about 
 the habits of the owners and providing a way of 
 entrance and escape. 
 
 In this case the bolt on one side of the door be- 
 tween the two rooms had been undone beforehand, 
 which was strongly suggestive of a servant's com- 
 plicity. Later, during the night, the thief had got 
 
 [99]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 In through Pfeiffer's room; or, at all events, sup- 
 posing that he had been concealed between the 
 curtain and the door, he had got out that way. 
 
 So far, McVitie conceded, there was nothing to 
 show whether the actual thief was a servant or an 
 expert. Shaw's argument that the game was too 
 big for a servant was good; but, against this, there 
 was the print of the naked foot. That did point 
 to some one in the house. He got up and opened 
 the door to look again at the footmark. Though 
 blurred, it was definite enough to show that it had 
 been made by a rather long, narrow foot. It sug- 
 gested a man who was accustomed to wear neat 
 boots. But after all, he reflected, it was not a 
 clue upon which one could build much at the mo- 
 ment, and he turned again to the question of the 
 thief's movements. 
 
 Undoubtedly, he passed through Pfeiffer's room, 
 and his choice of exit lay between the door and the 
 window. McVitie sat down on the window-seat 
 and leant out. There was no ivy or creeper on the 
 house and no water pipe within reach. The wall 
 was of smooth stone, without foothold enough for 
 a monkey. Beneath was a broad terrace, newly 
 graveled. The heavy rain had prevented it from 
 setting firmly, and even from that height a number 
 of footmarks could be seen upon it. 
 
 "If he went this way," McVitie said, "he must 
 have had a ladder, and the gravel will show that. 
 It's an easier way than through the house and a 
 favorite one with jewel thieves."
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 Shaw now returned and said: 
 
 "I've seen all the servants. The butler goes 
 round the house the last thing, and everything was 
 in order last night. The kitchen-maid and the 
 under-footman open the house in the morning, and 
 they say they found nothing unusual to-day. I 
 asked them if they would have noticed a window 
 open, and they declared they certainly would. 
 They are positive there was nothing of the kind." 
 
 McVitie nodded. 
 
 "It looks as if you are right, Mr. McVitie, un- 
 less " Shaw added, glancing at the window. 
 
 "I've thought of that. See, there's soft grave/ 
 below. Go down and try for a trace on it. There 
 must have been a ladder; there's no foothold on 
 the wall." 
 
 Shaw left the room, and a minute later he ap- 
 peared on the terrace. 
 
 "Walk close under the wall," McVitie said, 
 leaning out. 
 
 Shaw went down on his hands and knees and 
 studied the ground carefully. Presently he raised 
 his head, saying in a low voice: 
 
 "There are no footmarks just here under the 
 window and no ladder has been pitched." 
 
 "Then he didn't go by the window." 
 
 "Shall I come up?" 
 
 "No. Walk around the back premises and see 
 what ladders there are. Better make sure." 
 
 They had got, then, McVitie reflected, to this. 
 The thief had bare feet and he made his exit 
 [101]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 through Pfeiffer's room into the passage. If he 
 lived in the house, his course was plain enough- 
 he went back to bed, and during the morning he 
 had had ample time to hide the necklace, or 
 more probably to pass it to an accomplice outside. 
 
 McVitie had at first been inclined to favor this 
 theory, but further consideration made him hesi- 
 tate. The footprint in the dust was too large for 
 a woman's, and there were only three male servants 
 sleeping on the premises. Gibson, the butler, was 
 an elderly man, and had a long record; and neither 
 of the footmen were newcomers. A thief in a 
 way of business large enough to take a necklace 
 of such value would not go into service for two 
 or three years on the chance of getting it; and be- 
 sides, the necklace did not belong to one of the 
 family, so the object was altogether too remote. 
 
 Then as to the other inmates. Of course, it was 
 always possible that a guest might be a sharper in 
 disguise, but here they seemed genuine enough. 
 Eraser, the Benyons, and Miss Carew were all 
 known to him by repute. Drury was a man in a 
 good business position in London. And Pfeiffer 
 was the usual type of harmless town loafer and 
 had been intimate with the Vawdreys for a long 
 time. For the moment, all of them might be dis- 
 regarded, though he would, of course, have them 
 looked up later. 
 
 After reviewing all the circumstances of the 
 case, McVitie now swung over to the belief that 
 an expert hand had done the business. Most prob- 
 
 [102]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 ably, the necklace had been watched for some time, 
 and this Scotch visit had been chosen as a good 
 opportunity for getting it. A little love-making 
 with one of the maids would prepare the way, a 
 little persuasion brought to bear on a foolish, not 
 over-scrupulous girl, and the thing was as good as 
 done. 
 
 The closer consideration of this theory brought 
 certain points into notice. The thief was well 
 posted as to the house. He knew that there was a 
 door between the two rooms, and he knew that the 
 necklace was kept, apart from the other less val- 
 uable jewelry, on a shelf of the dressing-table. It 
 might also be inferred that he knew that Mrs. 
 Dayrell-Wing was a light sleeper; for, otherwise, 
 what reason would be have had for escaping 
 through Pfeiffer's room rather than through hers? 
 In all probability, he concealed himself between the 
 door and the curtain during the evening, for he 
 would scarcely risk two journeys across Pfeiffer's 
 room. The maid had tucked him in and unbolted 
 the door on Pfeiffer's side while the guests were at 
 dinner, or perhaps a little later. 
 
 The evidence of the kitchen-maid that no door 
 or window had been found open in the morning 
 went for nothing. Either she was the one im- 
 plicated or, more probably, the thief had been let 
 out and the window closed behind him. 
 
 McVitie found that this theory bore the test of 
 examination fairly well, so far as his present in- 
 formation went. Moreover, it agreed with the 
 [103]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 idea that the theft had been planned some time in 
 advance, and carried out, as all such big thefts are, 
 with simplicity and precision. If, as he suspected, 
 the accomplice among the servants was Mrs. Day- 
 rell-Wing's maid, the plot might have been hatch- 
 ing for months. 
 
 On the assumption that it was the work of a 
 first-class jewel thief, immediate action was neces- 
 sary outside the house. In such a thinly populated 
 neighborhood a stranger would be noticed, and a 
 thorough inquiry must be made. He would send 
 Shaw out at once. With a haul of this size they 
 would hardly risk a railway station; there ought 
 to be news of a big motor-car seen, or heard, in 
 the early hours of the morning. 
 
 McVitie's thoughts were interrupted by Shaw's 
 return. 
 
 "There's a short ladder in the stable," he said, 
 "and three more in an outhouse. I've looked at 
 them all. There's no trace of gravel on the ends, 
 which are quite dry; they can't have been used 
 out of doors for several days. The outhouse and 
 the stable are always locked up at night." 
 
 "Good. That settles it that the man escaped 
 through the house with the connivance of a servant. 
 And adding one thing to another, I think we'll find 
 he's shown a clean pair of heels. I've come to 
 think we're up against a professional." 
 
 "Have you found anything fresh?" Shaw asked 
 eagerly. 
 
 "No; just thinking. You've got to act promptly, 
 [104]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 while I stay here. Go round the village, see the 
 constable and any one else handy, and pick up trace 
 of a stranger. I'll be surprised if you don't hear 
 of a fast-looking car." 
 
 "Very good." 
 
 "Ask the chauffeur to give you a ride in the 
 motor; and if you get nothing in the village go 
 on down the road for a few miles. You can report 
 to me here; or, in your discretion, get through on 
 the wire to Edinburgh that is, if you get a de- 
 scription of a car." 
 
 "Very good." 
 
 "And as you go out tell Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's 
 maid I want to see her up here." 
 
 [105]
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 IN a few minutes Mademoiselle Celeste knocked 
 at the door and came in. Although no longer 
 hysterical, she was excited, and her big brown eyes 
 gave promise of ready tears. A more pliant man 
 than James McVitie might have prefaced his in- 
 quiries with some expression of sympathy, or even 
 with a warmer tribute to her undeniable attractive- 
 ness, but his dry lips had never whispered soft 
 words in a pretty ear and he had no intention of 
 beginning now. To his annoyance, moreover, he 
 found himself hampered by the fact that Celeste's 
 English was about on a par with his own French, 
 though infinitely more pleasant in sound; and after 
 a futile effort to understand her, he rang the bell 
 and asked if there was any one in the house who 
 could act as interpreter. 
 
 Of all unlikely people, Gibson appeared. In his 
 younger days he had been valet to a cosmopolitan 
 millionaire, and had passed a good part of several 
 years at a chateau near Tours. 
 
 "Can you speak French?" McVitie asked, with 
 a look of sour surprise. 
 
 "Yes, sir. I understand you wish me to trans- 
 late for the young person." 
 
 McVitie nodded. His thoughts had been dis- 
 sipated, and it was a moment or two before he 
 could collect them. 
 
 [106]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 "Ask her when she saw the necklace last," he 
 said at length. 
 
 "When Mrs. Dayrell-Wing went down to dinner 
 last night, sir. She was wearing it." 
 
 "Did she remain in the room after that?" 
 
 "A few minutes only, sir." 
 
 "Did she come up here again afterward?" 
 
 "At about ten o'clock, to lay out Mrs. Dayrell- 
 Wing's things for the night." 
 
 "Was any one with her?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "As far as she knows, no one was in the room 
 then or later?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "Did she hear any one in this room?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "When did she first learn that the necklace was 
 missing?" 
 
 A somewhat long conversation ensued be- 
 tween Celeste and Gibson, at the end of which he 
 said: 
 
 "She brought Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's tea at eight 
 o'clock, as usual. She was with her some time. 
 Mrs. Dayrell-Wing was much disturbed, sir, and 
 at last she told her that the necklace had been 
 stolen." 
 
 "H'm!" 
 
 McVitie considered a moment. Then he said 
 abruptly : 
 
 "Ask her whether she's keeping company with 
 any one." 
 
 [107]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 Gibson's face became faintly pink, and he hesi- 
 tated before he put the question into French. He 
 was offended and rather shocked, for he did not 
 think such a line of interrogation gentlemanly. 
 Perhaps, too, his disinclination to serve McVitie's 
 curiosity was partly due to his having condescended, 
 from the height of his position as butler, to enter 
 into a few pleasantries with Mademoiselle Celeste. 
 At last, however, he translated, wrapping up the 
 inquiry as politely as he could. 
 
 Celeste blushed very prettily, and gave him the 
 full benefit of her eyes as she answered. Gibson, 
 very erect and with a face of wood, explained: 
 
 "The young person, sir, says she has had af- 
 fairs." 
 
 "Maintenantj avez-vons?" McVitie demanded. 
 
 Celeste laughed in his face, and said something 
 to Gibson in rapid French which made his mouth 
 twitch. Monsieur Gibson, at the chateau near 
 Tours, had not always been so dignified as he was 
 at Gains. 
 
 "What does she say?" McVitie demanded im- 
 patiently. 
 
 "I think, sir, if you'll excuse me," Gibson said, 
 in his most episcopal manner, "that you will find 
 this course of inquiry unprofitable. The young 
 person is French." 
 
 McVitie was furious. He longed for a police 
 
 interpreter, who would put the hussy in her place. 
 
 He would get a warrant and have her remanded 
 
 in custody for a week; that was what she wanted. 
 
 [108]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 Outwardly, he remained calm, and it was only a 
 flicker of his eyelids that betrayed his anger. 
 
 "I asked whether she was keeping company now 
 with a young man," he said. "I want an answer." 
 
 Gibson, without referring again to Celeste, re- 
 plied: "No, sir. No one in particular." 
 
 With a sour smile, which he meant to be agree- 
 able, McVitie pressed the question. 
 
 "Surely, a young lady so good looking there 
 must be a friend." 
 
 After conference, Gibson said coldly: 
 
 "She is not engaged to be married, sir, if that 
 is what you are asking." 
 
 "Then who gave her that ring?" McVitie asked 
 suddenly, pointing to her left hand. 
 
 Gibson's translation seemed to touch "the young 
 person" on the raw, for she fired up and poured 
 out a torrent of words which seemed unending. 
 Gibson, after listening for some time, waved to 
 her to be silent; and, turning to McVitie, he said: 
 
 "She refuses to say, sir." 
 
 "Ah ! Does she ! And she took three minutes 
 by the clock to tell you that. Just translate what 
 she did say, please." 
 
 Gibson moved restlessly. 
 
 "Go on, sharp," McVitie rasped. 
 
 "She says, sir, she has no cause to answer ques- 
 tions of the sort. She is employed by Mrs. Day- 
 rell-Wing, who is satisfied with her, and such things 
 as presents are her own business. She used very 
 
 [ 109]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 insulting language toward you quite impossible 
 in English, sir." 
 
 "Ask her again who gave it to her," McVitie in- 
 sisted. "If she persists in refusing to answer tell 
 her I shall find a way to open her mouth which she 
 won't like." 
 
 "She won't say, sir," Gibson repeated. 
 
 "Perhaps she will tell us when she received it?" 
 
 Mademoiselle Celeste met the question with a 
 flick of words and a flash of scorn in her eyes. 
 Gibson looked horrified at what she had said and 
 cried : 
 
 "Tst! Tst!" 
 
 "She won't answer, sir," he added to McVitie. 
 
 "Very well. We can infer. Have you seen her 
 carrying on with any one while she has been here?" 
 
 "No, sir," Gibson answered, drawing himself 
 up. "A most respectable young person, I believe, 
 sir." 
 
 "All right. You can take her away now, but I 
 shall want her again later." 
 
 It looked promising, McVitie thought. The 
 ring was doubtless the price she had received, and 
 her denial that she was keeping company with any 
 one left her without an explanation for having it. 
 Gibson's testimony confirmed this view ; for in the 
 servants' hall there are no secrets, and he would 
 have known if she had a recognized follower in 
 London. 
 
 He sat for some time, reviewing various aspects 
 of the case, and becoming more and more con- 
 [110]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 vinced that the key of the mystery lay between the 
 French maid and an expert London "crook" who 
 had bent her to his purpose. It was an old story, 
 so old that it was always surprising to find how 
 gullible such women were. 
 
 It was after six when Shaw returned. McVitie's 
 certainty voiced itself in the question: 
 
 "Have you got in touch with him?" 
 
 Shaw stood, turning his hat in his hand, and 
 answered despondently : 
 
 "I can't make it out. There isn't a clue any- 
 where." 
 
 "Do you mean you've found nothing at all?" 
 
 "Nothing. I saw the constable here and the 
 innkeepers and talked to several people. They 
 haven't noticed any stranger anywhere near the 
 village. As to a motor, they're all positive there 
 hasn't been one. The place is off the main road, 
 and except for the cars here it's very seldom one 
 goes through." 
 
 "Did you go further?" 
 
 "Yes, several miles along. I questioned half a 
 dozen people, but I couldn't pick up anything. 
 Then I went to the station. There was no stranger 
 on the early train this morning. They only issued 
 two tickets, and they know who had them." 
 
 "H'm ! That's curious. It isn't so easy to slip 
 through." 
 
 "No, it's a puzzler. I made sure I'd hear some- 
 thing." 
 
 "I must take it up myself and leave you here," 
 [in]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 McVitie said decisively. "That French maid of 
 Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's is in it ; keep your eye on her. 
 With a little more evidence I shall apply for her 
 arrest." 
 
 "Shall I have a talk to her?" 
 
 "Better not. She pretends she can't speak 
 English, and I must get an official interpreter from' 
 headquarters." 
 
 "Is there anything else to do before your re- 
 turn?" 
 
 "Yes. Send in a complete list of names for 
 examination, and tell them to warn London with 
 full particulars. Before I go I'll just see Pfeiffer, 
 as he's waiting for me. Bring him up, will you?" 
 
 [112]
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 cVITIE dropped into a chair and examined 
 the bearings of the story once more while 
 he was waiting. If he was on the right line, 
 Pfeiffer would not have anything to say which was 
 worth knowing; but he thought it better to see 
 him before devoting himself to the trail outside 
 the house, for that might carry him afield before 
 he was able to return to Gains. 
 
 Plans and theories, however, as James McVitie 
 knew better than most people, "gang aft a-gley," 
 and the structure of facts and inferences which his 
 logical brain had raised was about to be upset by 
 a most unexpected piece of information. The in- 
 formation was unexpected, not because it was 
 absolutely incredible; but because, knowing as 
 much as he did, it was beyond hope that he would 
 ever obtain it. 
 
 When Pfeiffer came in, accompanied by Shaw, 
 McVitie favored him with one of his awkward 
 nods, in which a protest against any form of civility 
 seemed to be the chief ingredient. 
 
 "I'd like to ask you a few questions, Mr. 
 Pfeiffer," he said. 
 
 "Certainly. I'm at your service." 
 
 Thus launched, McVitie seemed in no hurry to 
 continue, and a long pause ensued, during which 
 his expressionless eyes played ceaselessly upon 
 Pfeiffer. He knew his class, and he had no respect
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 for it an idle, luxurious class, though not a 
 criminal one. 
 
 In placing Willie Pfeiffer thus McVitie was 
 scarcely doing him justice; for, although he was 
 always in debt, and was not overscrupulous in deal- 
 ing with his creditors, he was kind-hearted and 
 singularly free from the meaner forms of vice. A 
 German by birth, he would have passed for an 
 Englishman. He wore English clothes, very well 
 cut, and his appearance conformed in all particu- 
 lars to the smart London standard. He had very 
 good manners, and every one liked him. Indeed, 
 he depended on this for his living, for he had no 
 profession, and his income was derived from the 
 commissions which he earned by introducing clients 
 to a firm of stock brokers. A century ago he might 
 have been called an adventurer, but opinion now is 
 more tolerant; and shares, motors, and other com- 
 modities are the recognized means of support for 
 young gentlemen of good family and pleasing ad- 
 dress. He was, in fact, a product of his age, with 
 the easiest code of morals, and a strong objection 
 to sitting in judgment upon any one. He knew 
 everybody, from old Lady Catskill, who sent him 
 an occasional card for a missionary At Home, to 
 Roy Phillides, who had lost three fortunes on the 
 turf and was known as the professional co- 
 respondent. 
 
 "I believe, Mr. Pfeiffer," Mr. McVitie began at 
 last, "that you slept in this room last night?" 
 
 "Yes."
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 "You heard nothing suspicious, I suppose? You 
 were not disturbed?" 
 
 "No. I don't think I woke once." 
 
 "Did you come to bed at the same time as Mrs. 
 Dayrell-Wing?" 
 
 "A few minutes after. We were dancing last 
 night and were all rather late. When the ladies 
 retired we went into the billiard-room, and I had 
 a whiskey and soda and a cigarette; but I wasn't 
 there more than a quarter of an hour." 
 
 "In that case Mrs. Dayrell-Wing would still be 
 undressing when you came up?" 
 
 "Undoubtedly, I should think." 
 
 "Did you go straight to bed?" 
 
 "Yes, at once." 
 
 "Have you a servant? Was he here with you?" 
 
 "I haven't one. The footman valets me." 
 
 "He wasn't in the room last night?'" 
 
 "Not when I went to bed. I suppose he was 
 here earlier in the evening." 
 
 "Which footman attends to you?" 
 
 "Tipton." 
 
 "Do you know which maid waits on you?" 
 
 "I haven't an idea. I've never seen one in the 
 room at all." 
 
 "After you came up last night, did you leave 
 your room at any time until you went down to 
 breakfast this morning?" 
 
 "No. I have my bath here. This morning 
 Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's maid brought me a note, and 
 later Mr. Vawdrey came to see me; but I did not 
 leave the room." 
 
 [US]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "Not for a moment?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 There was a pause. Then McVitie turned to 
 the door which led into Mrs. Dayrell- Wing's room, 
 saying : 
 
 "This door is bolted, as you see. There is a 
 bolt on the other side, which is not shot; so one 
 can open it from this side." 
 
 "I suppose so." 
 
 "Have you ever seen it open since you've been 
 here?" 
 
 "Never." 
 
 "You have never, by chance, opened it your- 
 self?" 
 
 Pfeiffer frowned. 
 
 "My good sir," he said, "I can assure you that 
 my acquaintance with Mrs. Dayrell-Wing is much 
 too slight to justify my walking into her bedroom. 
 I think I have once dined at her flat, and I have 
 met her at other people's houses; but I certainly 
 should not count her among my friends." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 "What are you driving at?" 
 
 "Nothing. I just wanted to hear if you had 
 opened the door; you might have done so, think- 
 ing it was a cupboard." 
 
 Pfeiffer did not answer, and McVitie added, 
 rather dryly : 
 
 "I take it, then, that you hardly noticed there 
 was a door?" 
 
 "I knew it was there, of course." 
 
 "But you wouldn't have noticed, for example, 
 [116]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 whether it was bolted when you went to bed last 
 night?" 
 
 "No, I didn't notice." 
 
 McVitie paused again, asking himself whether 
 there were any other questions to put to Pfeiffer. 
 The only point on which his evidence might have 
 been valuable was as to whether the bolt on his 
 side of the door had been fastened, and of this he 
 was not sure. While McVitie was making up his 
 mind to get rid of him, Pfeiffer broke in upon his 
 thoughts, saying: 
 
 "I gather that you think the burglar must have 
 come through my room while I was asleep ?" 
 
 "That is fairly certain," McVitie assented. 
 "Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's door was bolted inside when 
 she woke this morning." 
 
 "So was mine," Pfeiffer said. "Then he must 
 have got away by the window; it was wide open." 
 
 McVitie looked up suddenly. He had been 
 sprawling in an armchair, and throughout the in- 
 terview he had seemed to be bored and rather 
 tired. Now his lassitude disappeared in a flash 
 and his whole figure became keenly alive. 
 
 "What's that?" he asked sharply. "You say 
 your door was bolted?" 
 
 "Yes. I bolted it because some of the party 
 had been playing wretched jokes, and I didn't want 
 them bursting in on me in the middle of the night." 
 
 "You are quite sure it was bolted last night?" 
 
 "Quite." 
 
 "Thank you. That will do."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 AS the door closed behind Pfeiffer, McVitie and 
 Shaw turned and looked at each other. 
 
 "Why did he let it out?" Shaw exclaimed. 
 
 "We needn't answer that," McVitie said slowly, 
 "until we've been over that bit of gravel inch by 
 inch." 
 
 "I wouldn't have missed it." 
 
 "We'll make sure." 
 
 They locked up the room and went downstairs 
 and out through the hall door on to the terrace. 
 Rain had been falling again, and the new gravel 
 scrunched under their feet. McVitie stopped and 
 looked at the impression made by his boot; then 
 he bent down and tried the gravel with his thumb. 
 
 "It's as soft as cheese," he said. 
 
 "There's been a lot of walking up and down. 
 Look how the marks are trodden over." 
 
 The terrace extended from one end of the house 
 to the other and was about twenty feet broad. It 
 was surrounded with three shallow steps of granite, 
 and large stone vases were placed at intervals along 
 the top of the steps. The gravel was fine and free 
 from pebbles, and it had been spread about an inch 
 deep over the older surface. At the far corner a 
 garden roller was standing, and a man was in the 
 act of pulling it forward. McVitie and Shaw 
 walked quickly toward him, keeping on the stone 
 step. 
 
 [118]
 
 "You are going to roll the gravel?" McVitie 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You might leave it for to-day." 
 
 "Are you the detective from Edinburgh?" the 
 man asked. 
 
 "Yes. Is the gravel only just laid?" 
 
 "A few days since. It was late coming; it was 
 ordered for a fortnight ago." 
 
 "Was it rolled yesterday?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And this morning?" 
 
 "No. I've no time in the morning." 
 
 "I'm obliged to you." 
 
 McVitie and Shaw turned away and walked back 
 till they came to Pfeiffer's window. 
 
 "Get a stick," McVitie said, "and mark off ten 
 feet on either side of here and ten feet from the 
 wall outward." 
 
 When this had been done he knelt down and 
 began to examine the impressions on the gravel. 
 On the outer side of the terrace there were a great 
 number of footmarks mingled together and over- 
 lapping; for there had been no shooting to-day 
 and the party had taken advantage of an interval 
 between the showers to get a little exercise by walk- 
 ing up and down. All the footprints were parallel 
 to the house, and could easily be followed beyond 
 the limits which Shaw had drawn. 
 
 Nearer in there were only a few marks, and 
 these were also parallel to the house, as if made by
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 two people walking together, somewhat apart from 
 the others. They were plainly discernible a 
 man's heavy boots with broad soles and a girl's 
 pointed shoes. 
 
 McVitie went closer to the house and lay prone 
 on the gravel, but under the window he could find 
 no marks of any kind. Not only were there no 
 traces of a ladder having been set up, but there 
 were no footprints save those of the two people 
 who had walked the length of the terrace. 
 
 He stood up at last and brushed his clothes with 
 his hand, saying curtly : 
 
 "This is a hot thing. There was no ladder." 
 
 They went indoors again and returned to 
 Pfeiffer's room. McVitie wanted to think. He 
 wanted to get rid of his body, which was tired, 
 and hang it up somewhere like an overcoat, so as 
 to set his mind absolutely free. He sat down in 
 an armchair, with his feet on the sofa, and lighted 
 a long, thin cigar. Shaw, recognizing his mood, 
 retreated to the window-seat and remained there in 
 silence. 
 
 McVitie smoked his cigar down to the butt be- 
 fore he spoke. Then, without turning his head, 
 he began as if talking to himself: 
 
 "This is where we've got to. When the theft 
 was discovered the woman's door was bolted in- 
 side and Pfeiffer's door was bolted inside; so no 
 one could have got out of either room into the 
 passage. The woman's windows were closed at 
 the bottom. She's a light sleeper, she says, so 
 [ 120]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 any one trying to get out that way would have 
 woke her." 
 
 Shaw said nothing, and McVitie presently 
 went on : 
 
 "Pfeiffer's window was open. Any one could 
 have got out that way without waking him. But 
 he couldn't have climbed the wall, and he didn't 
 use a ladder, and he didn't let himself drop. It's 
 plain enough from the state of the gravel that no 
 one has been under the window for at least twenty- 
 four hours, because it hasn't been rolled since yes- 
 terday afternoon. Then there's the mark of the 
 naked foot on the boards. That suggests that the 
 thief was living in the house. It goes to confirm, 
 also, that the necklace was really stolen, and that 
 this is not a fraud got up by the woman for the 
 sake of the insurance money." 
 
 He paused again and remained silent for some 
 minutes before he continued: 
 
 "We have proved, then, that no one could have 
 got into these two rooms, or out of them, either 
 by the passage doors or by the windows. The rob- 
 bery was discovered this morning, and the rooms 
 were searched by Vawdrey before they were left 
 empty. And no one was found concealed in them." 
 
 Shaw had moved forward and was now stand- 
 ing in front of McVitie. His eyes narrowed 
 slightly and he said in a quick, low tone: 
 
 "It's a clear case. But why did he tell us his 
 door was bolted?" 
 
 "It's a clear case against Pfeiffer. And it may 
 
 [121]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 explain why you found no clue on the road. But 
 until we trace the necklace to him there isn't evi- 
 dence to arrest him on." 
 
 "But it can't be far away," Shaw said, glancing 
 round the room. 
 
 "He may have passed it during the day; we 
 don't know where he's been. If he has passed it, 
 there's an accomplice outside; but you didn't hear 
 of one." 
 
 "I might have missed it; I didn't have much 
 time. I would rather have suspected an accom- 
 plice." 
 
 "No. Take it this way. Pfeiffer is either a 
 tip-top expert come here for the purpose or just a 
 thief on a sudden temptation pressed for money 
 and seeing a way out under his hand. If he's an 
 expert, he'll know the danger of having any one 
 hanging about in a country village, a mark for all 
 eyes, and he'd sooner risk keeping the stuff by him 
 or in some hiding-place. If he's a new hand, it 
 goes without saying he's working alone; and if we 
 don't land him now we shall have another chance 
 later when he tries to sell it." 
 
 "Do you think he's a new hand?" 
 
 "I incline to it. He told us his door was bolted 
 and suggested the window, forgetting about the 
 gravel below. That was clumsy." 
 
 "Suppose he'd passed it before he said that. It 
 wouldn't be a bad card to play if he knew the 
 necklace was safe." 
 
 "Dangerous. Only a very clever crook would 
 
 [122]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 risk it. In any case, we'll work first on the theory 
 that he's a new hand and we'll search this room." 
 
 He stood up and was taking off his coat when 
 there was a knock at the door. Shaw opened it 
 and found Mrs. Pannell, the housekeeper, with 
 some of the maids. 
 
 "I hope I'm not intruding, sir," Mrs. Pannell 
 said, "but orders have been given to prepare two 
 other rooms for Mrs. Dayrell-Wing and Mr. 
 Pfeiffer. Can the maids move their things, for it's 
 getting near time to dress for dinner?" 
 
 McVitie fingered his moustache for a moment 
 before he answered. He could not have Pfeiffer's 
 room disturbed before it had been searched, but, 
 at the same time, he did not want to do anything 
 to put the man on his guard. 
 
 "It's a little inconvenient at present," he 
 drawled. "We are writing up our notes. But 
 we've finished with the lady's room." 
 
 "Then can we take her things first and come 
 again for Mr. Pfeiffer's?" 
 
 "You can clear out her room, but we shall be 
 some time here." 
 
 "Then suppose we take just an evening suit and 
 the toilet articles and leave the rest till after 
 dinner?" 
 
 "Yes, you can do that." 
 
 He stood by while Mrs. Pannell opened the 
 
 wardrobe and laid out the clothes, with a shirt, 
 
 socks, ties, and handkerchief. He passed his 
 
 hands lightly over the suit, to make sure that there 
 
 f 123]
 
 was nothing in the pockets, and then allowed the 
 maids to take it. They took also, under Mrs. Pan- 
 nell's directions, the brushes, razors, and other 
 necessary articles from the dressing-table. 
 
 When they had gone McVitie turned to Shaw, 
 saying : 
 
 "Follow along and conceal yourself where you 
 can watch him change his clothes. He may have 
 the stuff on him." 
 
 Left alone, McVitie began a thorough examina- 
 tion of the room. He opened every drawer and 
 cupboard, took out the clothes and put them neatly 
 back again, or ran his hands deftly among them. 
 He looked on the top of the wardrobe and behind 
 the pictures, tapped the floor for a loose board and 
 explored a ruck in the carpet ; moved the furniture, 
 dug his fingers into the cushions and shook out the 
 curtains. Then, stripping off the cretonne covers, 
 he ripped up the bottoms of the upholstered chairs 
 and the sofa and peered among the springs. Last 
 of all, he attacked the bed, going over the pillows 
 inch by inch and opening the mattress. 
 
 He found nothing, and at each successive failure 
 the frown on his forehead deepened; for he felt 
 that, if Pfeiffer was an amateur, the necklace must 
 almost certainly be hidden in the room. It was so 
 unlikely that he would risk being seen putting it 
 anywhere about the house or burying it in the 
 garden. 
 
 Then, was Shaw's suggestion right? Was 
 Pfeiffer a criminal of the first rank, a master-mind 
 
 [124]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 who had planned and carried out a daring rob- 
 bery? Had he got rid of the spoil without leaving 
 a stain on his hands? If so, he probably knew 
 exactly what was happening in his room and was 
 enjoying the joke. McVitie was not addicted to 
 strong language, but the possibility brought a 
 snarling oath to his lips. 
 
 He sat down to think the matter over once more. 
 There seemed no solution except the one which he 
 shrank from accepting that Pfeiffer was an ex- 
 pert, and had passed the necklace to a confederate 
 in waiting outside or had hidden it in some place 
 prepared beforehand. Even now, after his vain 
 search, he would not believe this; but when Shaw 
 returned, saying that he had seen Pfeiffer undress 
 and that the necklace was not on him, he was 
 forced to accept the theory as probable. A handful 
 of diamonds cannot disappear; and given that 
 Pfeiffer had stolen them, and that they were not 
 now in his possession, the influence was too strong 
 to be resisted. Unfortunately, Shaw had failed to 
 pick up a clue outside, and it was now too late to 
 do much until the morning. 
 
 "You'd better go down to the village again and 
 make further inquiries," he said. "And go to the 
 post office. Ask if any small parcels have been 
 sent off to-day and by whom. But wait a few 
 minutes first." 
 
 Still dallying with the idea that Pfeiffer was a 
 new hand, and that the necklace could not be far 
 off, McVitie crossed the room and examined the
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 fireplace. Rolling his shirtsleeve up as far as it 
 would go, he thrust his arm up the chimney and 
 felt carefully round for anything which might be 
 lodged there. A shower of soot and crumbling 
 mortar was his only reward; and as he withdrew 
 his blackened arm the door opened and Vawdrey 
 came in. 
 
 "Hullo! What are you doing?" he asked. 
 
 "Searching," McVitie answered brusquely, be- 
 ing now thoroughly out of temper. 
 
 "Have you found anything?" 
 
 "A good deal." 
 
 "The necklace?" 
 
 "Not yet." 
 
 Vawdrey smiled. 
 
 "Well, that's an important item. But I suppose 
 you mean you've got a clue ?" 
 
 "Yes. I know who took it. We want further 
 evidence before we arrest." 
 
 "I congratulate you. Come and see me after 
 dinner I'm late now. You'll find me in the 
 study." 
 
 McVitie turned to Shaw and said in a disgusted 
 tone: 
 
 "He'll think I'm an idiot because I can't take 
 Pfeiffer off to prison. They always do fules !" 
 
 [126]
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE gaiety of the house-party had been abated 
 by the theft of the necklace, and the jokes 
 and laughter of the previous day had given place 
 to eager conversation. Mrs. Dayrell-Wing, who 
 was saved from a state of collapse by the remem- 
 brance of her insurance policy, was the centre of 
 interest; and she had already told her story, or 
 fragments of it, not less than a dozen times. It 
 was vexatious, she felt, that Arthur Drury should 
 be involved in the loss; but she consoled herself 
 with the thought that it was a matter of business, 
 and that in business people balanced the losses 
 against the profits. Besides, he would not exactly 
 lose the money, if things turned out as she intended 
 them to do. 
 
 Drury's absence deepened the shadow which 
 had fallen upon the party, for he and Pfeiffer had 
 been the ringleaders in getting up amusements. 
 Without him, Pfeiffer seemed depressed and dis- 
 inclined for anything more exciting than a game of 
 snooker. As for Fraser and Sir Charles, they 
 were, at the best of times, somewhat lethargic. 
 Dinner, therefore, promised to be a gloomy meal; 
 and Mrs. Dayrell-Wing, with her fine instinct for 
 suitability in dress, put on a black frock and made 
 up in a paler tint than usual. 
 
 But before the soup was finished the table was 
 [127]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 electrified by Vawdrey's announcement that Mc- 
 Vitie had a clue. Conversation sprang up as sud- 
 denly and as violently as a cyclone, and speculations 
 and questions passed from mouth to mouth. With 
 characteristic disregard of the servants' presence, 
 the household staff was passed in review, for every 
 one held to the belief that some one in the house 
 was guilty. Mrs. Vawdrey had never wavered in 
 her suspicion of the second footman, though, as 
 he was listening, she refrained from mentioning 
 him by name. Lady Benyon, less discreet, declared 
 her invariable distrust of lady's maids; until 
 Eraser, wishing to give the conversation a lighter 
 turn, suggested that Gibson should amuse the com- 
 pany by confessing on the spot. 
 
 Vawdrey was grateful for the diversion and 
 cut in : 
 
 "You're all talking nonsense. I'll lay a hundred 
 to one in sovereigns that none of you have ever 
 seen or heard of the thief. This is a very clever 
 job, and, with the greatest respect for Gibson, I'm 
 bound to say I don't think he's equal to it eh, 
 Gibson?" 
 
 "I don't think I am, sir," Gibson announced, 
 with a slight relaxation of the lips, the nearest ap- 
 proach to a smile which his sense of decorum 
 allowed when on duty. 
 
 "I'll take you," Sir Charles cried. "I'd take a 
 hundred to one about anything. It's a sportin' 
 risk, even when the horse has only three legs and 
 a swinger." 
 
 [128]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 "But you'll tell us who it is as soon as you know, 
 won't you, Mr. Vawdrey?" Hilda Carew said. 
 
 "Rather. I'm going to have a talk with our 
 Scotch friend after dinner, and subject to the in- 
 terests of justice you shall be told. So get ycur 
 money ready, Sir Charles." 
 
 Pfeiffer had spent the greater part of the day 
 in conversation with Ethel. For him, at all events, 
 the hours should have passed happily enough; but, 
 although he did not fail in tenderness, she thought 
 him rather out of spirits. He was, in fact, keenly 
 apprehensive lest the prize which was so near his 
 grasp should be withheld from him, and this pre- 
 vented him from unfettered enjoyment of the very 
 real pleasures of the moment. 
 
 Though he was genuinely in love with her, he 
 knew that he would not have asked her to marry 
 him if she had not been an heiress, for love in a 
 cottage had no attractions for his educated mind. 
 As it was, she suited him exactly. She was the 
 woman he wanted, and her fortune not only made 
 a marriage possible, but promised him relief from 
 financial anxieties in the future. 
 
 Thus, knowing his own point of view too well 
 to admit of self-deception, and knowing also that 
 he was one among many suitors, he looked forward 
 with anything but pleasure to the necessary inter- 
 view with her father. Vawdrey was "one of the 
 best" and had not an atom of social ambition, but 
 that need not prevent him from having rooted 
 ideas as to the kind of son-in-law he preferred, and 
 [ 129]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 Pfeiffer was aware that, as he put it to Ethel, u on 
 paper he was not even a starter." She had en- 
 couraged him, but he felt extremely nervous when 
 he touched Vawdrey on the arm as they left the 
 dining-room, and asked if he might see him in the 
 study. 
 
 "Yes, come along," Vawdrey said genially. 
 "But stop I'd better see the detective first. Come 
 in half an hour." 
 
 Pfeiffer, accordingly, followed the other men 
 into the drawing-room, while Vawdrey went to 
 meet McVitie. 
 
 McVitie's disinclination for an interview was not 
 much inferior to Pfeiffer's. He was thoroughly 
 out of humor, in a smouldering Scotch rage, for 
 the facts of the case, as he now had them, showed 
 that the robbery had been planned by a master 
 mind. Doubtless, the necklace was well on its 
 way to the Continent, and there was small chance 
 either of recovering it or of convicting the thief. 
 Worse still, Pfeiffer knew that there was no proof 
 against him strong enough to justify action, and 
 he was playing the game of innocence playing it, 
 too, with remarkable ability. It was a clever 
 stroke for him to say that his door was locked, 
 practically a challenge "Yes, I took it. Prove it 
 if you can." 
 
 And McVitie could not prove it. No jury would 
 
 convict on the simple statement that no one else 
 
 could have got into the room; that was all very 
 
 well in melodrama, but it would not do in court. 
 
 [130]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 Pfeiffer was as safe as the Bank of Scotland. 
 There was still, of course, the bare chance that 
 they might pick up an accomplice, and he had 
 again sent out Shaw to scour the district. But 
 there was nothing to go upon, unless he could get 
 his description from some one who had seen him, 
 and so far Shaw had failed in this. 
 
 Altogether, therefore, McVitie felt that things 
 were at a deadlock, and jealousy for his profes- 
 sional reputation made him acutely sensitive to 
 amateur comment. Vawdrey, like the rest of the 
 public, would not appreciate the difficulties of the 
 case, and would think that a detective who could 
 not get evidence enough to arrest his man was a 
 blunderer. 
 
 "Hope I haven't kept you waiting," Vawdrey 
 said as he entered. "Will you have a cigar?" 
 
 "I'll not smoke, thank you," McVitie answered 
 stiffly. 
 
 "No? Well, what have you found out?" 
 
 "We're up against an expert hand here," Mc- 
 Vitie began, slowly and reluctantly. 
 
 "That means he hasn't found out much," Vaw- 
 drey said to himself. 
 
 "The question is, whose hand?" he said aloud. 
 
 "No. That isn't the question." 
 
 "Then whose was it? I've laid a hundred to 
 one that I sha'n't know it when I see it." 
 
 "You've lost." 
 
 Vawdrey looked at him sharply. The good- 
 natured smile which was usually in his eyes gave 
 
 [131]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 place to the keen light of successful mercantile 
 shrewdness. 
 
 "Tell me what you know," he said. 
 
 "We've proved," McVitie began, in his irrita- 
 ting, slow, sing-song voice. "We've proved that 
 no one got in or out of either room during the 
 night. Both the doors were bolted on the inside 
 and were found bolted this morning." 
 
 "Well, well. But the windows?" 
 
 "The windows are eighteen feet from the 
 ground. There is no rain-pipe or ivy to give a 
 foothold and no ladder was used." 
 
 "How do you know that?" 
 
 "The gravel is new and soft. Under the win- 
 dows there are no marks on it, either from a ladder 
 or from feet." 
 
 "Then some one got in beforehand and con- 
 cealed himself in the rooms." 
 
 "How did he get out?" 
 
 "H'm!" 
 
 "I'm told they were searched." 
 
 "Yes, they were, this morning." 
 
 "Before they were left vacant?" 
 
 "Yes. I searched them myself." 
 
 "Then, as no one got in or out ' 
 
 "What do you mean?" Vawdrey cried sharply, 
 a ring almost of pain in his voice as he caught the 
 drift of McVitie's story. 
 
 "I say, no one got in or out " 
 
 "Pfeiffer! Good heavens!" Vawdrey exclaimed 
 in a horrified tone. "I can't believe it." 
 
 [ 132]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 "From what you told me, you don't know much 
 about him," McVitie answered. His cold eyes 
 faintly expressed the grim pleasure of the logician 
 who is driving his opponent into a corner. 
 
 "Know much about him! But he's well known 
 in London, goes everywhere; there isn't a thing 
 against him." 
 
 "As far as you have heard." 
 
 "Well, yes, as far as I have heard. But those 
 things are heard. Surely a man can't go on unsus- 
 pected for years if he's a burglar. Something 
 would be bound to come out some whisper." 
 
 "Then how was it done?" McVitie asked ag- 
 gressively. 
 
 Vawdrey was silent. He liked Pfeiffer, and he 
 had an idea that Ethel liked him; but the case cer- 
 tainly looked black. And, after all r what did he 
 know of him except that he was a very pleasant 
 fellow? What does one know of half the people 
 one asks to dinner? Still, he would not believe 
 McVitie's story without proof. 
 
 "Are you absolutely sure about this?" he asked. 
 
 "I am." 
 
 "I mean about the gravel. It's rolled every 
 day." 
 
 "It's not been rolled since last evening. You 
 can ask the gardener, and you can come and see it 
 .for yourself if you like." 
 
 "I will," Vawdrey said, getting up. " We can 
 take a lantern." 
 
 They went out together, and found the gravel 
 
 [ 133]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 as McVitie had said. The gardener, sent for, con- 
 firmed that it had not been rolled since the pre- 
 vious day. When they had returned to the study 
 and the door was shut Vawdrey turned to McVitie 
 and asked: 
 
 "What do you propose to do?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "But the necklace must be recovered." 
 
 "H'm! He had all the morning to get rid of 
 it and he's got rid of it. My man saw him undress 
 and turn his pockets out; it wasn't on him and it 
 isn't in his room." 
 
 "Then what has become of it?" 
 
 "It's possible he may have hidden it, but more 
 likely he had an accomplice waiting. My man's 
 out now, trying to find a trace." 
 
 "You don't think it was taken in a sudden access 
 of temptation on the spur of the moment?" 
 
 "I did think so until I searched his room. When 
 I couldn't find it I knew it was a plot." 
 
 "If you are so certain, why not charge him with 
 it? We can have him in now. He might com- 
 promise by giving it up if no steps were taken." 
 
 McVitie shook his head. 
 
 "There's no evidence to convict on and he knows 
 that. He'd only deny everything. A criminal of 
 that class is the best actor in the world." 
 
 "But some effort must be made." 
 
 "No. Let him think he isn't suspected and 
 we'll shadow him. In case he has hidden it he'll 
 
 [134]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 be watched here, and in London we can find out 
 what company he keeps." 
 
 "Bah! It's perfectly detestable!" Vawdrey 
 cried. 
 
 McVitie took no notice of his outburst and went 
 on in an even tone : 
 
 "You can give out that we're on the track and 
 expect to make an arrest in a day or two. Head 
 Pfeiffer away from thinking he's suspected or 
 watched. I'll leave to-morrow, but my man will 
 stay about here." 
 
 Vawdrey threw up his hands in a gesture of 
 despair. 
 
 "Very well," he said, "if that's what has to be. 
 I should like to get rid of Pfeiffer, though." 
 
 "There's no harm in that. If the diamonds are 
 hidden, he'll have to fetch them; and if not, the 
 sooner he reaches London the sooner we'll have 
 a chance of learning who his friends are." 
 
 Vawdrey threw his cigar into the grate and 
 walked up and down the room. He was very much 
 distressed, for he had always liked Pfeiffer and he 
 had noticed Ethel's inclination toward him with- 
 out more displeasure than a father usually feels in 
 such circumstances. But he was too clear-headed 
 to disbelieve McVitie's story, which brought the 
 theft home to Pfeiffer with simple and logical 
 exactness. If McVitie had been a flowery talker 
 he would have doubted his conclusions, but his dis- 
 passionate coldness carried conviction with his. 
 words. 
 
 ,[135]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 In a last effort to find a breach in the argument 
 he said: 
 
 "You are absolutely sure of your facts that the 
 doors were bolted and that no entry could have 
 been made through the windows?" 
 
 "I am. If you had not searched the rooms this 
 morning before they were left it might have been 
 that some one was hidden and got away later." 
 
 "I searched them myself, so I know that's not 
 right. Besides, there are precious few places where 
 a man could hide in them." 
 
 "Just so." 
 
 "Well, I suppose you're right. But it's terribly 
 upsetting; and, of course, unless you can bring it 
 home to him and recover the necklace it's not very 
 satisfactory from my point of view." 
 
 "I'm sorry, you're dissatisfied," McVitie said, 
 with a flash of hostility. "I've done as much as 
 was possible." 
 
 "Oh, quite so. But you must follow the matter 
 up; no expense is to be spared. And let me know 
 what you find out." 
 
 McVitie rose and took his leave without further 
 remark. On the whole, he felt that he had ade- 
 quately defended his reputation and had kept Vaw- 
 drey, as one of the public, in his place. 
 
 Vawdrey was left alone with his very unpleasant 
 thoughts. It was odious to him to have a thief in 
 his house, the more so when it was a man whom 
 he had trusted and liked and had often helped. 
 He knew that Pfeiffer was not well off, and from 
 
 [136]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 time to time he made a point of giving him orders 
 in stocks, so that he might get a share of the com- 
 mission. Once he had lent him two hundred 
 pounds. 
 
 And now, if McVitie was right, the man had 
 committed a theft, not on a sudden temptation, but 
 deliberately. He was a practised thief, a Raffles, a 
 scoundrel who used his position as a gentleman for 
 the purpose of robbing his friends. It was horri- 
 ble horrible and Vawdrey made up his mind to 
 seek some pretext for getting him out of the house 
 as soon as possible. 
 
 [137]
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 TLJALF an hour passed. Vawdrey was still 
 * ! thinking over McVitie's story when there was 
 a tap at the door and Pfeiffer entered, saying: 
 
 "May I come in?" 
 
 Vawdrey started. He had forgotten that 
 Pfeiffer had asked to speak to him; but now, in a 
 flash, he guessed the reason. He wanted to con- 
 fess. Then, after all, he had taken the necklace 
 under stress of temptation, and he wanted to make 
 restitution. His evident nervousness confirmed 
 the idea, and Vawdrey said in a voice which was 
 not unkindly: 
 
 "Oh, come in. Do you want to tell me some- 
 thing?" 
 
 Pfeiffer sat down, saying in a hesitating tone : 
 
 "Well, yes, I " " 
 
 "Thank heaven, he's going to make a clean 
 breast of it," Vawdrey thought. "I'll get him out 
 somehow if I can. It's awful; but I suppose he 
 was tempted beyond his powers and was caught 
 in a weak moment." 
 
 "Yes?" he said. "Let's hear all about it." 
 
 Pfeiffer still hesitated, and Vawdrey, to en- 
 courage him, added : 
 
 "Look here, Willie, I've been a good friend to 
 you before and you'll find me a good friend again. 
 If there's any way through I'll try to help you." 
 
 [138]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 "You're awfully kind," Pfeiffer broke out. 
 "You have been a good friend; but I haven't asked 
 you for anything so big before, and I admit I'm in 
 a devilish funk." 
 
 Vawdrey's face was very grave, but his bitter- 
 ness against Pfeiffer had vanished. It was true 
 that what he had done was inxecusable far too 
 serious to be overlooked and he would have to 
 leave England and begin life again in another 
 country. But, in spite of that, Vawdrey's pity was 
 aroused, for he read in the pale face and halting 
 words the signs of a genuine repentance. Life had 
 taught him to make large allowances for a man 
 who is tempted; he knew how easy it was to be 
 wise after the event, to be strong when the use of 
 strength no longer avails. It was not in him to 
 add to the punishment for a crime of temporary 
 aberration, and he did not mean to burden Pfeiffer 
 with homilies and reproaches. On the contrary, if 
 it were possible, he would help him to restore the 
 necklace and get out of the country quietly. 
 
 "You'd better get it over," he said, after wait- 
 ing for a minute. "I can't do anything unless you 
 speak out." 
 
 "Well, I as you know, I'm infernally hard up 
 and always have been ; so I needn't go into that. 
 All the same, I feel bound to say that I haven't 
 looked on this as a relief scheme, so please don't 
 accuse me of that."' 
 
 Vawdrey leant forward in his chair and looked 
 at him sternly. If the man was going to blither 
 
 [139]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 about excuses he had done with him. Confessions 
 which were worth anything did not begin on that 
 note. 
 
 "What on earth do you mean?" he asked curtly. 
 
 "I mean, I'm not a fortune-hunter. And in ask- 
 ing your permission to marry Ethel " 
 
 "What!" Vawdrey shouted. The color of his 
 face had deepened to a dull red, and his eyes were 
 fixed upon Pfeiffer with a threatening glare. 
 Pfeiffer's words so shocked him that he was 
 scarcely able to believe that he had heard aright. 
 
 Before the sudden change from friendly en- 
 couragement to hostility Pfeiffer's nervousness re- 
 turned upon him with redoubled force. But he 
 was not lacking in courage, and the expression of 
 fury and disgust on Vawdrey's face spurred him 
 to make an effort in his own defence. 
 
 "I am asking your consent to marry Ethel," 
 he said, drawing himself up stiffly. 
 
 Vawdrey's hands clenched, and his mouth fell 
 half open in a snarl of rage. For a moment he 
 paused, because he would not speak until he had 
 full control of himself. Then, very slowly and 
 carefully, he said: 
 
 "You are asking my consent to marry my daugh- 
 ter? You have the impudence to come here to- 
 night and ask me that? Good God! I wouldn't 
 have believed it of you." 
 
 A quick flush of anger crossed Pfeiffer's face, 
 and he sprang up and backward as if Vawdrey had 
 smitten him on the cheek. 
 
 [140]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 "What do you mean?" he stammered. "What 
 do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean exactly what I say," Vawdrey answered, 
 rubbing in every word like salt into a wound. "I've 
 liked you and I've trusted you ; and I've found it 
 hard to believe ill of you. But this caps every- 
 thing." 
 
 Pfeiffer's rage waxed still hotter. 
 
 "You intend to insult me?" he said. "Very 
 well. Your age, and the fact that I am a guest in 
 your house, will protect you from punishment, as 
 you perfectly well know. But, if I can't knock you 
 down, I can say what I think of you. There's only 
 one word for you you're a cad, and one of the 
 vilest." 
 
 Vawdrey was about to retort when Pfeiffer 
 broke in, his voice shaken with passion. 
 
 "Who are you? Perhaps you've forgotten, but 
 other people haven't, and I promise you they won't. 
 You're a working man a fellow who ought to be 
 carrying a hod and because you've been lucky in 
 speculating and swindling you tell me I'm impudent 
 for wishing to marry your daughter! Well, if 
 you're looking for a duke I advise you to learn 
 manners first, or he won't swallow you." 
 
 Vawdrey stood up. Pfeiffer's foolish taunts 
 failed to rouse him, for he was too sick and dis- 
 gusted to lose his temper. 
 
 "Have you finished?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes, I have," Pfeiffer shouted. 
 
 "Then listen to me. When you came into the 
 
 [141]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 room I thought you had something very different 
 to say, and I was prepared to help you as far as I 
 was able. I was mistaken, as I have been mistaken 
 all along about you. You have deceived me and 
 every one else so successfully that I daresay you 
 are clever enough to get off now, though I hope 
 you won't. All that I need do is to ask you to 
 leave here by the first train to-morrow morning." 
 
 Pfeiffer's hands were itching to hit Vawdrey, 
 for his insulting words cut him to the quick; but 
 he restrained himself and answered more calmly: 
 
 "I shall certainly do so. I wouldn't stay here 
 to-night if I could avoid it. It may surprise you, 
 but I don't care to be in the house of a man who 
 has not the common instincts of decency." 
 
 "Nor do I," Vawdrey shot at him glimly. 
 
 Pfeiffer left the room and went to find Ethel, 
 who was waiting for him in the hall. He was 
 possessed by one thought with or without her for- 
 tune he would marry her. That was the essential 
 thing, and at any cost he must achieve it. The 
 loss of the money would be a blow, a very serious 
 one; but that should not stop him. Even if he 
 had not cared for her he would at that moment 
 have married her for the sake of revenging him- 
 self upon her father, for it was the only way in 
 which he could repay him amply. As he crossed 
 the hall he braced himself for the interview with 
 her. He knew that it would require all his tact 
 and power of persuasion; and if he was to succeed 
 he must hold himself well in hand. 
 
 [142]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 She looked up as she heard his step, and the 
 color left her face as she caught sight of the heavy 
 frown on his forehead. She sprang toward him, 
 holding out her hands and crying: 
 
 "Dear! What has happened?" 
 
 He drew her down beside him on the sofa, 
 saying: 
 
 "Darling, I've had a very unpleasant ten min- 
 utes. I can't very well tell you what happened, 
 because if I did I should have to say things about 
 your father which you could not listen to." 
 
 "Willie!" 
 
 "As far as I can gather, though he did not put 
 it into words, he has more ambitious ideas for you, 
 and he was polite enough to say that he regarded 
 my proposal as impudent." 
 
 "Father said that? Oh, you must have mis- 
 understood him. He couldn't have meant such a 
 thing. Why, he likes you I know he does; and 
 he's often said I'm to marry whom I like so long 
 as he's respectable." 
 
 "Then he seems to have changed his mind. He 
 insulted me intentionally and quite needlessly, for, 
 if he wanted to refuse his consent, it was just as 
 easy to do it civilly. Instead of that, he told me 
 to clear out of the house to-morrow morning by 
 the first train." 
 
 The tears sprang into Ethel's eyes, and she threw 
 her arms round his neck, crying: 
 
 "How could he ! How could he !" 
 
 [143]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 Then, drawing away from him, she added in a 
 calmer voice : 
 
 "Oh, Willie, you must have misunderstood 
 him." 
 
 "He took care to make that impossible." 
 
 "Then what are we going to do?" 
 
 "Do? I shall leave before breakfast. And if 
 you'll come with me, dearest, I sha'n't much regret 
 what has happened." 
 
 Ethel left off dabbing her eyes with her handker- 
 chief and looked at him doubtfully. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," she said. "I must think. 
 It's all so extraordinary. If father was a cross, 
 curmudgeony person I could understand it ; but he 
 isn't. He's always perfectly sweet to me." 
 
 "I can't make it out, either. When I went in 
 he was awfully nice, but directly I mentioned you 
 he turned on me like a savage, and said he thought 
 I'd come for something different. I'm sure I don't 
 know what he expected me to ask for." 
 
 If Ethel had been stupid, or had been on less 
 friendly terms with her father, she might have 
 yielded to Pfeiffer's entreaties and eloped with him. 
 But she was no fool; and as she thought over his 
 story, she felt sure that there was a mistake some- 
 where which could be put right. She would see 
 her father and ask him what had happened before 
 she decided what to do. 
 
 "I shall go to him," she said at last, getting up. 
 "There must be some reason, and I'm entitled to 
 know what it is. Wait here." 
 
 [ 144]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 Pfeiffer laid his hand on her arm. He certainly 
 did not want her to see her father just then, when 
 it was important that his own influence should be 
 paramount. 
 
 "No, don't go," he said. "It isn't a bit of use, 
 darling. Don't go, I beg of you. Don't let's waste 
 the short time we've got. Give me a chance to 
 plead with you for myself while I can." 
 
 She touched his sleeve, saying very tenderly: 
 "You needn't do that." 
 
 "Then, will you come with me to-morrow?" he 
 asked eagerly. "Dearest, you'll be horribly poor, 
 but we'll manage somehow, and I'll try to make it 
 up to you by loving you ever so much more for 
 your pluck and sweetness. I can't let you go, I 
 can't, I can't." 
 
 "I must see father," she persisted gently. "If 
 he has any real reason against it he will tell me and 
 I will judge for myself." 
 
 Pfeiffer saw that it was useless to make further 
 attempts to prevent her. She had a decided will, 
 and he knew from her voice that her mind was 
 made up. 
 
 "Very well,'" he said in a quieter tone. "I'll 
 wait here for you." 
 
 She put her face up to his and he bent down 
 and kissed her. Then she crossed the hall and 
 opened the study door. 
 
 Pfeiffer watched her go. 
 
 "That settles it," he muttered. "That's the last 
 chance gone. If only I could have kept her here." 
 
 [1451
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 He began to walk up and down. He had fallen 
 into the depths of depression, for he knew that 
 Ethel was very fond of her father and mother and 
 that she would shrink from running counter to 
 them in so serious a matter. He doubted whether 
 her love was strong enough to make her do so; 
 and, after what had passed, it was impossible for 
 Vawdrey to give his consent even in the most 
 grudging form. If Ethel married him it meant a 
 definite quarrel with her parents. 
 
 [146]
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 WHEN Ethel entered the study Vawdrey was 
 writing a letter. He looked up quickly, and 
 she noted the stern lines of his mouth and the 
 shadow in his eyes. She went to the back of the 
 big writing-table and stood there facing him with 
 her hands resting upon it. He leant back and 
 looked at her, waiting for her to speak. 
 
 "Father," she said, "why have you refused your 
 consent to Willie?" 
 
 For a moment Vawdrey did not answer. He 
 was very sore at the thought that a scoundrel like 
 Pfeiffer had wormed his way into her heart and 
 was to darken her life. Such efforts had been made 
 to shelter her from unhappiness; but she, no less 
 than any other, was to learn the meaning of 
 tragedy. 
 
 At length he said, in a voice which was not quite 
 steady: "Little daughter, you must try and forget. 
 It is a lesson which I hoped you would never have 
 to learn." 
 
 "I can't take that answer," she said gently. "I 
 must know your reason for turning against him. 
 He says it's because you want me to make a bril- 
 liant match, but I don't believe that." 
 
 Vawdrey looked at her. 
 
 "Won't you trust me?" he asked. 
 
 "I do. And yet I can't in this." 
 
 [147]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "Dear, the reason isn't mine to give yet. 
 Soon, I hope, there will be no need for secrecy." 
 
 Ethel shook her head, and a slow smile touched 
 her lips as she answered : 
 
 "You can't do it. It isn't fair and straight to 
 ask me to break with Willie, to agree in turning 
 him out of the house, without giving a reason. 
 There is one, and I'm entitled to know it." 
 
 "There is one, and I think you're entitled to 
 know it; but at the moment I can't tell it." 
 
 She clasped her hands together, the first sign of 
 agitation which she had given, and turned away. 
 After a minute's thought, and a hasty brushing 
 away of the tears which had gathered in her eyes, 
 she faced her father again and said : 
 
 "Father, you must tell me. I have promised to 
 marry him, and I will not break my promise with- 
 out a good reason. If you if you won't tell me 
 I am bound to keep it, and I shall keep it." 
 
 Vawdrey was a shrewd man and a good judge 
 of character, and he knew his own daughter too 
 well to deceive himself about her resolution. Un- 
 less he told her what had been discovered she 
 would marry Pfeiffer, and the additional evidence 
 which McVitie was trying to get might come too 
 late to prevent her. 
 
 "Do you mean," he said, "that you will marry 
 him at once?" 
 
 "Yes. He has asked me to go with him to-mor- 
 row morning. He says you have made it impos- 
 
 [148]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 sible for him to stay here, or to see you again, and 
 he wants to take me away." 
 
 Vawdrey's mouth hardened. He was quick to 
 catch the drift of Pfeiffer's suggestion: Ethel was 
 to be a hostage. 
 
 "And would you do that," he asked, "in the 
 face of my express disapproval?" 
 
 The tears rushed into her eyes again. 
 
 "Oh, don't make it harder for me," she cried. 
 "Can't you see it's breaking my heart to vex you?" 
 
 "Why not postpone everything for a couple of 
 months ? In the ordinary way, you wouldn't have 
 been married sooner." 
 
 "I can't do that after what has occurred be- 
 tween you and Willie. You have insulted him and 
 turned him out of the house, and either I must 
 stand by him now or break with him. If I hold 
 off for two months he would see that I doubted 
 him doubted him just when he wanted help. It's 
 impossible." 
 
 Vawdrey appreciated the argument and saw that 
 he must tell her what McVitie had discovered. 
 He put out his hand and drew her toward him, 
 and she knelt down beside his chair. 
 
 "I'm going to hurt you, dearest," he said, speak- 
 ing very reluctantly. "I think most fathers would 
 refuse to tell you; but your mother and I have 
 always brought you up to judge for yourself and 
 have always trusted you." 
 
 "I know you have." 
 
 "If Pfeiffer had come to me yesterday I should
 
 have given my consent. He is no one in particu- 
 lar, but, then, we aren't, either; and I don't care 
 a button whether you marry a title or not so long 
 as you are happy. He is very short of money and 
 you will be very rich, so I might have suspected 
 him, as I've suspected plenty of others, of fortune- 
 hunting. But I didn't, because I liked him and 
 thought him straight and honest." 
 
 "He is straight and honest." 
 
 "That's where I've got to hurt you, dear. He 
 is neither." 
 
 "Father!" 
 
 The cry was full of incredulity and of suffering. 
 
 "I, less than anybody, suspected him of having 
 a hand in this wretched robbery, but the facts are 
 against him." 
 
 Ethel rose slowly from her knees and stood 
 looking at her father. Her arms hung straight, 
 her body was motionless, her face frozen into a 
 tragic expression of amazement. The moment was 
 filled with the poised expectancy of drama, the 
 almost unbearable excitement which radiates from 
 the actors while a vital decision is taking shape in 
 the mind. In the theatre such moments are only 
 possible when the playwright is great enough to 
 efface himself and to make the audience forget 
 that the scene has been written and rehearsed. 
 Like the playwright, Vawdrey knew the words 
 which should come next. For had he not studied 
 his daughter, watched her, trained her from child- 
 hood? Yet, unlike the playwright, he did not feel 
 [150]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 certain that the expected words would come, 
 True, he had taught her the value of facts, and to 
 base her judgment upon them without being se- 
 duced by sentiment or inclination. But had he 
 ever reached and influenced the core of feminine 
 nature that capacity for refusing to believe ill 
 of a lover? Would she accept his statement and 
 his proofs? Or would she turn from them un- 
 interested, secure in the belief that one man in the 
 world was incapable of infamy? 
 
 He waited, scarcely breathing; and when the 
 answer came he was not altogether surprised. For 
 what is education when confronted with instinct? 
 
 "I don't believe it," she said slowly. 
 
 "I wondered if you would," he could not help 
 saying. 
 
 "I don't believe it. Do you ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 She continued to keep her eyes on his, and her 
 breast heaved with gathering indignation as she 
 retorted : 
 
 "Is that what the best detective in Edinburgh 
 thinks he has found out?" 
 
 "He has satisfied me that he is right." 
 
 "Oh, it's too horrible," she cried. 
 
 Then, controlling herself again, she went on: 
 
 "So, if I marry him, it means " 
 
 "Ostracism. And, worse than that, it means 
 that, too late, you will come to believe it too." 
 
 "If I thought that it would be easy. But I 
 
 [151]
 
 don't, and I can't throw him over just because 
 other people do." 
 
 "Am I 'other people' ?" Vawdrey pleaded. 
 
 She drew nearer to him and put her hands in 
 his, saying: 
 
 "Father, I can't argue, I can't explain; but I 
 am perfectly certain that Willie is as innocent of 
 this as you are. Am I, at the time when every- 
 body is against him, when he most wants help, to 
 leave him?" 
 
 Vawdrey gripped her hands tightly. There had 
 never been any make-believe between him and 
 Ethel, and his plain Yorkshire mind was revolted 
 by the idea that any end justified deception. Smart 
 and frivolous as she might seem to others, he knew 
 that she had his capable brains and his point of 
 view in affairs; and he could not lie to her. 
 
 "If you ask me as your father," he said, "I say 
 throw him over at once. If you ask me as an im- 
 partial man, who likes playing the game without 
 ever thinking whether it's worth the candle, I say 
 wait. Whatever adviser you may consult he will 
 not say more than that you know the position now, 
 and Pfeiffer is bound to clear himself before he 
 can ask you to marry him." 
 
 Vawdrey, speaking in perfect honesty, made a 
 far stronger appeal than if he had taken refuge in 
 unqualified prohibition. He won her, and after a 
 minute's thought she said : 
 
 "Very well. There shall be no engagement for
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 the present. I don't believe it and I am not afraid, 
 nor is he, and we can wait for a time." 
 
 "Then we'll leave it at that," Vawdrey said, 
 with a sigh of relief. 
 
 "Best of fathers," she said, smiling. 
 
 "I don't think so," he answered, returning her 
 smile. "The best of fathers would have persuaded 
 you to put Pfeiffer out of your thoughts. Because, 
 dear child," he added gravely, "it must come to 
 that." 
 
 "I can't believe it. I don't think I ever shall, 
 even if they send him to prison." 
 
 "What are you going to say to him?" 
 
 "What you've told me." 
 
 "No. You must be very careful. You'd better 
 say the engagement must be hung up for a time 
 without giving a definite reason." 
 
 "Can I do that fairly?" 
 
 "I think so. Tell him to ask again in six months' 
 time. If McVitie is right, he will know what you 
 mean and will sheer off. If not well, he can 
 prove it." 
 
 "I ought to tell him." 
 
 "Why? Of course, after what I said, he can 
 see he's found out; that's why he tried to make 
 you run away with him. But I don't want actually 
 to accuse him until McVitie is in a position to prove 
 what he says. It might get us into a disagreeable 
 mess." 
 
 "Very well," she said, after a moment's reflec- 
 
 [153]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 tion. "I will only tell him there is an obstacle, 
 which will disappear in a short time." 
 
 "Yes, put it that way." 
 
 She lifted her face to his and kissed him. Then 
 she went into the hall, where Pfeiffer was waiting 
 for her. 
 
 As she came slowly toward him he turned and 
 faced her. She sat down on the sofa without a 
 word, for she was at the point of bursting into 
 tears. 
 
 "Well?" he asked in a dull voice. 
 
 She forced herself to raise her eyes to his as she 
 said: "Dear, you must go away. But only for a 
 time." 
 
 "Why?" he demanded with sudden passion. 
 "What reason does he give? Has he persuaded 
 you to throw me over for the sake of oh ! I can't 
 believe it of you." 
 
 "I can't tell you all father said; but you mustn't 
 think badly of him or of me. Just for the moment 
 things are in a knot. You must be content with 
 that and with knowing that it will all come right 
 very soon." 
 
 "How can I? Why have you and he suddenly 
 turned against me? You're keeping back some- 
 thing. If there's anything against me I ought to 
 be told." 
 
 "I am keeping back something something 
 which, if it were true, you would not need to ask. 
 But I can't tell you what it is. You must just trust 
 me and believe that that I love you always." 
 
 [154]
 
 WHAT JAMES McVITIE DISCOVERED 
 
 He bent forward and caught her hands in his. 
 
 "Come with me to-morrow," he pleaded. 
 
 She shook her head gently. 
 
 "No. I want you to go right away go abroad 
 or somewhere till the winter. Then come back 
 to me." 
 
 "What's the use of that?" he cried roughly. 
 "Oh, I know what will happen. Everything will 
 be done to get you away from me and make you 
 forget. Day after day you'll be under pressure 
 pressure from every one, from your father and 
 mother, and your friends and soon you'll be 
 brought into line. Oh, I know. We've all seen it 
 scores of times." 
 
 "That's not just," she said, with a rising flush 
 in her cheeks. "If you think I shall forget you so 
 easily you cannot have much faith in me." 
 
 "I have, indeed I have," he cried. "But I want 
 to save you from this struggle. What can be the 
 object of it except to make you forget me? What 
 can it lead to? Nothing. If you stand firm we 
 are only just where we are now. Your father won't 
 give his consent any the more. Come with me 
 now, dearest. Come now and I swear you sha'n't 
 repent it." 
 
 "I can't. You must take ,things as they are. 
 Surely, if you care, it is not a great deal to ask." 
 
 "If I care!" he broke out. 
 
 She stood up, looking at him with sad, tired 
 eyes. He saw that she was resolute and that he 
 was forced to accept her decision. 
 
 [155]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "Am I not to see you?" he asked. 
 
 "Later." 
 
 "But, at least, you will write?" 
 
 "Yes. I will write. I must go now. Good-by." 
 
 She drew nearer to him, and he took her in his 
 arms and kissed her. Then she released herself 
 and went slowly up the stairs. At the top she 
 turned, and their eyes met in a long glance of 
 farewell. 
 
 [156]
 
 BOOK IV 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 pHE next morning, while Pfeiffer was motor- 
 * ing to the station to catch the south-bound 
 express, Arthur Drury was breakfasting at his 
 chambers in Half Moon Street after a night spent 
 in the train. He had found a letter awaiting him, 
 which said that a meeting of the underwriters con- 
 cerned in the insurance of the necklace was ar- 
 ranged for half-past ten. 
 
 When he reached the office most of them were 
 already in the partners' room. Ten firms, in addi- 
 tion to his own, were interested in the policy ; and 
 Mr. Porton, of Porton & Paver, his firm's solici- 
 tors, was also present. From the circumstances of 
 the case the claim was regarded with suspicion, 
 and there was a strong feeling that it should be 
 resisted if it were possible to do so. Mr. Hinchin, 
 the senior partner of Hinchin & Company, with 
 whom Drury worked, greeted him none too 
 warmly. 
 
 "Well, Drury," he said, "this is a nice affair to 
 be in a very nice affair. One premium paid, and 
 a claim in full, I suppose, for twenty thousand 
 pounds. Let's hear all about it. You know every 
 one present." 
 
 Drury nodded to the others and sat down. He 
 felt very uncomfortable; for, in addition to the 
 loss which fell on himself, he knew that some re- 
 
 [159]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 sentment would be shown at such a heavy claim 
 following so closely upon the issue of a policy. Of 
 course, such things did happen occasionally; but 
 they were not accepted with cheerfulness, and he 
 could see that everybody was in a bad temper 
 about it. 
 
 "Fire away," Hinchin said, rapping on the 
 table with a pencil. "Tell us how it happened." 
 
 "Well, I don't know very much, because I left 
 early yesterday morning, as soon as I heard about 
 it. We were staying with Vawdrey, the iron- 
 master, at Gains." 
 
 "Where's Gains?" snapped a waspish little man 
 named Garrod. 
 
 "In Scotland, near Montrose. Vawdrey has 
 just bought the place and asked several people up 
 for the shooting." 
 
 "Who was there?" Hinchin asked. 
 
 "Sir Charles and Lady Benyon, myself, Fraser, 
 a man named Pfeiffer who is on the Stock Ex- 
 change, a Miss Carew, and Mrs. Dayrell-Wing. 
 It was a pretty gay party, and a lot of rotting 
 went on. And the day before yesterday we got 
 up a hoax for Mrs. Dayrell-Wing and hid her 
 necklace." 
 
 "Who hid it?" 
 
 "Fraser and I. We tipped the maid and got 
 hold of the necklace before dinner. There was a 
 bit of a clamor, and then, of course, we found it." 
 
 "What are you telling us this for? Has it any 
 bearing on the theft?" 
 
 [160]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 "It may have put it into one of the servants' 
 heads. I thought I'd better mention it." 
 
 "Well, go on." 
 
 "After dinner there was dancing, and it was 
 about one o'clock when we went to bed. The next 
 morning that was yesterday I was going down 
 to breakfast when I met Vawdrey, and he told me 
 the necklace had been stolen." 
 
 "Any particulars?" 
 
 "Only that it had disappeared in the night. I 
 know she had it on when she went up to bed." 
 
 "What is being done do you know?" 
 
 "Vawdrey wired to Edinburgh for a detective. 
 I saw him at Montrose on his way." 
 
 "And that's all you know?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Seems to me we want further information," 
 one of the men said. "Hadn't we better send a 
 trusty man up?" 
 
 "Who's the detective?" Hinchin asked. 
 
 "McVitie." 
 
 "Oh, he's all right. Quite a good man," some 
 one said. "But we ought to get in touch with 
 him." 
 
 There was a pause. No one seemed to have any 
 further suggestion to offer, and the meeting gave 
 signs of beginning to break up. One or two men 
 rose from their chairs. Suddenly, Garrod rapped 
 out a question to Drury. 
 
 "Who's Mrs. Dayrell-Wing?" 
 [161]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 The tone was peremptory and not very civil, and 
 Drury flushed up as he answered: 
 
 "Oh, she's a lady well known in society. She's 
 an Australian, a widow." 
 
 "How old is she?" 
 
 "She looks about thirty-two or thirty-three." 
 
 "An Australian. When did she come to 
 London?" 
 
 "I met her first about a year ago. I don't know 
 how long she's been here not long, I think." 
 
 "Do you know anything about her?" 
 
 The flush on Drury's face deepened and his 
 temper rose. 
 
 "I've told you what I know," he answered. 
 
 "Yes that she comes from Australia. That's 
 a large place. Who was her husband? Where 
 does she get her income?" 
 
 "I'm damned if I know," Drury answered 
 rudely. "I'm not a detective, and I haven't 
 found it usual to employ one to inquire into a 
 lady's antecedents. I can only tell you that she is 
 a lady." 
 
 "Yes, yes," Hinchin interposed. "But Garrod's 
 quite right in asking about her. At the time we 
 underwrote this jewelry we didn't get much to go 
 upon, you remember." 
 
 "You got a valuation and a banker's reference 
 and a personal reference." 
 
 "Of course we did or we shouldn't have taken it. 
 But I raised the point with you at the time that 
 she was rather an unknown quantity." 
 
 "And I told you you couldn't do business at all 
 [162]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 if you wanted everybody's family history for gen- 
 erations back." 
 
 "Are we to take it, then, that you don't know 
 anything about her?" Garrod asked. 
 
 His rasping voice infuriated Drury; but he 
 controlled his tongue and answered sharply. 
 
 "I know quite enough to guarantee her. She's 
 an intimate friend of mine, and in my opinion she's 
 above suspicion of any sort. She goes to some of 
 the best houses in London and is very popular. 
 As to her means, I can only tell you that she lives 
 in a flat in Mount Street rented at six hundred a 
 year; and, besides this necklace, she has other 
 jewelry insured for nearly fifteen thousand." 
 
 "Do you know where she gets her income 
 from?" 
 
 "No. And I shouldn't be impertinent enough 
 to ask." 
 
 Garrod leant back in his chair and crossed 
 his legs. Then, looking up at the ceiling, he 
 said : 
 
 "Mr. Drury doesn't seem able to give us much 
 information, nor does he seem able to discuss this 
 matter with businesslike calmness. I suggest that 
 for a few minutes he should leave us to consider 
 it by ourselves." 
 
 Drury jumped up. 
 
 "I agree it would be better," he said sarcas- 
 tically. "I'm afraid I can't be of service in fol- 
 lowing Mr. Garrod's speculations." 
 
 No one spoke, and Drury went out of the room. 
 
 [163]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 When he had gone Garrod leant forward and said 
 with emphasis: 
 
 "I don't believe she ever lost it." 
 
 Several of the men nodded assent. 
 
 "You see," Hinchin said, "we know absolutely 
 nothing at present. It's impossible to come to any 
 conclusion on the data we've got. But McVitie's 
 sharp enough in a case like this; we've had to do 
 with him before." 
 
 "We must get into touch with him at once," 
 Garrod declared. "Who'll go? Shall we send a 
 detective or shall one of us go?" 
 
 "Will you go?" Hinchin suggested. 
 
 "If you like." 
 
 "What do you think?" Hinchin asked, turning 
 to the solicitor. 
 
 Mr. Porton had taken no part in the discussion, 
 but his shrewd eyes showed that he had not missed 
 a word. Now, shifting his position a little so as 
 to command a more direct view of the party, he 
 answered : 
 
 "That would do no harm, but I have an alterna- 
 tive proposal to make to you. It has just occurred 
 to me, and I think it might be worth considera- 
 tion." He paused a moment and then went on : 
 
 "At present we know practically nothing about 
 the affair, and I rather sympathize with Mr. 
 Drury's feeling that Mr. Garrod's suspicions are 
 uncalled for yet. He knows the lady and we 
 don't, and I daresay she is all that he seems to 
 think her." 
 
 [ 164 ]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 "It's always fishy when a risk like this matures 
 within a few months after it's accepted," Garrod 
 interrupted. 
 
 "I agree. But you can only surmise fraud on 
 the general ground that it is er fishy. There's 
 no more reason why the necklace should be stolen 
 five years hence than now." 
 
 "Of course, of course." 
 
 "Still, it's worth looking into, as you say. And 
 if you find nothing suspicious you can fall back on 
 the usual all-over-Europe -hunt." 
 
 "Quite so. And we can draw our checks and 
 look pleasant." 
 
 "Could you ever do that, Garrod?" a man 
 asked with a smile. 
 
 "Oh, I'm as good a loser as any one when the 
 game's fair." 
 
 "I take it," Porton said, "that, in this instance, 
 at any rate, the lady's fair." 
 
 "Yes; a pretty face and a nimble wit, and I 
 expect she lives on both of 'em." 
 
 "Well, to get back to business," Porton said, 
 "if the lady is really not all she should be she 
 wants clever watching. If, on the other hand, 
 you're wrong, and it proves to be a straightforward 
 case of burglary, there's more than a chance that 
 some one in the house one of the servants is 
 standing in. My experience goes to show that nine 
 times out of ten that is so." 
 
 "I agree," Hinchin said. 
 
 "In either event, your best chance of recovering 
 
 [165]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 is to have a man in the house. But the drawback 
 to that is that, nearly always, he is known to be a 
 detective and so puts every one on their guard." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Now, if it can be arranged, I've got a man in 
 view who is a complete stranger to England, and 
 he might go as a guest and stay in the house." 
 
 "Who is he?" two or three men asked. 
 
 "He's an American, who is over here with his 
 wife on a holiday. They are private detectives in 
 New York and usually work together, doing mostly 
 society scandal cases and so on. We have em- 
 ployed them more than once on delicate inquiries 
 and have been very well satisfied with them." 
 
 "That sounds all right," Garrod said. "But 
 are they presentable English country-house 
 style?" 
 
 "Perfectly. All the more so because, as Ameri- 
 cans, they will be pardoned for any little slips." 
 
 "Can you get at them to-day?" 
 
 "Yes. They called on me a few days ago. 
 They're staying at a hotel in Bloomsbury." 
 
 "What's his name?" 
 
 "His name is Luke Johns." 
 
 "That's inspiring," Hinchin said, with a laugh. 
 "It sounds like a missionary." 
 
 "Ah, but he doesn't look like one. He's a little, 
 fattish, tight-lipped fellow, and his wife's smart 
 and very well dressed quite the sort of person you 
 wouldn't mind taking in to dinner er at some 
 one else's house." 
 
 [166]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 "I think we'd better try them?" Hinchin sug- 
 gested, looking round for approval. "But aren't 
 there difficulties in the way, Porton? This man 
 Vawdrey won't want a couple of detectives thrust 
 upon him as extra guests for his shooting party." 
 
 "I've thought of that," Porton answered, "and 
 I'm sure he'll listen to reason. I know him fairly 
 well. He's a very good fellow, one of the best, 
 and I'd go up and arrange it with him myself." 
 
 "What about Drury?" Garrod asked. "He'll 
 be warning his lady friend to look out for herself 
 and then all our efforts will be in vain." 
 
 "Why tell him at all?" another man asked. 
 "He needn't go back there, and he'll know nothing 
 about it." 
 
 "Oh, you can't rely on that," Porton said. 
 "If she writes and tells him that some people have 
 come to the house he may guess. Besides, I think 
 it's better he should go back. If Mr. Garrod is 
 right you don't want to disturb the game." 
 
 "Just so," Garrod agreed. "But he'll tell her." 
 
 "No, he won't. Leave him to me. I'll have a 
 talk with him and win his co-operation." 
 
 "Is it going to run us into much expense?" 
 Hinchin asked. 
 
 "It ought not to. The Luke Johns are on a 
 holiday, and it will amuse them to see the inside 
 of an English household and a bit of moorland 
 scenery. I can put it to them to accept their ex- 
 penses say twenty pounds with a big reward if 
 they recover the jewelry." 
 
 [167]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "Five hundred or a thousand, you mean?" 
 
 "Yes. It's worth that." 
 
 No one seemed to have anything further to say, 
 and Hinchin at length summed up : 
 
 "Then, shall we leave it in Mr. Porton's hands 
 to act on those lines?" 
 
 Every one agreed, and after one or two final 
 words the meeting broke up. Porton went to find 
 Drury, who was in his own room. 
 
 "May I come and have a chat?" he asked, 
 adopting his most conciliatory manner. 
 
 "Oh, certainly," Drury said, as he rose from his 
 chair. "Sit down, won't you? Will you smoke?" 
 
 "Thanks." 
 
 He lit a cigar and gossiped for a minute or two 
 before he touched upon the subject of the robbery. 
 Then, after a short pause, he said: 
 
 "About this affair, Mr. Drury. I thought I'd 
 come and tell you that we've decided upon a plan 
 which I think you will approve." 
 
 "I'm glad to hear it," Drury answered, with a 
 perceptible increase of coldness in his tone. 
 
 "In these cases every one must pull together, 
 and it would be most regettable if any little mis- 
 understanding were to exist between you and the 
 others. Especially so, because your co-operation is 
 necessary not, of course, in any active way, 
 but simply in forgetting all I'm going to tell 
 you." 
 
 "Why tell me if you want me to forget it?" 
 
 "Because I shouldn't like you to think that any- 
 [168]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 thing was being done behind your back. We must 
 work together." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "You took umbrage and I think quite justifia- 
 bly at Mr. Garrod's remarks. He has not a very 
 happy way of expressing himself." 
 
 "I thought he was talking nonsense, and of- 
 fensive nonsense at that." 
 
 "He was, rather. There's no ground for re- 
 flecting on Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's character; we're 
 all agreed upon that. But if you call on a man to 
 pay up a large sum of money he naturally wants 
 to get as near the bottom of the matter as he can." 
 
 "Oh, certainly; I do myself." 
 
 "Quite so. Now, at present we know absolutely 
 nothing; and don't misunderstand me when I say 
 that we don't even know that the jewelry was 
 stolen. We want to know that first, and then we 
 want to know who took it." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Given that it was stolen, it's a fair inference 
 that there's some one in the house who knows some- 
 thing about it; servants are nearly always involved 
 in a thing of this kind." 
 
 "Very often." 
 
 "So this is what we propose. You shall go up 
 to Gains to-night. Say nothing of what has been 
 discussed either to Mrs. Dayrell-Wing or to any 
 one else. If questions are asked, you believe that 
 it is in the hands of the detective from Edinburgh 
 and that he is doing all that is possible." 
 [169]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "What else?" 
 
 "I will go with you, and I shall bring with me 
 a couple of friends very pleasant Americans. I 
 shall arrange for Mr. Vawdrey to ask them to 
 stay at Gains for a few days." 
 
 "Detectives! But I'm sure Mr. Vawdrey won't 
 stand having any one posing as a guest in order 
 to spy 'on the house." 
 
 "I think he will if I ask him and if you ask him." 
 
 Drury hesitated for some time before he said: 
 
 "Well, I don't mind. I'm as keen as any one 
 to clear the thing up." 
 
 "Naturally you are, and this is the best chance 
 you have of doing it. But you must remember 
 that, if it is to succeed, no one must know about it. 
 For instance, Mrs. Dayrell-Wing mustn't know." 
 
 "Why not?" Drury asked, with a look of an- 
 noyance on his face. 
 
 "For two reasons. In the first place, if she is 
 told, some one else will be told, and in twenty-four 
 hours it will be common property. In the second 
 place, we must have independent proof that the 
 necklace was really stolen." 
 
 "That's absurd." 
 
 "Pardon me, it is necessary. I agree there's 
 nothing against her, not a breath. But once the 
 suggestion has been made we must prove it to be 
 unfounded. A thing like that wants killing; it 
 isn't enough to put it on one side and disregard it." 
 
 "Yes, I see that," Drury answered reluctantly. 
 "All the same, it's very awkward for me to feel 
 [170]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 that she is being suspected and spied upon. It's 
 altogether different to having some one there to 
 watch the servants." 
 
 "I agree it is awkward. But there's no other 
 way out of it. And unless she's told she won't 
 know anything about it." 
 
 "Well, I don't like it; and, in spite of all you 
 say, I don't see the necessity." 
 
 "It exists and I strongly urge you to yield to it." 
 
 "Suppose I don't." 
 
 "In that case, Mr. Garrod, at all events, will 
 never be brought to believe in Mrs. Dayrell- Wing's 
 innocence." He had struck the right note. Drury 
 disliked Garrod extremely, and believed him ca- 
 pable of gloating over the dissemination of a 
 scandal; and in connection with Mrs. Dayrell- 
 Wing this was unbearable. As Porton said, her 
 innocence must be proved in order to muzzle him, 
 and after a moment's reflection Drury gave a re- 
 luctant assent. 
 
 "Yes, 'I see," he said. "I suppose, as things 
 are, that one can't help oneself." 
 
 "I think it's the best course, really I do." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 "Then I'll meet you to-night on the train. 
 I must be off now and make arrangements. 
 Good-by." 
 
 "Good-by." 
 
 "Shall I order you a sleeping berth?" 
 
 "Yes, will you?" 
 
 "That chap only wants handling," Porton said
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 to himself, as he went back to his office. "He's a 
 good enough fellow, but I think he's a bit gone on 
 the Australian widow. I shouldn't wonder if he 
 had a rude awakening."
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 N reaching his office, Porton telephoned to the 
 hotel where Luke Johns and his wife were 
 staying and asked them to come and see him ; and 
 within half an hour they arrived. 
 
 As a girl, Mrs. Luke Johns had been very at- 
 tractive and she still passed for a pretty woman. 
 She was slight, with a very elegant figure, and small 
 hands and feet. Her clothes were noticeably 
 smart a little too smart to be good. Her blue 
 serge shirt was a shade too narrow, her hat per- 
 haps a quarter of an inch too wide, her gloves a 
 trifle too long, her sleeves a trifle too short. She 
 meant to be mondainc, and, overshooting the mark 
 by a fraction, she became "poster-ish." 
 
 With a good complexion, abundant hair, and 
 remarkably well-shaped ears, she had kept the 
 profile of twenty-two. It was only when one saw 
 her full face that one perceived her to be a much 
 older and more experienced woman. The eyes 
 were old; they were surrounded by myriads of fine 
 lines and they had lost their brilliancy. They 
 looked at the world steadily, seldom kindled by 
 emotion, and without expectation of great events. 
 But, although they were expressive of great courage 
 and determination, they had not the hard, glassy 
 appearance which, more than anything, mars a 
 woman's beauty. 
 
 [173]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 She was distinctively American, and, in his own 
 style, Luke Johns was equally unmistakable. He 
 was angular without being thin, like one of Uncle 
 Sam's caricatures in wood, and his clothes accen- 
 tuated the squareness of his shoulders and his pro- 
 tuberant chest. His neck was short and thick, and 
 his large bony head seemed too tightly screwed on 
 to his body. He was clean-shaven, with high cheek 
 bones and thin, mobile lips, and his eyes were set 
 somewhat far apart under the wide forehead. He 
 gave the impression of great alertness, both of 
 body and mind, like a boxer in the ring. 
 
 Porton begged them to sit down, saying: 
 
 "I've sent for you to ask if you'd care to take 
 up a case which has just come before me. Are 
 you more or less at liberty for a week or so?" 
 
 "We're seeing London," Johns answered. "But 
 that isn't urgent. What's the business?" 
 
 "Well, a certain lady is staying at a house in 
 Scotland, and the night before last a very valuable 
 diamond necklace belonging to her disappeared. 
 At present we have no particulars, except that the 
 matter has been placed in the hands of a very 
 capable detective." 
 
 "Official, I suppose?" Mrs. Luke Johns asked. 
 
 "Yes. He was called in by her host, whom I 
 happen to know fairly well. However, in this 
 matter I'm not acting for him or for the lady. My 
 clients are certain members of Lloyds who, only 
 a few months ago, accepted a risk of twenty 
 thousand pounds on the necklace." 
 
 [174]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 "Just so. And they want to know where she's 
 put it," Johns said. 
 
 His short cut to a carefully prepared explanation 
 took Porton aback. 
 
 "Well er " he said, "we're not justified in 
 putting it quite in that way. but it has been sug- 
 gested I say, suggested that something of that 
 kind is a possible solution of the mystery." 
 
 "What is her name?" Mrs. Luke Johns asked. 
 
 "Mrs. Dayrell-Wing. She is a widow from 
 Australia, who .came to this country some few 
 years ago. She seems to be very wealthy, and I 
 am told she is well known in London society." 
 
 "In New York they come from 'Frisco," Johns 
 remarked dryly. "And they're real careless about 
 diamonds; they always lose them. Even if they 
 aren't insured it's a useful hint to some one that 
 they want new ones." 
 
 "Come, come," Porton said, smiling in spite of 
 being a good deal shocked. "You mustn't jump 
 to conclusions like this. As far as we know, the 
 lady's as respectable as Britannia." 
 
 "Just so." 
 
 "However, whether that's so or not, my clients 
 feel that it is a case which calls for searching in- 
 vestigation." 
 
 "Of course," Mrs. Luke Johns agreed softly. 
 
 "Now, we have the fullest confidence in the de- 
 tective who is working on it ; he's a first-rate man. 
 I don't want to interfere w r ith him in any way, but 
 I want to supplement his inquiries by introducing 
 
 [175]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 into the house some one who is not known to be 
 a detective. And it occurred to me, after your 
 call here, that perhaps you might like to spend a 
 week of your holiday in Scotland and just look 
 round." 
 
 "We should love it." 
 
 "Good. Can you travel up with me to-night?" 
 
 "Why not?" Luke Johns said. 
 
 "Very well, then. Now, as to your fee. If my 
 clients have to pay this claim they are not in a 
 position to be generous. I said I would put it to 
 you in this way that you should regard it as a 
 pleasure trip, with fares paid and a small check 
 for expenses say, twenty pounds. If, through 
 your efforts, the necklace is recovered, they will 
 recognize your services handsomely. In that event 
 I think I can promise you five or six hundred 
 guineas." 
 
 Luke Johns looked at his wife, and she an- 
 swered : 
 
 "Mr. Porton, whatever you settle will be wel- 
 come to us. We didn't think of doing business 
 over here, but if we can be useful to you we shall 
 be just too pleased." 
 
 "Thank you very much. Then we'll leave it on 
 those terms. And I shall expect to see you on the 
 train to-night eleven-thirty from King's Cross. 
 I'm going to travel with you because I have to 
 arrange for your reception. There may be a little 
 difficulty, but I hope not." 
 
 "We'll be there." 
 
 [176]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 "Oh, and by the way, Mr. Drury will travel 
 with us. His firm is one of those concerned in the 
 insurance, and the policy was effected through him. 
 He was staying in the house when the robbery took 
 place, and I'd better give you a hint that I fancy 
 he is not altogether indifferent to the lady. Con- 
 sequently, you needn't say to him that your special 
 mission is to keep her under observation you 
 understand?" 
 
 "Quite," Luke Johns answered brightly. "He 
 thinks we're just going up to admire the view." 
 
 "Well, not quite that," Porton answered rather 
 
 pompously, "but to have an eye on the servants." 
 
 "We'll do our best, Mr. Porton," Mrs. Luke 
 
 Johns said, as she shook hands. "We'd like that 
 
 reward." 
 
 When they had left the office Luke Johns said: 
 "Five or six hundred guineas that's three 
 thousand dollars." 
 
 "We could spend it," his wife answered. 
 "We could. But we've got no chance; we don't 
 know the ground here as we do in New York." 
 "We've no chance unless we know her." 
 "My Gawd; wonder if it's Lil Potter." 
 "It might be anybody. There are plenty." 
 "That's so. Wish she said she came from 
 'Frisco; it'd seem more homelike, wouldn't it?"
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 ' I A HAT evening, soon after eleven o'clock, Mr. 
 *- Porton drove up to King's Cross Station in 
 a taxicab in time to meet the Luke Johns and to 
 introduce them to Drury. His afternoon had been 
 spent in thinking over arrangements, and in fram- 
 ing a long telegram to Vawdrey which should be 
 sufficiently explicit without being indiscreet. The 
 final draft was as follows : 
 
 "Please bring car yourself to meet ten 
 twenty-four A. M. train to-morrow at Mon- 
 trose. Important I should see you, so am 
 traveling with Drury and with two Ameri- 
 can friends of yours, who anticipate pleas- 
 ure of few days at Gains if convenient. 
 Bring McVitie with you in car, as must 
 see him before I return next train. 
 
 "AUBREY PORTON." 
 
 Vawdrey had telegraphed an acknowledgment 
 of this, and when the train drew into Montrose he 
 was waiting on the platform. Porton hastened up 
 to him and shook hands, saying : 
 
 "How are you, my dear fellow? I want two 
 minutes alone with you before I introduce your 
 friends from New York." 
 
 "Right you are. I don't know what you're 
 driving at, but come in here. Will your friends, 
 
 [178]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 whom you call my friends, be all right by them- 
 selves ?" 
 
 "Drury'll look after them." 
 
 They went into the deserted waiting-room, and 
 Porton put his hand on Vawdrey's arm, saying : 
 
 "I'm taking a liberty, Vawdrey, an infernal 
 liberty, to oblige a client. And if you don't like it, 
 I'll apologize, and no harm will have been done." 
 
 "Tell me what it is first before you go on to 
 the apology," Vawdrey answered, with a smile. 
 He knew Porton well, and in London they often 
 met in the card-room of the club. 
 
 "I'm acting for the insurers of the stolen neck- 
 lace. Drury came to London knowing nothing 
 except that it had disappeared, and that McVitie 
 was in charge of the case. Is there a clue?" 
 
 "Yes, he knows who took it," Vawdrey an- 
 swered gravely. "But there isn't evidence enough 
 yet for an arrest." 
 
 "Then you haven't recovered the necklace?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Ah ! Of course, we didn't know you'd got 
 even so far as you have; and it was the general 
 feeling that something ought to be done from our 
 end, as we're the really interested parties." 
 
 "No doubt you are." 
 
 "At the meeting yesterday I made a proposal, 
 and they jumped at it. That's why I'm here. 
 After what McVitie has discovered it may seem 
 superfluous; but, as the necklace is still missing, I 
 don't think it's necessarily so. And now that 
 we're here I want your consent to go on."
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "Well, what is it?" 
 
 "It's this. I've brought down two American 
 detectives whom I know personally. They hap- 
 pened to be in England on a holiday and called on 
 me a day or two ago; and it struck me that they 
 might be more useful than any one else in running 
 this thing to earth. As a favor to me and to 
 Drury, I want you to receive them as your guests 
 for a few days. They won't interfere with Mc- 
 Vitie, and their assistance may be very valuable." 
 
 "Oh, I don't like that," Vawdrey said, some- 
 what impatiently. "And besides the culprit's gone. 
 He left this morning. In confidence I may tell you, 
 it's a man named Pfeiffer do you know him?" 
 
 "No. Are you sure he did it?" 
 
 "McVitie is; and from what he tells me I don't 
 see who else could have done it. But he must 
 have had an accomplice, because he got rid of the 
 necklace and it hasn't been found." 
 
 "Then it's worth trying these people. Probably 
 the accomplice was one of the servants.' 
 
 "No, no; you can't ask me to do that." 
 
 "I do ask it," Porton said firmly. 
 
 "It's very unpleasant. The people who are stay- 
 ing with me would resent it." 
 
 "They'll never find out. Johns and his wife are 
 quite all right, and they're as clever as monkeys. 
 All you have to do is to introduce them as friends 
 you met when you were last in New York ; they'll 
 do the rest." 
 
 "I'm sick to death of this beastly affair," Vaw- 
 drey cried. "I've never been so worried in my 
 [180]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 life. I can't tell you everything, but it's touched 
 me very closely." 
 
 Porton, like many clever men, was always eager 
 for his own schemes, and he did not mean to let 
 Vawdrey block this one. 
 
 "My dear fellow," he said, "I understand your 
 feelings perfectly. But in fairness, as a matter of 
 business, you ought to help my clients. I'll put it 
 to you as a favor to myself." 
 
 Vawdrey shrugged his shoulders, saying: 
 
 "If you make it a personal matter I can't very 
 well refuse you. But I don't like it, Porton." 
 
 "No; but if we recover the jewelry you will. 
 You'll feel then that the end justified the means." 
 
 "I hope to heaven I shall never feel that about 
 anything. That's a dirty argument, and this is 
 rather a dirty business upon my soul it is." 
 
 "Then say you won't do it and I'll take them 
 back again," Porton answered, not daring to press 
 him too urgently. 
 
 "No. You've come, and I'll go through with it. 
 Perhaps something will result, and really I should 
 be thankful if it did." 
 
 He was longing for positive proof of Pfeiffer's 
 guilt; for, if the theft could not be brought home 
 to him, there would always be the danger of his 
 overpersuading Ethel and inducing her to marry 
 him. 
 
 "You've quite made up your mind?" Porton 
 asked, eyeing him shrewdly. 
 
 "Yes. I'll do it and, to be honest, not entirely 
 [181]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 to oblige you. I want this damned fellow caught." 
 
 "I hope he will be. And in any case you've laid 
 me under a deep obligation, for which I'm very 
 grateful." 
 
 "That's all right." 
 
 "Now, I'd better have a word with McVitie; 
 he may want smoothing down. Will you wait 
 here? And I'll bring him and the Johns along. 
 Where is he?" 
 
 "In the car outside." 
 
 "Right. By the way, secrecy's everything; 
 need you tell Mrs. Vawdrey?" 
 
 "Not if you don't want me to. I've got to lie all 
 round, so I may as well lie to her as to the others. 
 But I expect she'll spot them." 
 
 "She won't, if you don't give it away." 
 
 Porton went out to find McVitie, who had 
 driven from Gains with Vawdrey and was on his 
 way to Edinburgh. 
 
 "Mr. McVitie?" he asked suavely. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I must introduce myself. My name is Por- 
 ton, of Porton & Paver, solicitors; and I am act- 
 ing for several firms at Lloyds who are interested 
 as insurers in the loss of this necklace." 
 
 "You wished to see me about it?" 
 
 "If you can give me a few minutes. The fact 
 is, my clients are determined to do everything pos- 
 sible to unravel the matter; and in addition to the 
 inquiries which you are following up which, of 
 course, could not be in better hands they think 
 [182]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 it most desirable to have some one in the house 
 who is entirely unknown there. You understand, 
 it won't interfere with the measures you are taking 
 or in any sense affect your control of the case. It's 
 simply an additional effort." 
 
 "You have brought a London detective? I 
 don't need him," McVitie answered, with a sour 
 expression on his face. He had a keen sense of 
 what was due to him, and was not going to tolerate 
 officious intervention. 
 
 "No; I've brought an American and his wife, 
 whom I have employed in the States on one or two 
 occasions. They happened to be in London, and 
 my clients decided to take advantage of it and put 
 them on to this affair. They are going to spend 
 a few days at Gains as Mr. Vawdrey's guests 
 friends whom he met in New York." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "Of course, the case being in your hands, I did 
 not propose to do this without consulting you, so 
 I asked Mr. Vawdrey to arrange a meeting here. 
 I trust, however, that you er see no objection?" 
 
 If Mr. McVitie had intended to remain at 
 Gains he would have refused point blank. But his 
 work there was done; and he was leaving for Lon- 
 don to rejoin Shaw, who was shadowing Pfeiffer. 
 So he answered: "There's no objection, if your 
 clients are willing to waste their money." 
 
 Porton was nettled and said : 
 
 "I don't think we need assume yet that it's 
 waste of money." 
 
 [183]
 
 "You may. I'm following up the right man." 
 
 "And the accomplice?" 
 
 McVitie was touched on a sore point, for his 
 inquiries in the neighborhood had resulted in noth- 
 ing, and he was at a loss to know how Pfeiffer had 
 got rid of the necklace. 
 
 "If there was one he'll not be found at Gains," 
 he answered. "I've finished the inquiry there." 
 
 "Ah, then my American friends won't clash 
 with you at all. That's just as well. Now, if 
 you'll come with me I'll introduce you. You 
 might, perhaps, tell them briefly what has been 
 done." 
 
 McVitie, in a contemptuous mood, followed 
 him to the waiting-room, where they were joined 
 by Drury and the Luke Johns. 
 
 "Mr. Vawdrey," Porton said, with a smile, "let 
 me present Mr. and Mrs. Luke Johns friends 
 whom you met when you were last in America." 
 
 Mrs. Luke Johns shook hands with Vawdrey, 
 repeating his name in a tone of interrogation. 
 Luke Johns, on the spot at once, said : 
 
 "Happy to meet you again. When was it you 
 were in our city?" 
 
 "Mr. McVitie Mrs. Luke Johns Mr. Luke 
 Johns," Porton went on. "Mr. Johns, you may 
 like a moment's chat with Mr. McVitie while the 
 car is getting ready." 
 
 McVitie gave Johns a limp hand, and his face 
 was as expressionless as a piece of wood. Johns 
 drew him aside and, disregarding his evident dis- 
 [184]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 inclination to say anything, began telling him how 
 much honored he felt in meeting him, and went on 
 to a series of deferential questions about the case. 
 
 Standing together, the men presented a remark- 
 able contrast. McVitie, tall, thin, and leathery, 
 with stooping shoulders and pale eyes, looked a 
 typical Glasgow citizen. His badly fitting clothes 
 were much worn, his boots were clumsy, and his 
 unbuttoned overcoat sagged away in heavy creases. 
 He looked rather stupid and quite uninterested; 
 but he was far from being either. He was taking 
 Luke Johns' measure as carefully as if he had 
 been interviewing a criminal. He had no faith in 
 what he called "fancy detectives," private inquirers 
 who worked unofficially, and were often capable of 
 changing sides if it suited their pockets to do so. 
 In his opinion, some were liars, some blackmailers, 
 and the rest mostly incompetent; for he had the 
 official mind, which resents outside competition 
 with a government department. Johns struck him 
 as wide-awake, flashy, a leaper to conclusions, 
 probably a man who did not keep note-books. 
 But, grudgingly, he admitted his acuteness. He 
 would have liked to think him a fool; but he had 
 to fall back on thinking him a rogue. 
 
 Luke Johns, standing beside McVitie, looked 
 below the average height and unnaturally broad. 
 His high shoulders were made higher by the cut 
 of his jacket, and his soft hat was pulled well over 
 his forehead and set at an acute angle. His eyes 
 were as bright as a bird's, and his thin lips moved 
 [185]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 rapidly as he talked. To McVitie he was friendly 
 and respectful. He guessed that he was "feeling 
 bad" at another detective being brought into the 
 case, and he made it a rule to keep on good terms 
 with the official police and to win a friend when- 
 ever he could. So he listened patiently to the 
 Scotchman's slow and unwilling statements, and 
 loaded him with congratulations on having traced 
 the theft to the right man. 
 
 "Seems to me," he said in conclusion, "I sha'n't 
 get the salvage money this journey. I'm a day 
 after the funeral." 
 
 "You'll find Gains a pleasant hoose for a stay," 
 McVitie answered, with a dry smile. 
 
 "I reckon so," Johns agreed cheerfully. 
 
 He was not convinced by McVitie's proofs 
 against Pfeiffer, for experience had taught him 
 that the obvious man was seldom the right one. 
 Besides, Porton's theory that the necklace had 
 never been stolen appealed to him as being far 
 more probable. But he had no intention of dis- 
 turbing McVitie's beliefs and bringing him back 
 to Gains. He wanted the field to himself. Three 
 thousand dollars were hanging to the recovery of 
 the jewels. 
 
 During the first part of the drive to Gains 
 Vawdrey was silent and did not respond to Mrs. 
 Luke Johns' agreeable chatter. He was annoyed 
 at having allowed himself to be persuaded by Por- 
 ton : to pass off these Americans as friends whom 
 he had met in New York was repugnant to his 
 [,86]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 sense of honor, and he began to dislike them very 
 heartily. But for Ethel's sake he would never have 
 agreed to it. He had seen her that morning, after 
 Pfeiffer's departure, reserved and sad, and his heart 
 was very sore at the danger into which she had 
 fallen. It was the remembrance of her unusual 
 quietness which had made him yield to Porton's 
 persuasion. He longed for her safety, and, like a 
 skilful surgeon, he believed that the most severe 
 treatment was the kindest. Pfeiffer's guilt must be 
 publicly proved, and any chance of doing so ought 
 not to be rejected; so he had allowed the Luke 
 Johns to come to Gains. 
 
 Sitting opposite to them in the motor he looked 
 them over with a prejudiced eye. The woman was 
 not so bad, certainly. She was good-looking, and 
 had a Frenchified style about her, even if it was a 
 little extravagant. Her accent, too, was not un- 
 pleasing. In fairness he was obliged to admit that 
 she was attractive and quite capable of playing the 
 part of a friend from America. 
 
 But, clearly, her husband did not belong to the 
 aristocracy. He did not look as if he came from 
 that city of culture which he called "Barston," nor 
 did he carry in his face the signs of spiritual force 
 which atone for lack of breeding. He was com- 
 monplace. His square, fattish body needed exer- 
 cise, his feet and hands were chubby, and his tweed 
 suit was execrable. Vawdrey, with some disgust, 
 summed him up as an "outsider." 
 
 Yet, as he watched him, he saw that there was 
 
 [187]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 a certain attractive quality about him, which drew 
 off attention from his defects. The vivacious eyes, 
 the expression of alertness when he talked, were 
 striking; and Vawdrey could not help contrasting 
 him with McVitie, whose gaucherie and fishlike in- 
 difference had annoyed him so much. Whatever 
 Johns was, he was not a fool ; and, as Vawdrey be- 
 came more sure of this, his dislike began to wane. 
 
 So, when Luke Johns presently leant across to 
 him and said, "Where was it we met you?" he 
 answered with a smile : 
 
 "Perhaps at the hotel at Niagara. I was there 
 last September." 
 
 Johns nodded approval, saying: "That'll do. 
 Better get it fixed right or we'll be snagged at 
 question time. Just to refresh your memory, I'm a 
 retired pressman used to do American politics for 
 The World until an uncle died out West." 
 
 Mrs. Luke Johns took up the instructions in a 
 perfectly natural tone, saying: 
 
 "We live very quietly and know few people. 
 Neither Luke nor I are fond of society." 
 
 "Ah, I see," Vawdrey said. "You mean, your 
 acquaintance is limited?" 
 
 "We know the people you and your friends 
 don't," Johns summed up. 
 
 "Quite so." 
 
 [188]
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 last five miles of the road was very rough, 
 and the car did not reach Gains till nearly 
 one o'clock. As it drew up at the door Mrs. Vaw- 
 drey and Ethel came out to meet it. 
 
 "So glad you've come back, Mr. Drury," Ethel 
 called. 
 
 "Thanks very much," he answered. "London 
 in August isn't very gay; and there was nothing to 
 be done, so I got oft as soon as I could." 
 
 "No news of the burglars, I suppose?" 
 
 "Not an oat." 
 
 "My dear," Vawdrey said to his wife, "let me 
 introduce Mrs. Luke Johns and Mr, Luke Johns 
 friends whom I met at Niagara last year. I found 
 them in the train at Montrose and persuaded them 
 to come here for a few days before going further 
 north." 
 
 "Mrs. Vawdrey?" Mrs. Luke Johns purred, as 
 she held out her hand. 
 
 "How do you do?" Mrs. Vawdrey answered. 
 She was accustomed to unexpected arrivals, for her 
 husband often brought business friends home with 
 him. 
 
 "My daughter," Vawdrey said. 
 
 "I'm proud to set foot in Scotland, Miss Vaw- 
 drey," Luke Johns announced. "The place from 
 which my ancestors sailed for America." 
 [189]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "That must have been a long time ago," Ethel 
 said in a voice of quiet surprise. She had no sar- 
 castic intention, but this square little man looked so 
 far removed from a Scottish ancestry. 
 
 "Oh, before my day," Johns answered. "In 
 this country you come over with William the Con- 
 queror, don't you ? In America we come over with 
 the Pilgrim Fathers. Well, I reckon we all swung 
 on the same bough in the Garden of Eden." 
 
 Ethel laughed, but Mrs. Vawdrey looked 
 shocked. 
 
 "Luncheon will be ready in half an hour," she 
 said, turning to Mrs. Luke Johns. "Let me show 
 you your room. Tom, will you look after Mr. 
 Johns?" 
 
 "Come into the billiard-room," Vawdrey said. 
 "I daresay you'd like a drink after the long drive." 
 
 "Thanks. See you later, Miss Vawdrey," Johns 
 said. 
 
 Leslie Eraser was practising the anchor-stroke 
 by himself and looked up as they entered. 
 
 "Good morning," he said to Vawdrey. "You 
 were off early this morning." 
 
 "Yes. Our friend McVitie was leaving, and I 
 took him to the train. Let me introduce Mr. Luke 
 Johns Mr. Eraser." 
 
 Eraser shook hands languidly. For a moment 
 his eyes rested on Johns with a look of perplexed 
 inquiry; but he said nothing, and presently re- 
 sumed his game. 
 
 "What'll you have whiskey?" Vawdrey asked, 
 [ 190]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 going to a side-table, where some bottles and 
 glasses were set out. 
 
 "Thanks. One finger and plenty of soda." 
 
 "Is that right? Excuse me a moment, will you? 
 I must just say a word to the chauffeur." 
 
 He left the room, and Eraser, to make conversa- 
 tion, asked Johns from what part of America he 
 came. 
 
 "I'm from New York. I was just saying to 
 Miss Vawdrey that I was proud to set foot in 
 Scotland, the country of my ancestors." 
 
 "Then it's your first visit?" 
 
 "It is. We're over on a holiday, and when Mr, 
 Vawdrey saw us on the train this morning he 
 pressed us to stop off for a few days. He's got a 
 nice little place here." 
 
 "Glad you think so," Fraser answered coolly. 
 He did not appreciate Luke Johns' description of 
 his family estate, and he thought him a very bad 
 specimen of an American. At first he had won- 
 dered where Vawdrey could have picked him up 
 until he remembered that in business one had to 
 make curious friends. 
 
 Johns caught the inflection of his voice, and 
 shot a keen glance at him over the rim of his 
 tumbler. 
 
 "Well, isn't it?" he demanded. 
 
 "Oh, certainly." 
 
 "He was telling me he'd just bought it." 
 
 "Yes. I sold it to him." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 [191]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "Yes," Eraser answered, as he pulled off a diffi- 
 cult shot. "In this country it's rather the fashion 
 to sell one's family acres unless an heiress from 
 your side comes to the rescue." 
 
 "That so? Sorry you find our ladies so unat- 
 tractive," Johns said, with a laugh. 
 
 Fraser smiled faintly as he answered: 
 
 "You are too complimentary, Mr. Johns. I'm 
 afraid that a truer reason was that I had nothing 
 good enough to offer." 
 
 Johns laughed again, saying: 
 
 "You're modest. In America we mark the goods 
 high, and then start in to educate opinion up to our 
 prices." 
 
 "Really?" 
 
 "Yes. If you've got a stock to sell, or a girl to 
 marry, or a patent food to boom, you advertise. 
 Talk about it, and if you talk loud enough you 
 can't fail." 
 
 Vawdrey now returned, and carried Johns off 
 to show him his room. As they passed along the 
 corridor he pointed to the first door on the right, 
 saying in a low voice : "That was the room. And 
 Pfeiffer had the next room." 
 
 "Are they open?" Johns asked. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Have them left unlocked, please. I'll look in 
 some time." 
 
 The Luke Johns were quartered in two rooms 
 at the end of the corridor on the first floor, on the 
 side of the house farthest from the wing and from 
 [ 192]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 the back staircase. Eraser was next to them, and 
 Ethel Vawdrey's bedroom and sitting-room were 
 opposite. 
 
 "This is yours," Vawdrey said. 
 
 "Thanks." 
 
 "Ring if you want anything." 
 
 "I will." 
 
 When Vawdrey had left him Luke Johns locked 
 the door and took note of his surroundings. 
 Then, going to the inner door, which led into his 
 vife's room, he tapped. 
 
 "Come," she called. 
 
 She was unpacking her dressing bag, and he 
 \vent in and stood by her in silence. Presently he 
 said: 
 
 "Swell house, this." 
 
 She looked up at him and nodded. 
 
 "Anything?" he asked, after a moment's pause. 
 
 "No." 
 
 Then she added: "You'd better shave before 
 lunch." 
 
 A few minutes later the gong sounded; and 
 when they went down the rest of the party were 
 already in the dining-room. Mrs. Vawdrey briefly 
 made the necessary introductions, and put Mrs. 
 Luke Johns on Vawdrey's left. Opposite to her 
 was Mrs. Dayrell-Wing, to whom she at once be- 
 gan to talk. 
 
 "It's pleasant to get away here from London," 
 she said. "This hot weather has been trying." 
 
 "It must have been," Mrs. Dayrell-Wing 
 agreed. "I've never been in town in August." 
 
 [193]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "Haven't you ? No ; I suppose no one is except 
 the sightseers." 
 
 "Nothing deters them, especially if they come 
 from your country, Mrs. Johns," Vawdrey joined 
 in. "Round about Westminster Abbey at this 
 time of year there are more Baedekers to the square 
 inch than anywhere in the world." 
 
 "That's so," Mrs. Luke Johns agreed, with a 
 pleasant smile. "You see, there are a lot of people 
 on the earth, and there's only one Westminster 
 Abbey." 
 
 "And, if I may return the compliment, there's 
 only one Niagara," Vawdrey answered. 
 
 "That's real prettily said, Mr. Vawdrey. Don't 
 you agree, Mrs. Dayrell-Wing?" 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Vawdrey is a past master in polite- 
 ness. I think he must have had a French ancestor." 
 
 Luke Johns was making himself agreeable to 
 Hilda Carew, whose open-air style of beauty had 
 taken his fancy. 
 
 "Have you ever been in America, Miss Carew?" 
 he asked, when they had exhausted the weather 
 and the scenery. 
 
 "Yes. I spent a winter in New York two years 
 ago," she; answered. "I was staying w*ith the 
 Pierponts. Do you know them?" 
 
 A shadow of caution came into Johns' eyes. 
 
 "No," he said. "Of course, I know all about 
 them ; they belong to the Four Hundred, and their 
 press-agent lets you know it in every Sunday edi- 
 tion."
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 "Their press-agent?" 
 
 "The man who writes them up. Every mil- 
 lionaire has one; if he didn't he'd be done to death 
 by interviewers and canvassers. It's a deal sim- 
 pler to pay one man and let him square the rest." 
 
 "You're chaffing!" 
 
 "No, I'm dead serious. In America, if you've 
 got any money, you've got to advertise. It's good 
 for you and it's good for trade, and it's a rule of 
 democracy that we all take care of each other. So, 
 if you won't advertise on your own we just make 
 you." 
 
 "What a horrible state of things if you happen 
 to be shy." 
 
 "Shyness, Miss Carew, is selfishness under 
 another name. If you spend twenty thousand 
 dollars on a banquet, and don't let on what it cost, 
 it's selfish. But if you give out an interview, with 
 chunks of statistics about the number of Chinese 
 who met their death in collecting the birds' nests 
 for the soup, you're amusing a million people; 
 and that seems cheap at the price." 
 
 "Well, I never heard it put that way before." 
 
 "No? I reckon the Pierponts didn't confide in 
 you about their press fixings thought you under- 
 stood it, p'r'aps." 
 
 "But we don't do that sort of thing here." 
 
 "You're behindhand, I allow. But you're com- 
 ing on. At the hotel I was reading all your illus- 
 trated journals. They've got a kind of outbreak 
 of Miss Del Douro's photograph."
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "They always have. She's very popular, so the 
 papers always publish them." 
 
 "You've guessed right, Miss Carew, but you've 
 got your sentence mixed. You mean they always 
 publish them, so she's very popular." 
 
 Hilda laughed, saying: "I'm afraid you're aw- 
 fully cynical, Mr. Johns." 
 
 "Not cynical, Miss Carew; but I dote on facts. 
 Most people don't; facts make 'em sick." 
 
 Lady Benyon, who had been listening to the 
 conversation, now joined in. 
 
 "Facts are so unfashionable," she drawled. 
 "They are left to the people who go in for higher 
 education and wear sandals." 
 
 "That so?" Luke Johns exclaimed, with twink- 
 ling eyes. "And do all the liars wear boots ? Now, 
 I'd never have guessed that, Lady Benyon." 
 
 "But clothes are so expensive, haven't you no- 
 ticed? I always know whether I shall like any one 
 by the kind of hat she wears." 
 
 Fraser leant across, saying : 
 
 "If you want to make friends with the mammon 
 of unrighteousness, I agree that hats are good 
 evidence. The one you wore on Sunday was to the 
 meanest intelligence mammonish and unrighteous." 
 
 "Glad you liked it," Lady Benyon answered. 
 
 "What's everybody doing this afternoon?" 
 Vawdrey asked. 
 
 "Ethel is taking Lady Benyon and me for a run 
 in the motor," Mrs. Dayrell-Wing said. 
 
 [196]
 
 "How delightful!" Mrs. Luke Johns cried 
 quickly. "I just love motoring." 
 
 "Come with us, if you'd care to," Ethel said. 
 "The roads aren't good, but the scenery's 
 charming." 
 
 "I'd enjoy it enormously. What time do you 
 start?" 
 
 "The car is ordered for a quarter past three." 
 
 "Is any one inclined for a walk?" Vawdrey 
 asked. "To-morrow we shall be shooting again, 
 I hope." 
 
 Sir Charles Benyon and Arthur Drury agreed to 
 go with him. Leslie Eraser excused himself on 
 the plea of having letters to write, and Luke Johns 
 preferred to smoke a cigar in the garden. 
 
 As they went out from lunch Mrs. Dayrell- 
 Wing lingered in the hall and allowed Drury to 
 join her. 
 
 "Is there any news?" she asked. 
 
 "No; nothing. And I suppose nothing has been 
 found out here?" 
 
 "The detective says he knows who it was; but I 
 don't believe he really does, because he has gone 
 away. I am so grieved and vexed about the loss 
 falling on you." 
 
 "You mustn't think about that. I'm only in for 
 a bit of it, and it's a matter of business and can't 
 be helped." 
 
 "I feel so mean about it. You must let me pay 
 you back your share." 
 
 "Certainly not. I couldn't dream of it." 
 
 [197]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "Dear boy ! You mustn't stand on your dig- 
 nity with me. Surely we know each other well 
 enough " 
 
 "It's delightful of you to say so. But there's 
 only one thing I can ever take from you, and I 
 haven't the cheek to ask for that yet." 
 
 She did not answer; but evidently she was not 
 displeased, for she smiled as she left him to get 
 ready for her drive. 
 
 Drury felt horribly conscience-stricken. He was 
 in love with her, and he had allowed these wretched 
 Americans to come into the house and spy upon her. 
 It was all very well for Porton to smooth it over 
 and say that they were after one of the servants, 
 but he knew well enough that it was Mrs. Dayrell- 
 Wing whom the underwriters suspected, and they 
 had engaged the Luke Johns to try and catch her. 
 Well, at all events, they would fail, because she 
 was innocent. 
 
 Still, he hated the idea, and he was half inclined 
 to make confession to her, or to go to Vawdrey 
 and insist on the Luke Johns being sent away. But 
 he reflected that, in either way, he might create a 
 very awkward situation, and, on the whole, he 
 thought it was better to say nothing. 
 
 [198]
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 TV/TR. and Mrs. Luke Johns were very clever 
 *** people. They had made their way in the 
 world not by means of any special knowledge or 
 training, but by the continual exercise of their wits 
 on problems of human conduct. In earlier life 
 Luke Johns had been a clerk in a stock broker's 
 office, and Mrs. Johns had worked for one of the 
 great New York papers. They met in a boarding- 
 house and became friendly ; and, as time went on, 
 he began to help her in getting up information for 
 her articles. The idea of starting an inquiry 
 agency came to them after a rather sensational 
 case in which they succeeded in obtaining some 
 evidence which the police had failed to get. They 
 saw that there was money to be made in the busi- 
 ness, and, as they had then been engaged for some 
 time, they married and set up as private detectives. 
 Their methods were not those of the Criminal 
 Investigation Department. They were free lances, 
 without legal powers or recognized status, and un- 
 controlled by any regulations. As far as possible 
 they kept within the law, but they had little hesita- 
 tion in going outside it if their object was suffi- 
 ciently important and sufficiently remunerative. In 
 such an event they trusted to luck and to their 
 astuteness to save them, and one or the other 
 usually served them.
 
 Their connection was never large, and the chief 
 part of their work was concerned with scandals 
 rather than with crimes. They were not thief- 
 takers, and more often than not their clients wished 
 to avoid the publicity of the courts, either because 
 their own hands were not clean or because the 
 position of the culprit rendered exposure undesira- 
 ble. In cases of this kind the Luke Johns were 
 often able to effect a satisfactory arrangement and 
 to obtain for themselves a handsome fee. It was 
 not a mode of life peculiarly favorable to moral 
 growth; but, as Luke Johns once remarked, a 
 man's pocket isn't a church collecting bag he can't 
 fill it while he's singing a hymn. 
 
 Their methods of work were peculiar to them- 
 selves, and they did not follow the recognized 
 course of building a complete proof upon a con- 
 junction of apparently trivial facts. A half-burnt 
 match or a speck of mud on a carpet would have 
 meant nothing to them; and even if they had hap- 
 pened to notice such things, they would not have 
 known how to use them. They were, indeed, quite 
 unpractised in the science of constructive proof, and 
 consequently McVitie's array of small discoveries 
 had left them cold. They had not come to Gains 
 to find out whether the robbery had been com- 
 mitted by an expert or by a first offender; they 
 wanted to recover the necklace and get the reward, 
 or, failing that, to enjoy their holiday. 
 
 It will be evident, then, that they were accus- 
 tomed to work on lines which were amateurish and 
 [ 200]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 unsound if judged by the ordinary police stand- 
 ards; and any one who is familiar with the subject 
 will ask how they had managed to carry on. 
 Briefly, their success was due to their remarkable 
 judgment of probabilities, and to their capacity of 
 selecting from them the right conclusion. It was 
 due also to their extreme alertness of mind, which 
 enabled them to collect and sift evidence, and per- 
 haps not less to their discernment of the right mo- 
 ment for parting with a hundred dollar bill. 
 
 Another asset which they possessed was an 
 absolute unscrupulousness in attaining a necessary 
 object. On one occasion Luke Johns had broken 
 into a house and ransacked a desk to get some let- 
 ters which he believed to be there. He was caught 
 in the act, but the letters were in his pocket, and his 
 fee was two thousand dollars with immunity from 
 prosecution. 
 
 Yet, with a code of morality elastic enough to 
 sanction anything in the name of business, Luke 
 Johns and his wife were good citizens in private 
 life. They were frugal and hard-working, and 
 they lived in almost complete seclusion, seldom in- 
 dulging in any gaieties beyond an occasional visit 
 to the theatre. Both were fond of music, and 
 Mrs. Johns played the piano exceedingly well. 
 Luke Johns' chief hobby was philately. 
 
 When Mr. Porton asked them to investigate the 
 loss of Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's necklace they ac- 
 cepted because a week in Scotland would be pleas- 
 anter than in their London hotel. 
 [201]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 There was also, of course, the chance of earn- 
 ing a big fee, but neither of them felt confident 
 that they would discover the thief. For the busi- 
 ness was really somewhat outside their scope except 
 on the assumption that Mrs. Dayrell-Wing was an 
 adventuress. 
 
 In discussing it, therefore, they expressly ex- 
 cluded the possibility that the robbery had been 
 committed by some one outside the house, and 
 adopted the theory that the necklace had not been 
 stolen at all, or, alternatively, that the thief was 
 some one outwardly respectable who was living in 
 the house. When they learnt from McVitie that 
 circumstances pointed to Pfeiffer and that he had 
 gone away, they excluded him ; because, in the first 
 place, he was beyond the range of their inquiry, 
 and because, in the second place, he was too ob- 
 viously the right man. For almost always they 
 found it was wise to swim against the stream of 
 popular opinion, and in nine cases out of ten they 
 were justified. Thus, they arrived at Gains with 
 their field of action intentionally narrowed. Not 
 that they believed that the criminal was necessarily 
 to be found within the limits which they had fixed; 
 but, if he were outside them, they could do nothing 
 in the matter. 
 
 Starting on that basis, the first thing to be done 
 was to examine Mrs. Dayrell-Wing, and with that 
 object Mrs. Luke Johns had lost no time in making 
 friends with her, and had gone motoring on the 
 afternoon of their arrival. 
 [ 202 ]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 Luke Johns, meanwhile, had put on his Hom- 
 burg hat and chosen the largest kind of cigar in 
 Mr. Vawdrey's cabinet. Thus equipped, he saun- 
 tered across the lawn and sat down in a long chair 
 facing the house. 
 
 He saw Vawdrey and Sir Charles and Drury 
 set out for their walk, and he saw Mrs. Vawdrey 
 knitting on the sofa in the drawing-room. He saw 
 a gardener attending to the flowers in the stone 
 vases on the terrace, and he saw Gibson sitting in 
 the sun on a Windsor chair, reading the news- 
 paper. He saw everything there was to be seen, 
 and all the time his active brain was centred upon 
 Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's necklace. Who had taken 
 it? Where was it? And the further question : If 
 A or B took it, why did he take it? What was the 
 motive power behind the theft? Was it envy? 
 Perhaps. Was it greed? More likely. Or was it 
 pure viciousness, exercising itself without reason? 
 
 For the moment he still inclined to Mr. Porton's 
 belief that the necklace had not been stolen. He 
 had been warned that nothing was known of Mrs. 
 Dayreli-Wing save that she had appeared in Lon- 
 don about two years ago, and that she lived as if 
 she had a great deal of money. From that to 
 classifying her as an adventuress was but a small 
 step; and, in his cynical judgment, it told against 
 her that she was attractive and very smartly 
 dressed. An adventuress in last year's frock would 
 be an incredible variation of the wolf in sheep's 
 clothing. 
 
 [ 203 ]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 He finished his cigar without finding an answer 
 to his questions, and, getting up, he strolled into 
 the house. He went slowly up the stairs and halted 
 at the top. The corridor was deserted, and he 
 walked along it to the left, which was in the op- 
 posite direction to his room. One or two doors 
 were open, and he went in, moving as quietly as a 
 cat. One room he identified as Sir Charles Ben- 
 yon's from a dressing-bag initialed U C. B." In 
 another he saw some letters addressed to Miss 
 Carew. It was just as well to know where every 
 one slept. 
 
 He returned to the head of the staircase and 
 went on toward his own room. Then, with a quick 
 glance before and behind him, he opened the door 
 of Pfeiffer's room and went in. McVitie had told 
 him that the room had been thoroughly searched, 
 and he did not intend to go over the ground again. 
 Nor did he see much object in searching Mrs. 
 Dayrell-Wing's room ; for, if the necklace had been 
 hidden there, it was certain that she would have 
 taken it with her when she moved. All he did, 
 therefore, was to take a general survey. 
 
 On reaching his own room he unlocked a suit- 
 case which he had not allowed the footman to 
 unpack. It contained a curious assortment of 
 things, such as are not usually found necessary for 
 a country-house visit. An old pair of black trou- 
 sers, a sleeved Cardigan jacket, black slippers with 
 felt soles, a revolver and some cartridges, an electric 
 
 [204]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 torch, a porcelain slate with pencil and sponge, a 
 small tool pad and an oil can. 
 
 He took the oil can and went to the door. After 
 making sure that no one was in the corridor he 
 carefully oiled the hinges and the lock, working 
 the door backward and forward until it opened 
 without a sound. Then he went through the same 
 process with the door of his wife's room. 
 
 After replacing the oil can he locked up the suit- 
 case and washed his hands. Then he went down- 
 stairs and joined Mrs. Vawdrey in the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 [205]
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 DURING the motor drive Mrs. Luke Johns 
 took advantage of a pause in the conversation 
 and said, as she looked Mrs. Dayrell-Wing full in 
 the face: 
 
 "Mr. Vawdrey was telling us about your dread- 
 ful loss, Mrs. Dayrell-Wing. HQW could it have 
 happened?" 
 
 Mrs. Dayrell-Wing did not flinch or change 
 color. 
 
 "I really don't know anything," she answered, 
 "except that the necklace was stolen while I was 
 asleep." 
 
 "Some one got into your room? And you slept 
 through it? That was real plucky of you." 
 
 "Oh, I can't claim to be plucky. I should have 
 been frightened to death if I had woke up." 
 
 "Well, you must have a clear conscience to sleep 
 like that. I'm sure I'd wake at anything." 
 
 "That's so curious, because I'm not at all a 
 sound sleeper." 
 
 "Aren't you? Well, that does make it more 
 puzzling. And the police haven't caught the man, 
 have they?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Mrs. Luke Johns looked at her with eyes full 
 of sympathetic interest, saying : 
 
 "It seems impossible you shouldn't have heard 
 [206]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 him. Are you sure it was taken ? Couldn't it have 
 got slipped into a drawer or underneath some- 
 thing?" 
 
 "I thought so at first," Mrs. Dayrell-Wing 
 answered, with limpid candor. "But I searched 
 everywhere. And, besides, I know I put it in its 
 box the night before, and the box was found in the 
 passage, you know." 
 
 "Is that so? Well, I shall sleep with my door 
 locked to-night, though I haven't got anything 
 worth stealing. I'd die of fright if any one got in." 
 
 "My door was locked. The horrible detective 
 kept pestering me to say it wasn't, but I'm quite 
 certain about it." 
 
 "I can't bear police," Mrs. Luke Johns said, 
 with a little shudder. 
 
 "They're excellent in their place, at crossings 
 and so on," Lady Benyon remarked. 
 
 "You're insured, aren't you, Mrs. Dayrell- 
 Wing?" Mrs. Luke Johns asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then will you buy another necklace?" 
 
 Mrs. Dayrell-Wing thought the question rather 
 impertinent and she answered coldly : 
 
 "I haven't thought about it. I suppose I shall 
 when I get the money." 
 
 "They can buy one for you, if they like, can't 
 they?" Ethel asked. 
 
 "Can they? I don't mind that, as long as they 
 let me choose it." 
 
 When they returned to Gains tea was waiting 
 [207]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 in the hall, and Luke Johns was sitting beside Mrs. 
 Vawdrey discussing the relative merits of poker 
 and patience. The walking party appeared a few 
 minutes later. 
 
 As it was the first really fine afternoon for more 
 than a week, every one went into the garden as soon 
 as tea was over. 
 
 Mrs. Luke Johns seemed to find Mrs. Dayrell- 
 Wing's society congenial, for she attached herself 
 to her, and left Drury to follow with Ethel. Johns 
 accompanied Mrs. Vawdrey on a visit to the hot- 
 houses, and the slight surprise which she had felt 
 at her husband having brought him to Gains began 
 to wear off as they talked. In his own phrase, he 
 was making good with her; for he had quickly 
 caught the shade of disapproval in her earlier man- 
 ner, and he thought it wise to make a friend of her. 
 It was easy. He could be soft-voiced and deferen- 
 tial when he wished, and he was experienced in 
 adapting his conversation to his audience. 
 
 Drury was not at all pleased at Mrs. Luke 
 Johns' attempt to ingratiate herself with Mrs. 
 Dayrell-Wing, for he knew exactly its object. 
 Again he cursed himself for having allowed his 
 hands to be tied by assenting to the Johns' presence 
 in the house as guests. It was, he felt, an odious 
 situation; but if he warned Mrs. Dayrell-Wing 
 now she would quite justly turn on him. He could 
 do nothing at least, not openly. But, as far as he 
 was able, he was determined to protect her, and 
 with that intention he left Ethel and hurried after 
 [208]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 her. His manner gave Mrs. Luke Johns a hint 
 that she was in the way, and, when it suited her, 
 she could always take a hint. Pleading fatigue 
 after her journey, she went indoors to rest until 
 dinner. 
 
 Johns, returning from the hot-houses, noticed 
 her absence and went to find her. He shut himself 
 into his dressing-room, and tapped on the door 
 which led into her room. 
 
 "Come," she called. 
 
 "You're tired?" he asked. 
 
 "A little. So was some one else." 
 
 "Anything?" 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 He withdrew into his own room, and, opening 
 his suitcase, he took out the porcelain slate. Then, 
 going back, he sat down beside her on the sofa. 
 
 Although the Luke Johns were not trained in 
 detective methods, and were lacking in powers of 
 scientific deduction, they had evolved for them- 
 selves a number of rules suited to the conditions of 
 their work. One of the most important of these 
 was based on the theory which, if unsupported 
 by natural history, is nevertheless true that walls 
 have ears. Their rule, accordingly, was that, as 
 far as possible, they would never discuss the case 
 of the moment within the danger zone except in the 
 open air. Whatever had to be said indoors was 
 written on the slate and sponged out immediately. 
 Thus, the conversations between them at Gains 
 which will be reported hereafter were not conversa- 
 [209]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 tions by word of mouth, but were written on the 
 slate. 
 
 Mrs. Luke Johns took the pencil from her hus- 
 band and wrote : 
 
 "Watch Drury. He is in love with Mrs. Day- 
 rell-Wing and gets mad when I speak to her." 
 
 "Will he tell her what we're after?" Johns 
 wrote. 
 
 "He will, unless we're careful. Keep away from 
 her." 
 
 There was a pause while Johns sponged the 
 slate. Then she took it again and wrote : 
 
 "I don't fancy she did it." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I put it to her straight and sudden in the motor. 
 She didn't turn an eyelash." 
 
 "That's not evidence, if she's an old hand." 
 
 "She's not. She's a society fool." 
 
 "You're guessing." 
 
 Mrs. Johns laughed, saying: 
 
 "I always do." 
 
 Johns, who was very fond of his wife, and had 
 a great admiration for her intelligence, laughed 
 also. Then, becoming serious again, he wrote : 
 
 "Go on guessing, but don't forget the facts. I've 
 looked at the rooms. The bolts and locks are O.K., 
 and McVitie got it that both doors were bolted in- 
 side, and that no one got in by the windows." 
 
 "If you're swallowing McVitie's facts, it lies 
 between her and Pfeiffer." 
 
 "We're not taking any of Pfeiffer." 
 [2ip]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 "That leaves us with the woman. And I say 
 she didn't do it." 
 
 "I say she did." 
 
 "I'd believe her rather than McVitie's facts. 
 We know those police facts." 
 
 "I don't agree. I'd like to have time to follow 
 her up. This is a fool's game, coming here for a 
 week, and then dropping out." 
 
 "The fool's game is getting set on an idea be- 
 cause you can't find another one." 
 
 "Can you?'' 
 
 "Not yet. Wait, and keep your eyes open. I 
 don't say McVitie's facts aren't all right, but 
 maybe he's holding them by the wrong end." 
 
 Luke Johns walked up and down the room for 
 a minute. Then he sat down again and wrote : 
 
 "I'd like to look through her things. Guess I'll 
 slip in and turn them over to-morrow." 
 
 "It's risky. There's such a lot of servants 
 about." 
 
 "It's worth chancing. A letter or two might 
 put us on the track." 
 
 "Very well; but I don't believe you'll find any- 
 thing. If she's in it, she's a top-holer. There 
 won't be anything lying about." 
 
 "What about Lil?" Luke Johns wrote, with a 
 grin on his face. 
 
 Lil was a "top-holer" who had engaged the Luke 
 Johns' attention a year or two before. Johns had 
 called upon her, ostensibly to ask her to sit to a 
 photographer, and while waiting in the drawing- 
 
 [211]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 room he had discovered the secret drawer in her 
 bureau containing some useful correspondence. 
 Very few people ever learnt the reason of her sud- 
 den disappearance from the most exclusive circle 
 of Boston society. 
 
 "All right. Have it your own way," Mrs. Luke 
 Johns wrote. 
 
 "Then give me a nod when the road's clear." 
 While the Luke Johns were reviewing probabili- 
 ties on their slate, Ethel Vawdrey was writing to 
 Willie Pfeiffer. She had heard from him that 
 morning, and his letter lay open before her: 
 
 "Mv DEAREST: 
 
 "All the way up in the train I have been 
 thinking what it can possibly be which has 
 come between us. Some one has slandered 
 me to your father that is plain; and if I 
 knew what was said, and who said it, I 
 should act promptly. You know, and you 
 won't tell me ; and you send me away from 
 you, though in the same breath you say you 
 do care for me. 
 
 "I am accused of something by some 
 one. Is that fair? Heaven knows I have 
 committed follies and worse in my life, and 
 for what I have done I can take my punish- 
 ment as well as any man, after I've had a 
 chance of defending myself. But I refuse 
 to sit down under a nameless charge and 
 surrender everything which means happi- 
 ness to me. 
 
 [212]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 "Put yourself in my position. Imagine 
 that / had come to you last night and had 
 said: 'I have heard something about you 
 which I must not tell you. Until you dis- 
 prove it we must part.' Would you not 
 have insisted on knowing what it was? And 
 should I not have been bound to tell you, 
 unless I meant to make an excuse for get- 
 ting rid of you? I cannot believe you 
 meant to do that, for you were nothing but 
 sweet and kind, and the very tone of your 
 voice told me you were suffering as much 
 as I was. 
 
 "Darling, for mercy's sake have mercy. 
 I can face an accusation which is fairly 
 made, and, if I cannot justify myself to 
 you, I can kneel to you for forgiveness. 
 
 "You have sent me away, telling me to 
 come back in six months. Have you 
 thought what it means? Have you any 
 conception what six months of life under 
 the shadow of an unknown charge must 
 be ? And when it is over, I know too well 
 what will happen. They won't let you 
 marry me. This slander, whatever it is, is 
 an absolute lie. They are simply gaining 
 time, so as to put pressure on you and force 
 your inclination. 
 
 "Oh, why do you let them ? We were so 
 happy, and you are letting them wreck 
 our happiness forever. Darling one, break 
 
 [213]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 away from it all and come to me. We can 
 be married at once, and I swear you shall 
 never have a day's regret. When it is done 
 and settled your father will resign himself 
 to the inevitable, and you can make it up 
 with him. Darling one, come to me. A 
 little courage, and we shall be together 
 again. Surely, you won't hang back when 
 we love each other as we do. 
 
 "Always your devoted, 
 
 "W. P." 
 
 Ethel found it a very difficult letter to answer. 
 She had read it a score of times, and now, as she 
 took up her pen, her eyes were full of tears. What 
 he said was true. He ought to be told, but her 
 father was insistent against it until the charge could 
 be proved. She herself was positive that it never 
 would be proved, because she believed passionately 
 in her lover's innocence; and for this reason she 
 agreed with her father that it was better not to tell 
 him. Further inquiry would convince McVitie 
 that he had made a mistake, and then the wretched 
 thing would die a natural death. To marry 
 Pfeiffer at once accorded much more with her in- 
 clination than to tell him about McVitie's sus- 
 picions; but she had promised her father not to do 
 this, and she would not break her word. How, 
 then, could she write so as to comfort her lover as 
 she craved to do? She dashed the tears from her 
 eyes, and began, at first slowly, and then with 
 greater fluency: 
 
 [214]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 "DEAREST: 
 
 "I want so to make you understand that 
 nothing is altered between us, and that the 
 difficulty which for the time is keeping us 
 apart will very soon be over. Will you not 
 be satisfied if I tell you that I love you as 
 much and more than ever, and that my faith 
 in you has never wavered and never will 
 waver? 
 
 "You are right in saying that I ought to 
 tell you why father sent you away. But I 
 have promised him that I will not yet, and 
 I think it is really better to say nothing 
 when, in a few weeks, or even a few days, 
 there will be no need to say anything. 
 
 "Do not think hardly of me for my 
 silence, for I have as much as I can bear 
 without the dread of losing your love. Be 
 patient, and know always that in my heart 
 you stand first and alone. When you know 
 all you will forgive all. 
 
 "Good-by, dear, 
 
 "E. V." 
 
 Tom Vawdrey would have been seriously dis- 
 turbed had he known that Ethel had written such 
 a letter; for, in the event of Pfeiffer being arrested, 
 it was essential that her name should be kept out 
 of the scandal. He was counting upon Pfeiffer 
 being tried and convicted, so that Ethel might be 
 finally delivered from him. If, on the other hand, 
 no further evidence could be obtained, Vawdrey 
 
 [215]
 
 was determined to use all the force at his command 
 to prevent her from marrying him. He looked 
 forward to the necessity with anything but con- 
 fidence, for he knew her spirit too well to feel cer- 
 tain of success; and although he kept a cheerful 
 countenance before his guests his heart was heavy 
 with anxiety. 
 
 [216]
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 '"T^HE weather seemed to have taken a definite 
 * turn for the better, and the next morning the 
 shooters made an early start. Luke Johns accom- 
 panied them, but he declined Vawdrey's offer of a 
 gun, saying that he liked every one too much to 
 put their lives in peril. In reality, he was far from 
 being anxious to go, and long before he got back 
 he was more tired than he had ever been in his life ; 
 but both he and his wife agreed that it would look 
 more natural for him to join the other men. 
 
 "Say, Mr. Vawdrey," he said, as he sprawled in 
 a deep chair, sipping a cup of tea, "I reckon I'll 
 stay behind to-morrow if it's not putting you out. 
 Heather's nice to look at, but give me a paved 
 sidewalk for comfort." 
 
 Accordingly, on the following day he stayed in 
 bed till noon, and then smoked a cigar on the lawn 
 until lunch was ready. Mrs. Luke Johns had 
 found a guide-book in the drawing-room, and, with 
 the sight-seeing instinct of an American, she had 
 whipped up Ethel to take her to a ruined castle 
 some ten miles off. They must start at half-past 
 two, and Mrs. Dayrell-Wing and Lady Benyon 
 had agreed to accompany them. Thus, the way 
 was left clear for Luke Johns to examine Mrs. 
 Dayrell-Wing's room, and not long after the car 
 had started he went upstairs. 
 [217]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 The room which she had occupied since the bur- 
 glary was at the end of the left-hand corridor, be- 
 yond the turning which led to the wing and the 
 back stairs. He walked slowly toward it, and 
 stood for a moment looking out of the corridor 
 window. Then he opened the door and went in. 
 Turning the key in the lock, he began a systematic 
 search. 
 
 He had been at work for nearly half an hour 
 without finding anything of interest, and he had 
 sat down at the writing-table with Mrs. Dayrell- 
 Wing's travelling despatch case in front of him. 
 The lock presented no difficulty, and he was be- 
 ginning quietly to peruse the numerous letters 
 which he found when suddenly his body stiffened. 
 
 Some one was coming along the corridor, and a 
 voice, loud and high-pitched, said: 
 
 "It's too bad the car breaking down. I was 
 just set on seeing that castle." 
 
 It was his wife, and it was Mrs. Dayrell-Wing 
 who answered her. 
 
 Luke Johns' eyes narrowed into slits and the 
 lines round his mouth deepened and grew taut. He 
 was trapped, and his wife was giving him warning. 
 There was no escape, and it was a million to one 
 that Mrs. Dayrell-Wing was coming to her room. 
 Quickly he pushed the letters back into the despatch 
 case and snapped the lock. Then, with a tread 
 even more catlike than usual, he went toward the 
 door. Would his wife invent a pretext to get the 
 [218]
 
 woman away? She was trying, for he heard 
 her say: 
 
 "Oh, I promised to show you that lace I've got. 
 Won't you come and see it now?" 
 
 Luke Johns held his breath for the answer. 
 
 "Thanks, but I'll just lay down my hat first," 
 he heard. And a moment afterward the handle of 
 the door turned. 
 
 "It's locked," Mrs. Dayrell-Wing exclaimed. 
 "Celeste, are you in there?" 
 
 "Oh, it can't be locked," Mrs. Luke Johns said 
 in a perfectly controlled voice. "It must have 
 blown to and got stuck." 
 
 "It seems locked. There's one of the maids ; I'll 
 call her." 
 
 "Let me try," Mrs. Luke Johns said, taking 
 hold of the handle. 
 
 Luke Johns was trapped. In less than a minute 
 suspicion would be aroused, and some one would 
 be summoned to break open the door. He went 
 swiftly to the window, wondering if he could drop 
 out unseen, but one of the gardeners was at work 
 close at hand. He had but a few seconds to make 
 up his mind should he open the door and con- 
 fess, or should he hold out as long as he could in 
 the hope that some chance might favor him? He 
 looked keenly about him as he reviewed the possi- 
 bilities. His mind was strained to its utmost limit. 
 A plan came to him which held some faint hope of 
 success. At all events, it was better than immediate 
 surrender, and in a flash his decision was taken. 
 [219]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 He crept to the door and noiselessly turned the 
 key backward. Then he dived under the bed. 
 
 His wife heard the click of the lock and guessed 
 that he had made himself safe. She half turned the 
 handle and pressed against the door, saying: 
 
 "My! It is stiff." 
 
 Then, turning it further and pressing again, 
 she opened it. 
 
 "That's all right," she cried. "It was only 
 stuck." 
 
 She looked into the room, and then stood aside 
 for Mrs. Dayrell-Wing to pass. 
 
 "Thanks so much," Mrs. Dayrell-Wing said. 
 "I quite thought it was locked. I'll come along to 
 your room in a minute or two." 
 
 Mrs. Luke Johns would have liked to have 
 waited for her, but she could not very well do so, 
 and with a farewell remark she went to her own 
 room. 
 
 Luke Johns, flat on his back underneath the bed, 
 wondered whether Mrs. Dayrell-Wing was sus- 
 picious. Her tone told him nothing. He could 
 not see her, for the valance touched the floor all 
 round, but he could hear her moving about. Then 
 there was an interval of silence, terminated at 
 length by a sound on the dressing-table. She had 
 put something down a comb or a brush probably. 
 
 As the minutes passed he became more at ease, 
 for he inferred that she was satisfied that the door 
 had not been locked. Otherwise, she would have 
 looked about the room to see if any one were 
 
 22
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 hidden. His anxiety thus allayed, he was able to 
 reflect that his search had been fruitless, and that 
 he might have saved himself trouble and risk by 
 taking his wife's advice. He had scarcely expected 
 to find the necklace, for its possession would have 
 been too great a danger; but he had hoped to light 
 upon something of a compromising nature which 
 would serve either as a clue or a weapon. His 
 duty to his clients was to secure the withdrawal of 
 the claim for twenty thousand pounds under the 
 policy of insurance, and for that purpose evidence 
 of a secret liaison might be as effective as the proof 
 that the necklace had not been stolen. He knew 
 how to play a good card, and so long as he earned 
 the reward, he was not particular as to the means 
 he adopted. 
 
 But he had found nothing. The drawers and 
 cupboards contained only an unusual quantity of 
 expensive clothes; in her jewel-case there were half 
 a dozen rings and bracelets of considerable value; 
 and so much of her correspondence as he had had 
 time to read did not indicate a woman who lived 
 on her wits or indulged in gallantry. He admitted 
 that everything was in favor of her innocence, and 
 he began to wonder whether McVitie was not 
 right in following up Willie Pfeiffer. 
 
 His thoughts were recalled abruptly by Mrs. 
 Dayrell-Wing pushing back her chair and walking 
 across the room. His heart jumped as he wondered 
 whether he had moved and so attracted her atten- 
 tion. But she opened the door and went out, 
 [221]
 
 closing it behind her. He lay still for two or three 
 minutes. Then he crawled from beneath the bed, 
 listening for any sound of footsteps in the corridor. 
 Reassured by the silence, he opened the door an 
 inch, listened again, and walked out. He met no 
 one, and went slowly downstairs into the hall. It 
 was empty, and he passed on to the billiard-room, 
 where he helped himself to a cigar and began to 
 practise some of the fancy shots which Sir Charles 
 had been showing him on the previous evening. 
 
 He was interrupted presently by Gibson, who 
 told him that the shooters had returned and that 
 tea was ready on the lawn. 
 
 "Mrs. Dayrell-Wing, I hope you enjoyed visit- 
 ing the castle," he said, as he came up to the group 
 round the table. 
 
 "But we never got there," his wife broke in. 
 "The car collapsed." 
 
 "That so ? Well, that was real vexatious." 
 
 "I don't think I mindjed particularly," Mrs. 
 Dayrell-Wing said. "The roads are so bumpy in 
 Scotland." 
 
 "You mustn't run down Scotland before Mr. 
 Johns," Fraser said rather maliciously. "His an- 
 cestors came from there." 
 
 "What's the matter with my ancestors?" Luke 
 Johns retorted rather hotly. "Yours were Scotch, 
 too, weren't they? Guess it ain't a disgrace to 
 come from Scotland." 
 
 "None whatever. But mine made the mistake 
 of staying here." 
 
 [ 222 ]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 "I suppose they couldn't borrow enough for 
 their fares on the Mayflower," Vawdrey laughed. 
 
 "I've often wondered," Eraser answered. "And 
 yet they borrowed such an awful lot for other 
 purposes." 
 
 Luke Johns had turned away. He seemed more 
 ruffled by Eraser's sarcasm than was necessary. 
 
 "Is any one going to play croquet?" Sir Charles 
 asked. He was an enthusiast. 
 
 "Not I," Mrs. Dayrell-Wing said. "I think it's 
 such a dull game." 
 
 "Oh, come now!" 
 
 "It is. It takes me hours to get through a 
 hoop." 
 
 "I think," Vawdrey said gravely, "that the game 
 lost most of its attraction when ladies gave up 
 wearing crinolines and white stockings." 
 
 "Father's remarks are always verging on the 
 indelicate," Ethel put in. 
 
 "Skirting the indelicate," Eraser amended. 
 
 Sir Charles was the only one who had not 
 laughed. Now he said slowly : 
 
 "Why are white stockings indelicate? I thought 
 housemaids always wore 'em." 
 
 "My dear fellow," Vawdrey cried, "how do you 
 know that?" 
 
 "Seen 'em cleaning the doorsteps," Sir Charles 
 explained. 
 
 He appeared to be surprised at the shout of 
 laughter which went up. 
 
 At dressing time, when the Luke Johns reached 
 [223]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 their room, Mrs. Luke Johns turned to her hus- 
 band with a question in her eyes. He fetched the 
 slate at once and wrote on it : 
 
 "All safe." 
 
 "Where were you?" she wrote. 
 
 "Under the bed. Thanks be, she didn't look." 
 
 "She didn't suspect. I faked the door well." 
 
 "Grand!" 
 
 "I was frightened to death at coming back. I 
 tried to keep her in the garden, and when she 
 wouldn't, 1 screamed out as we went up the stairs, 
 because I guessed you weren't through." 
 
 He grinned as he wrote: "When I heard you I 
 was scared so soft you might have poured me out 
 of a jug." 
 
 "Did you find anything?" 
 
 "Not a thing." 
 
 "I told you so." 
 
 "Reckon you're about right. I found her diary, 
 but it's filled up with footling drivel about Drury. 
 She means to marry him." 
 
 "Then that proves it. He's no catch for a high- 
 flier." 
 
 "Still, I'm not dead certain. I kind of feel she 
 isn't white all through." 
 
 "Well, stop now. We'll talk afterwards." 
 
 Luke Johns locked up the slate and began to 
 put on his dress suit. His appearance in it would 
 have thrown doubt on his Scotch ancestry, even if 
 it had been supported by the entire College of 
 Heralds. 
 
 [224]
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 ITH a change of partners, it fell out that 
 Luke Johns took Mrs. Dayrell-Wing in to 
 dinner. He found her absent-minded and disin- 
 clined to talk; and after one or two attempts he 
 turned to Hilda Carew, who was sitting on the 
 other side of him. 
 
 "I must compliment you, Miss Carew," he said, 
 "if I may, on that shooting costume you wore to- 
 day. Cunning, I call it." 
 
 "Do you? I should have thought serviceable 
 was a better word." 
 
 "That's understood. But it didn't miss the 
 charm of feminine adornment, either. In America, 
 when you're told a woman looks serviceable, you 
 may reckon she looks plain." 
 
 Hilda laughed as she answered: 
 
 "If all Americans are as polite as you are I'm 
 sure they'd never tell her so." 
 
 "But they'd think it. In this world you think a 
 lot of things which you don't say." 
 
 "And I'm afraid, Mr. Johns, you say a lot of 
 things which you don't think." 
 
 "Now you're chaffing me, Miss Carew. I'll 
 have to tell you the story of George Washington." 
 
 "Why? What's that got to do with it?" 
 
 "He couldn't tell a lie. That's rare, but I'm 
 made the same way." 
 
 [225]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "Don't you find it inconvenient?" 
 
 "No more 'an George did. He was a bright 
 boy, and he knew the best way out of a conversa- 
 tional dead-end when his father was reaching for 
 a stick." 
 
 "Oh, I see. If there hadn't been a stick, George 
 Washington would never have been President of 
 America." 
 
 "That's stretching it; but I dessay the stick 
 helped." 
 
 "Well, I don't think you're a bit like George 
 Washington, and in any case I haven't got a stick; 
 but you may as well take back 'cunning.' ' 
 
 "But that's truth." 
 
 "What is?" Vawdrey asked. "Has any. one 
 been indiscreet?" 
 
 "Mr. Johns said that my shooting get-up was 
 cunning," Hilda Carew answered. "Under cross- 
 examination he admits that he meant I looked very 
 plain in it; so I invited him to retract the ad- 
 jective." 
 
 "Now, Miss Carew, you're acting unfairly. 
 I've never in my life admitted that any lady looked 
 plain. Ask my wife." 
 
 "Oh, he has an eye," Mrs. Luke Johns said. 
 
 "He has an eye," Vawdrey repeated. "So had 
 Cyclops, but I never heard he was appreciative of 
 the fair sex." 
 
 "Guess I've got two of everything needful," 
 Johns protested. 
 
 [226]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 "I said so double-tongued," Hilda put in 
 smartly. 
 
 "Well, there ! I'm done either way. Seems to 
 me I ought to be in Barnum's one eye and two 
 tongues; they'd give me a thousand dollars a 
 week." 
 
 Every one laughed except Mrs. Dayrell-Wing, 
 who was eating her dinner in silence. Vawdrey, 
 noticing her aloofness, leant forward to rally her, 
 saying: 
 
 "What's up, Mrs. Dayrell-Wing? You don't 
 seem to find our poor friend's infirmities amusing." 
 
 "Oh, but they are, of course," she answered, 
 rousing herself. "Only I was thinking of some- 
 thing else." 
 
 "Do unbosom. The thoughts of the heart are 
 desperately " 
 
 "I'm frankly bothered," she said, straightening 
 herself in her chair and looking round the table. 
 
 Every one turned to her, their attention caught 
 by the anxious note in her voice. 
 
 "There's something very odd about this house," 
 she went on. "I don't understand it." 
 
 "Ghosts !" Vawdrey asked. 
 
 "I can't think so; they seem too intelligent. 
 Ghosts wouldn't have taken my necklace." 
 
 "What do you mean? Have you lost anything 
 else?" Vawdrey asked, suddenly grave. 
 
 Every one listened eagerly. The Luke Johns 
 avoided each other's eyes. Their faces were per- 
 [227]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 fectly controlled and gave no hint that they saw 
 themselves on the edge of a catastrophe. 
 
 "Not as far as I know," Mrs. Dayrell-Wing an- 
 swered. "But this afternoon, when we came back 
 from motoring, I found I couldn't get into my 
 room. At first I thought the door was locked, and 
 I was going to call one of the maids. But it was 
 only stuck, and Mrs. Luke Johns, who was with 
 me, pushed it open. I didn't think anything of it ; 
 but this evening, before dinner, when I went to 
 write a letter, I found my writing-case had been 
 opened and my letters disturbed." 
 
 Vawdrey scowled and shot a keen glance at 
 Luke Johns, who at that moment might have sat 
 for a statue of innocence. 
 
 "Then some one was there?" Mrs. Luke Johns 
 cried. 
 
 "Evidently, for I had been using my writing- 
 case just before I went out." 
 
 "Didn't the door make you suspicious? Didn't 
 you look about?" Lady Benyon asked. 
 
 "No, it never occurred to me. I thought the 
 door had stuck." 
 
 "But it wasn't locked or I couldn't have pushed 
 it open," Mrs. Luke Johns said. 
 
 "My dear, you must inquire about this," Vaw- 
 drey said to his wife. 
 
 "I can hardly think one of the servants " 
 
 she murmured. 
 
 "Did you ever suffer from predatory ghosts, 
 Fraser, when you lived here?" Sir Charles asked. 
 [228]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 "No," Fraser answered shortly. 
 
 Drury, whose face was as black as a thunder- 
 cloud, was glaring at Luke Johns. Like Vaw- 
 drey, he guessed the explanation of the affair, and 
 with less discretion he was on the point of denounc- 
 ing the Johns forthwith. Johns perceived the dan- 
 ger and, looking him full in the face, said: 
 
 "Anyhow, the thief didn't get anything this 
 time." 
 
 "No," Drury answered, "but I'd like to horse- 
 whip him." 
 
 "Nothing was taken?" Mrs. Vawdrey asked. 
 
 "Not as far as I can see. My purse was in a 
 drawer of the table, but that hadn't been touched." 
 
 "Oh, hadn't it !" Luke Johns said to himself. 
 
 "It's very distressing," Mrs. Vawdrey sighed. 
 "I really don't know what to do. That detective 
 who was here didn't seem to be of any use." 
 
 "They never are," Sir Charles said. 
 
 The crisis passed; but as the men came out 
 from dinner Drury drew Luke Johns on one side. 
 
 "Look here," he said, "let me tell you, you're 
 an infernal scoundrel. If it wasn't for my firm I 
 should go straight to Mr. Vawdrey and have you 
 turned out of the house." 
 
 "My dear sir," Johns remonstrated, laying a 
 gentle hand on his arm. 
 
 "Oh, drop that. And take your hand off 
 my arm." 
 
 "My dear sir, you're making a big mistake in 
 [229]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 using that tone, and you'd make a bigger one still 
 in turning me out of the house." 
 
 "I shouldn't make any mistake in knocking you 
 down." 
 
 "Yes, you would. And I'll tell you why." 
 
 "I don't want to know why and I don't want to 
 speak to you again. You'll be good enough to 
 keep out of my way until you leave." 
 
 "With all the pleasure in life, Mr. Drury. But 
 give me a minute to explain." 
 
 "Damn explaining," Drury cried, pushing past 
 him. 
 
 Johns' mouth set more firmly, and the apologetic 
 expression in his eyes changed in a flash to a de- 
 termined ferocity. He caught Drury by the arm 
 and swung him round with unexpected strength. 
 
 "See here," he said in a hard, biting tone. "If 
 you spoil the game it don't matter to me near so 
 much as it will to you. I'm put here by you and 
 your partners to find that necklace, and I reckon 
 I've got the best chance of any one. Well, give the 
 show away and tell your partners you've done it 
 if you're so set on it." 
 
 Drury was furious, but Luke Johns' eye quelled 
 him; and, though he clenched his fist, he did not 
 use it. 
 
 "You won't find the necklace by insulting Mrs. 
 Dayrell-Wing," he said hotly. 
 
 "No, I sha'n't," Johns agreed in a milder tone. 
 "Since I went through her room this afternoon I 
 know that for certain ; and I give you my word 
 [230]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 of honor, I sha'n't interfere with her again. Does 
 that satisfy you?" 
 
 "No, it doesn't. Nothing would, except to teach 
 you a lesson you wouldn't forget in a hurry." 
 
 "My dear sir, do be reasonable. You've been 
 right all along I admit it and I apologize. But 
 I had to go by my instructions. That's over, so 
 why can't we work together?" 
 
 "You mean," Drury said, drawing back a step, 
 "she's to be free from your attentions altogether?" 
 
 "Absolutely. She doesn't exist." 
 
 Drury hesitated for a moment. Then he said in 
 a surly, unwilling voice: 
 
 "If you're speaking the truth, I won't for the 
 present do anything to hinder you." 
 
 "Then we're friends. Shake." 
 
 "I don't think we need do that," Drury an- 
 swered, stiffening. 
 
 "As you please, Mr. Drury," Johns said, with 
 a laugh. "Leave me alone; that's all I want." 
 
 "And that's all you'll get. I don't like your 
 methods, Mr. Johns, and, I may say, I don't par- 
 ticularly like you." 
 
 "Sorry," Johns answered indifferently, as they 
 walked together toward the drawing-room. 
 
 When Luke Johns followed his wife to bed he 
 found her waiting up for him, and he at once got 
 out the slate. She took the pencil from him and 
 wrote : 
 
 "Drury all but split on us at dinner. Have you 
 settled him?" 
 
 [231]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "Yes," Johns wrote in his turn. "I stroked him 
 down and promised to leave the woman alone." 
 
 "She wasn't worth the risk." 
 
 "I thought differently. You were right." 
 
 "Did Vawdrey say anything?" 
 
 "Not yet. Expect he will to-morrow." 
 
 "Are we safe?" 
 
 "I think so. But what's to be done next?" 
 
 "I see no pointer." 
 
 "Nor do I." 
 
 Mrs. Luke Johns took the pencil, but she 
 thought for some moments before she began to 
 write : 
 
 "Let's reason it out from the start," she wrote 
 at last. 
 
 Luke Johns nodded assent. 
 
 "The necklace was taken from her room, which 
 leads into Pfeiffer's room, same as these two do. 
 Roth passage doors were bolted inside, her win- 
 dows were shut down, and McVitie claims that no 
 one got in at Pfeiffer's window." 
 
 She stopped and looked at her husband, who 
 nodded again. 
 
 "She lost it right enough. That's agreed," she 
 wrote. "Then, on McVitie's facts it looks like 
 Pfeiffer." 
 
 He took the pencil from her and answered: 
 
 "On McVitie's facts, yes. And, if they are 
 facts, we're not on in this scene at all. But I'm not 
 dead certain they are." 
 
 [232]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 "I never was. That Scotch detective isn't 
 springy enough." 
 
 "You're right. He's missed something. Any- 
 way, his facts are no use to us, because we aren't 
 concerned with Pfeiffer." 
 
 "Then we'd best forget them. We'll agree 
 some one did get into the room and out again, 
 though we don't know how." 
 
 "We'll agree. Who was it?" 
 
 They leant back and looked at each other. As 
 they had said, they saw no pointer; for, assuming 
 that McVitie was wrong, and that some one had 
 got into the room, the field of inquiry became in- 
 definitely enlarged. It was the more enlarged by 
 reason of the great value of the necklace. Thou- 
 sands of people are honest over a ten-pound note 
 because it does not tempt them; but, as the prize 
 increases, the pressure of temptation increases. A 
 necklace worth twenty thousand pounds has a wide 
 radius of attraction and may prove irresistible even 
 to an archdeacon. 
 
 After a long pause Mrs. Luke Johns took up 
 the pencil and wrote slowly : 
 
 "Let us confine ourselves to the people we are 
 in touch with, ruling out all other possibilities, just 
 the same as we've ruled out Pfeiffer and McVitie's 
 facts. On that plan we rule out every one not in 
 the house." 
 
 Luke Johns made a low sound of assent and 
 watched her go on. 
 
 "We can't get at the servants, unless we have a 
 
 [233]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 clue on any particular one. That leaves us with 
 three Vawdreys, two Benyons, the Carew girl, 
 Eraser, and Drury." 
 
 "Wipe out Mrs. Vawdrey," Johns wrote. "She 
 hasn't got grit enough to steal a nickel. What's 
 the matter with the daughter?" 
 
 "Not likely. She couldn't ever wear the neck- 
 lace. How much do we know of Vawdrey?" 
 
 "Porton said he's worth two or three million 
 pounds. No difficulties suggested, and it isn't more 
 than a few months since he bought this house." 
 
 "Did you ask if he speculated?" 
 
 "I hinted it. Porton says he's high and dry 
 above trouble." 
 
 "The Benyons I asked Mrs. Vawdrey about 
 them. He's a do-nothing fool, and owns miles of 
 real estate in Manchester. Plays croquet most of 
 his time. She drives around and spends the 
 money. That frock she wore to-night cost five 
 hundred dollars. Everything from Paris, and two 
 pearls in her ears worth ten or fifteen thousand." 
 
 Johns deliberated. Presently he wrote : 
 
 "She looks genuine, but I'd like to know more. 
 Find out who her friends are." 
 
 "I'll try; but she's rather beyond our reach." 
 
 "Who's Miss Carew?" Johns wrote, after 
 another pause. 
 
 "Daughter of a rich business man." 
 
 "Fraser?" 
 
 "Don't know anything." 
 
 "He sold this house to Vawdrey, and talks 
 
 [234]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 about being poor, so I guess he's got a sackful. He 
 makes me sick. Did you hear him chip me about 
 my ancestors?" 
 
 "That leaves Drury." 
 
 "He's in on the insurance, but his share isn't 
 much." 
 
 Mrs. Luke Johns took the slate with a gesture 
 of despair. 
 
 "Seems to me," she wrote, "we couldn't know 
 less about them if they were Chinese. Any one of 
 them might be in it, but there's nothing to tell." 
 
 "It's fair hopeless. Somehow I never thought 
 we'd do any good to ourselves beyond getting a 
 week's board." 
 
 "That's what it looks like. Still, keep your 
 eyes open." 
 
 There was nothing more to be said, and they 
 began to undress with the deepening certainty that 
 the three thousand dollars' fee was not likely to be 
 earned. 
 
 [ 235 1
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 TN the billiard-room that night, after Luke Johns 
 -*- had retired, Vawdrey took an opportunity of 
 speaking to Drury. 
 
 "I say," he said, dropping into a chair beside 
 him, "this is pretty hot of our American. I hardly 
 know what to do about it." 
 
 "As far as I'm concerned, do whatever you like,'* 
 Drury answered. "I hate the fellow, and I was 
 always against his coming here." 
 
 "Well, but he's acting on your behalf," Vawdrey 
 said, surprised at Drury's vindictive tone. 
 
 "On behalf of my firm, I suppose, and of the 
 other underwriters. / didn't want him to come; 
 but they thought it was a good thing to do and 
 they wouldn't listen to me." 
 
 "Oh, I see. I thought you wanted it." 
 
 "Not a bit." 
 
 "I needn't say it's most distasteful to me. I 
 only agreed because Porton made it a personal 
 matter and because I didn't want to put difficulties 
 in your way." 
 
 "You've been extraordinarily kind about it. 
 But, for my own part, I'd much rather you had 
 refused." 
 
 "I didn't know that. Of course, if your firm 
 had seen McVitie first they wouldn't have gone to 
 the expense of sending the Johns here." 
 
 [236]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 "They wouldn't have sent them in any case but 
 for a preposterous idea which some one started 
 that the necklace hadn't been stolen at all." 
 
 "Not stolen ? But what bosh !" 
 
 "They suspected Mrs. Dayrell-Wing." 
 
 "Good Lord!" 
 
 "Yes, it's abominable. Any one who knew her 
 could have told them that." 
 
 "And that's why little Johns went through her 
 letters. I say, I can't stand that. I think I shall 
 tell him to clear out." 
 
 "It doesn't matter now whether you do or not. 
 I had a pretty serious talk with him after dinner, 
 and he professes to be satisfied about her, and says 
 he won't interfere with her again." 
 
 "Who's he after next? I suppose he'll be rifling 
 my writing-table." 
 
 "Heaven knows. I don't believe he's got a clue 
 of any sort, and if you want to get rid of him you'd 
 better do so." 
 
 "Well, I'll see. In any case, it's only a few 
 more days; and, if I fire him out, he'll go back 
 and say that I've prevented him from succeeding. 
 By the way, I had a wire from McVitie this even- 
 ing, saying he's coming here to-morrow. I don't 
 know whether that means that he's got something 
 definite. If he has, I think I'll tell Johns and his 
 missis to move on." 
 
 Sir Charles Benyon, deserted by Eraser, who had 
 gone to bed, now interrupted them. 
 
 "I've been askin' Eraser about the family 
 spooks," he said. "There's a great-uncle who mur- 
 
 [237]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 dered his wife; that's as near as any of 'em got 
 to burglary." 
 
 "I suppose nothing less than a murder was con- 
 sidered gentlemanly," Vawdrey answered, smiling. 
 "Even that fine profession, the road, was thought 
 a trifle infra dig." 
 
 "Lot of blackguards, / think, Turpin and his 
 gang," Sir Charles remarked somewhat irrele- 
 vantly. 
 
 "No doubt; but how polite. Drury, I think 
 business men like you and me might get a lot of 
 wrinkles from the chronicles of the highwaymen. 
 They possessed the art of extracting money from 
 other people's pockets in the nicest possible way. 
 No prospectus or guinea-pig directors; simply in- 
 dividual ability." 
 
 "But sometimes the gallows." 
 
 "Oh, well, yes. But now they wouldn't dare to 
 give you more than six months in the first division ; 
 that's the maximum, unless you're a very clumsy 
 thief." 
 
 "I'm off," Sir Charles said, with a yarn. 
 "Shootin' to-morrow, I s'pose?" 
 
 "Rather. But I'll have to join you later; the 
 detective is coming to see me." 
 
 After breakfast next morning Vawdrey was 
 sauntering in the garden with Ethel when McVitie 
 arrived. Gibson brought him out to them. 
 
 "Good morning," he said. "I had business in 
 this direction, so I thought I'd call." 
 
 [238]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 "Glad to see you. I don't think you met my 
 daughter when you were here last." 
 
 Ethel barely acknowledged the introduction. 
 McVitie, without a word, raised his hat an inch, 
 and turned again to Vawdrey, saying: 
 
 "I'd like to speak with you when convenient." 
 
 "You can talk now. My daughter knows about 
 the affair." 
 
 McVitie turned a cold eye upon her for a mo- 
 ment. He had no fancy for fashionable young 
 ladies, and in his heart he called Vawdrey a fool 
 for letting her know anything about the inquiry. 
 He kept silent, meaning thereby to give her a 
 second hint to withdraw. Vawdrey, however, said 
 rather insistently: 
 
 "Well, I hope you have got definite informa- 
 tion?" 
 
 Thus pressed, McVitie deemed it better not to 
 make a mystery; and, in truth, he had nothing 
 particular to say, and had only come to report 
 progress and to find out what the Luke Johns 
 were doing at Gains. 
 
 "We are doing all that is possible," he began 
 with some reserve. 
 
 "What are you doing?" Vawdrey asked. 
 
 "We're making searching inquiries in London." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "And we're keeping the suspect under close 
 observation." 
 
 "Do you mean Mr. Pfeiffer?" Ethel asked in a 
 
 [239]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 tone which gave McVitie the feeling that she had 
 thrown a tumblerful of cold water in his face. 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "And what have you found out? We shall be 
 particularly interested to know." 
 
 "We have found nothing at present, though we 
 expect to do so. The man has been watched since 
 his arrival in London; but he seems cautious, and 
 is evidently waiting for a while before he gets in 
 touch with his confederate." 
 
 Ethel flushed up hotly and turned upon McVitie, 
 saying: "You seem very certain that there is a 
 confederate. What are your reasons?" 
 
 McVitie felt the annoyance of a man who, in 
 the middle of a discussion, is asked to explain some 
 elementary principle. This, he thought, was what 
 came of bringing women into a matter. 
 
 "Mr. Vawdrey knows my reasons," he answered 
 coldly. 
 
 "If you haven't anything to add to what you 
 told Mr. Vawdrey I can only say that I think them 
 absurdly insufficient. From what he tells me, your 
 only proof against Mr. Pfeiffer is that you can't 
 see how any one else got into the room." 
 
 "I did not say I couldn't see," McVitie 
 answered, with a sensible decrease in politeness. 
 "I said it was impossible for any one to have got 
 in." 
 
 "I think it's very much the same thing; you 
 mean you couldn't find a better explanation. That 
 doesn't prove there wasn't one." 
 [240]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 "No; and I'd be glad of any plausible sugges- 
 tion. It's easy to criticise." 
 
 "It may be easy," Ethel rapped out, "but some- 
 times it's useful." 
 
 McVitie drew in a trifle and spoke more mildly. 
 
 "I should be as pleased as any one," he said, "to 
 clear Mr. Pfeiffer. But at present my duty is to 
 follow up the clues I have. I think you will agree 
 there." 
 
 "Perhaps. But I cannot compliment you on the 
 way you are doing it. You may be interested to 
 hear that Mr. Pfeiffer is quite aware he is being 
 watched." 
 
 "Have you warned him?" McVitie asked 
 sharply. 
 
 "I have not." 
 
 "Then some one else has." 
 
 "No one except your clumsy detectives them- 
 selves. I've just had a letter from him, and this is 
 what he says." 
 
 She opened the letter which she was holding in 
 her hand and read: 
 
 "Everything is so puzzling. ... I 
 am almost certain that I am being shad- 
 owed. Three or four times I have seen the 
 same man loitering in Jermyn Street, and 
 to-day at the club, when I looked out of the 
 window, he was on the opposite side of the 
 road. I am waiting for a chance of tack- 
 ling him." 
 
 [241]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 McVitie frowned and fingered his moustache. 
 To himself he said: "They've put a fool on the 
 job." 
 
 "If Mr. Pfeiffer's conscience was easy he 
 mightn't take so much notice," he remarked aloud. 
 
 Ethel folded the letter and walked away. 
 
 When she had left them Vawdrey said: 
 
 "I suppose there's still no doubt in your mind? 
 The thing's serious, because, as you may have 
 guessed, Mr. Pfeiffer is rather an intimate friend." 
 
 "I supposed so, from Miss Vawdrey's attitude," 
 McVitie answered sourly. "I have no doubt that 
 he stole the necklace." 
 
 "I must say, he's the last man in the world I 
 should have suspected of it." 
 
 "It generally is." 
 
 "You are quite sure, then?" 
 
 "As far as it's possible to be. I'm not going 
 on surmise; there's the proof that no one else had 
 access to the room." 
 
 "So you say." 
 
 McVitie saw that Vawdrey was still doubtful, 
 and his intolerance of unofficial stupidity made him 
 add: 
 
 "I can't drop the matter now. We intend to 
 prosecute." 
 
 Vawdrey did not like his tone and answered 
 sharply : 
 
 "It's time enough to talk of prosecution when 
 you've got some one to prosecute." 
 [242]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 "You have no cause to be dissatisfied. No time 
 is being wasted." 
 
 "Oh, I didn't suggest that," Vawdrey answered 
 more quietly. "Perhaps I'm a little impatient, but 
 naturally we're all rather upset." 
 
 McVitie's irritation subsided. In professional 
 matters he liked to keep "the public," as he 
 called the victims of a crime, in their place, and he 
 was pleased at having had the opportunity of check- 
 ing Vawdrey's interference. 
 
 "I infer your American inquiry agents have not 
 picked up anything?" he asked in a dry, sarcastic 
 voice. 
 
 "No, confound 'em ! I wish they'd never come," 
 Vawdrey answered. 
 
 "You remember I wasn't consulted. I might 
 have advised you against them." 
 
 "I suppose you would." 
 
 "We don't rely on people of that kind." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 Vawdrey was bored by McVitie's official egotism 
 and showed it by the monosyllable. 
 
 "Well," McVitie drawled, in his intolerable 
 Scotch manner, "I'll just see him before I leave." 
 
 He thought it would do no harm to make Luke 
 Johns admit that he was doing nothing. 
 
 "Here he comes," Vawdrey said, calling to 
 Johns as he appeared on the terrace. 
 
 Luke Johns approached without undue eager- 
 ness. He had not heard that McVitie was ex- 
 pected, or he would have kept out of the way; for 
 
 [243]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 just then McVitie was one of the last people in 
 the world whom he wished to see. He was feeling, 
 as he expressed it, low. He and his wife had come 
 to Gains without much expectation of earning the 
 reward, but there had been a possibility of doing 
 so sufficient to give an incentive to work, and as the 
 possibility vanished, his spirits fell. McVitie's 
 presence did not make him any happier. "I told 
 you so," is hard to hear in any language; in a 
 drawling Scotch accent it is exceptionally hard. 
 
 "Mr. McVitie would like a word with you be- 
 fore he goes," Vawdrey said, as he turned on his 
 heel. 
 
 "How are you?" Johns said, with affected 
 heartiness. "Reckon you've brought some news?" 
 
 McVitie put forward a limp hand, saying : 
 
 "I'm well, thank you, Mr. Johns. I thought 
 I'd ask if you've been making progress." 
 
 "I should say some. But we're not through 
 yet." 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 "How's your end panning out?" Johns asked, 
 with an air of patronizing encouragement which 
 took the edge off McVitie's self-confidence. 
 
 "We're just going slowly, a point at a time." 
 
 "Well, that's a good rule, if you can't take two 
 together." 
 
 "We official detectives have to work carefully." 
 
 "That's so. Look three times, and then don't 
 leap if you can help it." 
 
 [244!
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 "I take it, you've got nothing to tell me?" Mc- 
 Vitie asked, ignoring the criticism. 
 
 "Well, we've proved you right in one thing." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "The necklace was stolen." 
 
 A contemptuous smile crossed McVitie's face. 
 
 "You're making sure of your groundwork," he 
 said. "I was thinking you'd have got farther, 
 perhaps." 
 
 "I'm real sorry to disappoint you. I didn't 
 know you were counting on us. Must you go? 
 I'll see you later, perhaps." 
 
 On the whole, Luke Johns was not sure that he 
 had come off worst in the encounter. 
 
 [245]
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 ' I A IME went slowly by at Gains, undisturbed by 
 -* any events except the daily shooting expedi- 
 tion and the long dinner which followed in the 
 evening. The spirits of the party showed a ten- 
 dency to rise, as the robbery ceased to be a topic of 
 conversation; but they came short of their former 
 riotous gaiety. Pfeiffer, leader of the revels, was 
 missed, and the Luke Johns were too evidently 
 strangers not to cause a feeling of restraint. As 
 Hilda Carew said to Lady Benyon, intelligent con- 
 versation was handicapped when every one was on 
 the lookout for Mr. Johns' next Americanism. 
 
 Ethel, too, had hard work to appear cheerful 
 and perform her duties as the daughter of the 
 house. She heard once or twice from Pfeiffer and 
 answered his letters, but, on her father's advice, she 
 ignored what he said about being watched, and 
 would not refer to McVitie's allegation against 
 him. Vawdrey had counselled her that it was bet- 
 ter to let things take their course for the present, 
 and she was so certain of his innocence, and of its 
 speedy vindication, that she too believed it wiser 
 to keep silence. But in the meantime she was very 
 unhappy. 
 
 Luke Johns and his wife were past-masters in 
 the art of keeping their ends up, and they showed 
 themselves ready to make cheerful conversation at 
 [246]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 any hour. Failing other listeners, they would talk 
 to Gibson, or to a housemaid, or to one of the 
 gardeners, and they collected an astonishing 
 amount of information about every one. No trifle 
 seemed too insignificant to excite their interest, and 
 in one way or another their receptive attitude in- 
 duced most people to say more than they intended. 
 But, when all was said, they found nothing that 
 would serve as a clue to the robbery, and in their 
 bedroom the writing on the slate was lugubrious 
 enough. The three thousand dollar fee, never a 
 very substantial possibility, had faded like the 
 glow of a fine sunset. And, like a sunset, the more 
 it faded the more attractive it seemed. 
 
 "We ought to spot it," Luke Johns wrote one 
 night. "I'd take my oath some one here knows 
 about it. It doesn't strike me as an expert job." 
 
 "There's nothing to start on," Mrs. Luke Johns' 
 pencil answered. 
 
 "Well, think." 
 
 "I am thinking. I've thought till my head 
 bursts." 
 
 "So have I. I've walked round those rooms till 
 I'm dizzy, and I can't see how any one got in unless 
 it was old Nick himself. If we tumbled to that 
 we might get the rest." 
 
 With a sigh he rose and put the slate away. An 
 insoluble mystery, with those three thousand dol- 
 lars hanging to it, was enough to take one's 
 appetite away. 
 
 One thing, indeed, they learnt, which seemed to 
 
 [ 247 ]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 th'row some light on the robbery; but, while it 
 strengthened their belief in Pfeiffer's innocence, it 
 gave no clue definite enough to help them. The 
 information came from Hilda Carew, who, when 
 talking to Luke Johns one night after dinner, men- 
 tioned the subject of practical jokes. 
 
 "They're silly, but they're rather amusing," she 
 said. "We had some here when we first came. 
 Mr. Pfeiffer, who was here then, is rather good 
 at them and quite conscienceless. He hid Mrs. 
 Dayrell-Wing's diamond necklace and pretended it 
 had been stolen; but as it was stolen the day after, 
 that rather put the lid on jokes." 
 
 "That's queer," Johns said, with quick interest. 
 "He hid it?" 
 
 "Yes. There was a fearful fuss Mrs. Dayrell- 
 Wing almost in tears and every one rushing about. 
 They kept it up for half an hour, until Mr. Vaw- 
 drey, who was in the secret, said he wasn't going to 
 wait dinner any longer." 
 
 "Well, in America I reckon a man would be well 
 horsed for less than that. It wouldn't strike us as 
 humorous to make a woman cry." 
 
 "Oh, in Mr. Vawdrey's house you may do any- 
 thing in the name of ragging. When I was stay- 
 ing with them last year in Yorkshire there was a 
 wretched youth who used to blush if you looked 
 at him. We gave him a wretched time. One 
 night we took away all his pajamas and he had 
 such lots of them, all different colors." 
 
 Luke Johns grinned, saying : 
 [.248]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 "Guess he blushed all over them." 
 
 "Guess he did," Hilda answered, laughing. 
 "Only we weren't there to see." 
 
 "You seem experienced, Miss Carew. You 
 might post me up some." 
 
 "We had a splendid scoop against Mr. Pfeiffer. 
 That was before he hid the necklace, and we were 
 always chaffing him because he snored." 
 
 "How did you know he snored?" 
 
 "Mrs. Dayrell-Wing said so. She declared she 
 could hear him through the wall. So Miss Vaw- 
 drey bought twelve alarm clocks that brassy, 
 American sort, you know." 
 
 "I know. The kind you let off when your 
 mother-in-law dies, just to make sure she's ex- 
 pressed through." 
 
 "We wound them all up and set them for every 
 hour from two to six. And then we stuck them 
 about his room, under the bed and in the cup- 
 boards. And he slept through the whole twelve!" 
 
 Johns' expression suddenly changed, and the 
 laughter died out of his face. 
 
 "Say, you're joking?" he asked. 
 
 "It's a fact. Ask Miss Vawdrey." 
 
 Johns became silent and preoccupied and seemed 
 so little inclined for further conversation that 
 Hilda presently left him. 
 
 Later, upstairs, he and his wife covered the slate 
 many times over in discussing the clocks. They 
 agreed that the incident went to Pfeiffer's credit 
 in so far as it supported the idea that some one had 
 
 [249]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 entered his room without waking him. They 
 agreed, too, that either McVitie did not know 
 about it or that he was a bigger fool than they 
 thought. 
 
 But beyond that it did not carry them far, be- 
 cause they were still unable to discover how the 
 rooms had been entered. The evidence that the 
 doors were locked came from Pfeiffer and Mrs. 
 Dayrell-Wing, and was, therefore, beyond ques- 
 tion; and the absence of footmarks on the gravel, 
 proving that no one had come through the win- 
 dows, was a point on which McVitie would cer- 
 tainly be trustworthy. Thus, although they 
 doubted his inferential fact that no one had got 
 into the room, their common sense obliged them to 
 accept his basic facts about the doors and the win- 
 dows. While admitting that everything was 
 against it, they still believed that some one had 
 got in; but the solution of the puzzle if there 
 was a solution was too hard for them. 
 
 "There's one thing, Mrs. Johns wrote. "Who- 
 ever did it knew about those clocks. He knew he 
 could go through Pfeiffer's room without waking 
 him." 
 
 "Agreed. And that means it was some one in 
 the house a servant or a guest." 
 
 "And that means it's still up to us to get that 
 reward. McVitie's chasing moonshine; no one 
 has left the house except Pfeiffer. This is the 
 place to watch." 
 
 "And we'll go on watching. What's wanted is 
 a bit of luck." 
 
 I 250 ]
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 day for the break-up of the party was ap- 
 preaching. The Benyons were going further 
 north, Hilda Carew to an uncle in Yorkshire, Mrs. 
 Dayrell-Wing to Aix-les-Bains, and Drury back to 
 his work at Lloyds. Fraser, too, was going to 
 London on the way to join his mother at Dinard, 
 where she had a villa. Another set of guests was 
 expected at Gains on the day of departure. 
 
 Every one was to leave on Monday. On the 
 Sunday morning Luke Johns declined Mrs. Vaw- 
 drey's invitation to go to church and remained by 
 himself in the garden. His temper had shortened 
 with his shortening visit, and, as he paced to and 
 fro chewing the end of his cigar, he indulged in an 
 assortment of American profanity which would 
 have interested a collector of strange words. If 
 concentration of mind and will could have torn 
 the secret of the necklace from the walls of Gains 
 they would have spoken ; but, although walls have 
 ears, mercifully for some of us they have not 
 tongues. 
 
 "I'd bet all I've got in the world," Johns 
 soliloquized, "some one got into that room. That's 
 leaping 'surmising,' that blinking idiot McVitie 
 would say. So it is; and if you don't leap you 
 don't grab the other fellow right. Some one got 
 into that room. And how? Couldn't have passed 
 
 [251]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 himself through the keyhole, couldn't have 
 squeezed down the chimney without making a mess, 
 couldn't have climbed through the window with- 
 out showing a hoofmark on the new gravel. 
 Looks as if the necklace was pinched by a bad 
 smell that's about the only thing as'll get 
 through anything." 
 
 He spat vigorously and resumed. 
 
 "She says her door was bolted. S'pose it 
 wasn't. That means she opened it to let a feller 
 in, and then swore she hadn't, to save her reputa- 
 tion. Drury's her beau, but her letters and her 
 diary are all against the quick and easy. Was she 
 carrying on with any one else ? Not much. Since 
 I've been here she's been sitting as near Drury's 
 lap as manners'll let her." 
 
 "Come back to it," he broke out again, after a 
 period of thought. "There's nothing to hitch 
 her on to it. I ought to know a straight woman 
 when I see one, and I b'lieve she is straight. And 
 there we are back at the start again. Seems to me, 
 even Solomon in all his glory wouldn't put his 
 finger on this." 
 
 He was interrupted by the return of the church- 
 goers, and Vawdrey joined him in a stroll across 
 the lawn. 
 
 "I'm afraid your visit hasn't been so successful 
 as you hoped," Vawdrey said, taking the oppor- 
 tunity for a farewell conversation. 
 
 "P'r'aps not," Johns answered. "Though we've 
 proved who didn't do it." 
 
 [252]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 "Well, that's something. But what we're all 
 anxious to know is who did do it." 
 
 "Agreed; we've missed that." 
 
 "I'm sorry both for you and for us. I'd give 
 a good deal to be certain." 
 
 "Certainty's a jewel. And it's hard to catch 
 when you don't have a bit of luck somewhere." 
 
 "At all events, I hope you and Mrs. Johns have 
 had a pleasant time," Vawdrey said in a friendly 
 tone. "You must bring a gun when you come 
 again." 
 
 "Thanks." 
 
 Silence fell, and Vawdrey, feeling that he had 
 done what politeness demanded, was going in to 
 write some letters before lunch. 
 
 They turned at the edge of the lawn and walked 
 slowly back toward the house. Luke Johns, with 
 his hands in his pockets, was still chewing the wet 
 stump of his cigar. His quick, mobile eyes roved 
 over the house, as if in a last attempt to tear the 
 secret from it. They roved from end to end, above 
 and below; they halted at Pfeiffer's window, moved 
 on and went back again. Suddenly they narrowed, 
 and a gleam of light flashed from them. His mouth 
 opened and closed with a snap, so that the long line 
 of his lips looked like a taut steel wire. He stopped 
 and caught Vawdrey by the arm, saying : 
 
 "Say, who sleeps in those garrets?" 
 
 Vawdrey was startled. The change in Luke 
 Johns' bearing and tone struck him as remarkable. 
 He looked at him, wondering what had happened 
 
 [253]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 to alter him so completely in the few seconds since 
 he said "Thanks." 
 
 "Eh?" he said. 
 
 "Who sleeps in those garrets?" 
 
 "In those garrets ? Servants, I suppose. I don't 
 think I've ever been up there." 
 
 "Who sleeps in that one?" Johns asked peremp- 
 torily, pointing to the closed window above 
 Pfeiffer's. 
 
 "I haven't an idea. I can find out, if you like." 
 
 Johns cooled down as rapidly as he had caught 
 fire. 
 
 "Don't worry," he answered, with indifference. 
 "It's no matter. I just wondered." 
 
 Vawdrey left him at the edge of the terrace and 
 went indoors. 
 
 Johns continued his walk, saying softly to him- 
 self: 
 
 "A bit of luck at last. Holy Moses, if it's only 
 right!" 
 
 At luncheon a discussion arose as to what should 
 be done in the afternoon. Some were in favor of a 
 walk; others preferred the motor, and Mrs. Vaw- 
 drey headed a minority who spoke of "resting dur- 
 ing the warm part of the day." 
 
 "I'm with you, Mrs. Vawdrey," Johns said. "A 
 snooze after a big meal's better'n a full-size bottle 
 of cure-all." 
 
 "What's cure-all?" Sir Charles asked. 
 
 "One of the advertising drugs that fits you like 
 
 [254]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 a ready-to-wear suit. If you've got a pain in your 
 head, buy it; and if you've got a pain in your feet, 
 buy it. And if you haven't got a pain anywhere, 
 don't worry buy it, and you'll soon have one." 
 
 "Well, whatever you all do, please remember 
 that the parson is coming to tea," Mrs. Vawdrey 
 said. 
 
 "Oh, lor' ! We shall have to behave," Vawdrey 
 groaned. 
 
 "Yes, father, please don't shock him this time," 
 Ethel put in. 
 
 "I shock him ? I shouldn't dream of it." 
 
 "Well, you did before, when you told him the 
 story about Moses and the sausages. He turned 
 quite pink." 
 
 "All right, I'll be as careful as a mother's meet- 
 ing and I hope you'll all play up to me. Lady Ben- 
 yon, pray set a watch upon your lips. If Moses and 
 the sausages turned him pink, one of your witty 
 remarks might suffuse that's right, isn't it? 
 suffuse our reverend friend with purple." 
 
 "Oh, I'm quite good at talking to the clergy, 
 though paying visits gets one out of it rather." 
 
 "That's one to you, Lady Ben," Drury laughed. 
 
 Mrs. Luke Johns had elected to join the mo- 
 torists, and her husband had no opportunity for a 
 private word with her before she started. Know- 
 ing him as she did, she had noticed at luncheon that 
 his cheerfulness rang more true than before, and 
 she wondered if he had discovered anything which 
 might bring the three thousand dollars nearer to 
 
 [255]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 their grasp. He saw her off with a nod and a smile, 
 and soon afterward, when the walking party had 
 set out, he went to his room with the ostensible 
 object of getting the snooze which he professed to 
 value so highly. 
 
 But with the door shut, he showed himself any- 
 thing but sleepy. He did not even glance at the 
 sofa. He hung restlessly about, picking his teeth, 
 and from time to time looking at his watch. Pres- 
 ently he changed his boots, hesitating for a moment 
 between the black slippers with felt soles and some 
 thin patent-leather boots with elastic sides, which 
 he was accustomed to wear with dress clothes. He 
 chose the latter, and going to the door he opened it 
 and looked out into the corridor. No one was in 
 sight, and he walked noiselessly along until he 
 came to the staircase. A footman was removing 
 the coffee cups in the hall below, and Luke Johns 
 stood watching him until he disappeared through 
 the door which led to the pantry. Then he moved 
 on to the end of the corridor. 
 
 He stopped at the door which gave upon the 
 back staircase. He put his ear to it and, hearing 
 no sound, he opened it and passed through. The 
 stairs led from the ground floor to the attic, and he 
 mounted quickly. At the top he found himself 
 facing a long passage, which corresponded to the 
 one on the first floor. He listened for any sound 
 of movement or voices, but all was still; and he 
 went forward, counting the doors on his right hand. 
 He stopped before the sixth and peered through 
 [256]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 the keyhole. Then he opened the door and went in. 
 
 The room was a good sized attic, with a sloping 
 roof, and a dormer window looking over the park. 
 It was unfurnished, and was littered with empty 
 packing-cases and straw, which had been used to 
 bring the Vawdreys' pictures and china from 
 Yorkshire. The boxes were heaped one upon 
 another, some with the lids half torn off, others 
 with broken or bent nails projecting from the 
 edges. 
 
 Johns looked round, his keen eyes noting the 
 disorder. Then he crossed the room to the win- 
 dow. The tree he had marked was in a line with 
 it, and he knew that he was immediately over 
 Pfeiffer's room. 
 
 The window was a double casement, divided in 
 the middle by a stout wooden post, into which the 
 catches fastened. Outside, the slope of the roof 
 ran down to the gutter, some three feet below the 
 sill, and beyond was a stone coping a foot or more 
 in height. 
 
 Johns opened both sides of the window. Like 
 the rest of the house it had been painted recently; 
 but at the lower part of the centre post the paint 
 was rubbed and dirty. 
 
 He bent down and examined the abrasion closely, 
 passing his fingers up and down the post several 
 times. 
 
 "That's right," he said to himself. 'That's 
 A 1 right. The luck's turned at last." 
 
 He closed the window and began to look about 
 
 [257]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 the room. In a corner he came upon a pile of rope, 
 odd lengths which had come off the packing-cases. 
 He lifted out some of them, and presently he laid 
 three of the longest pieces side by side on the floor. 
 In each piece, at intervals of about two feet, were 
 the marks of a knot which had been tied and untied, 
 leaving a twist in the rope. 
 
 "That's right. That's A 1 right," he repeated 
 happily. 
 
 He rolled up the ropes and put them back in the 
 corner. Then he went downstairs to his bedroom. 
 
 [258]
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE motor being late, and the clergyman early, 
 Mrs. Luke Johns did not go upstairs on her 
 return ; but in the hall, as her husband handed her 
 a cup of tea, he gave her the agreed signal which 
 meant that he had something to communicate. So, 
 when the others made a move for the gardens, she 
 remained behind, and presently went to her room. 
 
 Luke Johns soon joined her, and when he 
 laughed she broke out excitedly: 
 
 "Never! Have you?" 
 
 He fetched the slate, and they sat down together 
 on the sofa. She leant over him, watching the 
 words come from his pencil. 
 
 "I've tumbled to it," he wrote. "And it's just 
 as simple as a good scheme always is." 
 
 She smiled widely and squeezed his arm to make 
 him go on. 
 
 "I was thinking it over this morning in the 
 garden. I felt certain there was a pointer sticking 
 out somewhere if I could only see it. And I 
 couldn't. Then Vawdrey came along, and walked 
 me up and down, and asked me what I'd done. 
 That made me madder than ever." 
 
 Mrs. Luke Johns snatched the pencil from him 
 and wrote : 
 
 "Cut all this." 
 
 [259]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 Johns grinned from ear to ear, as he went on 
 with his story : 
 
 "We were walking toward the house. Vawdrey 
 had shut up, and I was back again with Pfeiffer. 
 Those clocks worried me some, because any one 
 who knew about them knew he'd be safe not to 
 wake him. Knowing that, he wasn't such a mug 
 as to stay outside; but I couldn't see how he got in." 
 
 Johns cleaned the slate with irritating slowness 
 before he went on: 
 
 "I knew it was easy; they don't keep magicians 
 in Scotland. That's what worried me worst it 
 was a dam-fool children's puzzle and I couldn't fit 
 it together. And then, in half a sec, it came to me. 
 The chap let himself down from the garret 
 window." 
 
 Mrs. Luke Johns clapped her hands softly in 
 applause ; then she put her arm round his neck and 
 kissed him. 
 
 "Have you made good?" she whispered. 
 
 "Yes," he wrote. "This afternoon I found the 
 rope and the marks on the window where it was 
 tied. The garret's empty, except for rubbish and 
 old packing-crates." 
 
 "Grand! Now, let's think. Pfeiffer's out of 
 it. Who's left in?" 
 
 "All the rest of the world until we get a step 
 further." 
 
 "It was a man." 
 
 "Almost certain." 
 
 "Narrow it down. It was some one in the house 
 [260]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 or with a pal in the house; because he knew he 
 could get from one room to the other, and the door 
 between was unbolted beforehand." 
 
 "Agreed." 
 
 "He knew about the clocks, too. It would have 
 been too risky otherwise, without drugging 
 Pfeiffer." 
 
 "Agreed. There was a big risk if Pfeiffer woke, 
 because there isn't any way out from the garret 
 except by the one staircase." 
 
 Mrs. Luke Johns sat thinking. Presently a fresh 
 link of the chain took shape in her mind and she 
 wrote : 
 
 "If the clock business has any bearing it was 
 some one in the house who took the necklace." 
 
 Johns raised his eyes in interrogation, and she 
 went on : 
 
 "It only happened the night before. If it put 
 him up to the job, as seems likely, it must have 
 been some one in the house. No expert would be 
 hanging round in a 'back-block' place like this wait- 
 ing to see his way." 
 
 "That's right," Johns wrote. "This thing was 
 hatched out hot and quick, and done right off. I 
 don't believe it was done by an expert." 
 
 "Nor do I. It never did look professional. If 
 they'd hocussed Pfeiffer it would have done; but 
 they banked on his being a sleeper, and / think the 
 clocks gave them the certainty." 
 
 "I agree. That limits it to some one indoors." 
 
 Both of them remained silent for some minutes, 
 [261]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 trying to forge the next link in the chain. It was 
 again Mrs. Luke Johns who took up the pencil. 
 
 "This isn't servants," she wrote unconsciously, 
 adopting the argument which Shaw used to Mc- 
 Vitie. "It's too big. No servants' fence would 
 touch that necklace." 
 
 Luke Johns demurred. 
 
 "That wouldn't prevent a servant taking it. 
 Besides, one of them may be in with a top-hole 
 crook." 
 
 "Well, go through them. There's Gibson the 
 rope isn't made which would lower him down. 
 And there's two footmen both of them have lived 
 with Vawdrey for over a year. That doesn't look 
 criminal." 
 
 "No. P'r'aps you're right anyway, right 
 enough to let it stand for a bit." 
 
 "That leaves Vawdrey, Benyon, Fraser, 
 Drury. I think Vawdrey's genuine." 
 
 "I, too. Eraser's a stinker I'd like it to be 
 him. Benyon's doubtful seems rich; but his wife 
 throws it about. Drury? I rather fancy Drury." 
 
 "There's no telling. Seems as if it's one of the 
 three." 
 
 "Drury's going to marry her. That's in his 
 favor." 
 
 "Why? He may have to square up first. Some- 
 body's got a pull on him, perhaps. He didn't want 
 us here." 
 
 "That's so, but he gave a reason." 
 [262]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 "It's easy to fake a reason if you've wits enough 
 to steal a necklace." 
 
 The conversation came to a halt, and after a 
 minute Luke Johns got up and began to pace to 
 and fro. He bit the end off a cigar and struck a 
 match. Mrs. Luke Johns drew her feet up on the 
 sofa and closed her eyes. For some time there was 
 unbroken silence. At last, pausing in his walk, 
 Johns stood beside his wife. She looked up at him, 
 her forehead puckered in thought, and held out 
 her hand. 
 
 "Seems as if we're still outside the gate," she 
 said. 
 
 Johns picked up the slate again and sat down 
 beside her. 
 
 "If we're on in this act," he wrote, "it's got to 
 be one of those three. And we don't know enough 
 about them to find the winner." 
 
 "We can't stick here, now we've come so far," 
 Mrs. Luke Johns wrote. 
 
 "If we'd only more time I'd go through their 
 things. Reckon I'd find something illuminating." 
 
 "Let me think. Go downstairs and chat a bit. 
 I'll hit on something before dinner." 
 
 Luke Johns, who, with reason, had great faith 
 in his wife's powers of unravelling a knot, patted 
 her hand and left the room. 
 
 The clergyman had just gone, and Sir Charles 
 was canvassing for croquet players. 
 
 "You'll play ?" he said to Johns, after trying else- 
 where in vain for a fourth. 
 [263]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "Me? No, thanks. I've no use for those nar- 
 row loops." 
 
 Ethel was eventually sacrificed, and Johns joined 
 Fraser and Hilda Carew in a raid on a plum tree. 
 
 "I love plums," Hilda said, as she bit into her 
 second. 
 
 "Pity they've got a stone. They'd be so much 
 pleasanter without," Fraser answered, as he 
 watched Luke Johns expel a stone from his mouth 
 with the force of a gun. 
 
 "You can't have perfection. You must take the 
 good and reject the evil." 
 
 " 'Reject' is excellent. Ordinary people, like 
 Mr. Johns and myself, would have said: 'Spit 
 out.' ' 
 
 Johns gave him a sour glance, but said cheer- 
 fully: 
 
 "What's the matter with the name so long's you 
 don't swallow it?" 
 
 "Oh, I agree," Fraser said smoothly. "Rejec- 
 tion, under any name, is the only essential." 
 
 "I once swallowed a fish-bone, quite a large one," 
 Hilda said. 
 
 "Were you X-rayed?" 
 
 "No; I was slapped." 
 
 "Well, there's a good deal to be said for the old- 
 fashioned remedies. Slap the child and cheat the 
 devil, doesn't somebody say?" 
 
 "I never heard it; but it sounds familiar." 
 
 "Solomon on an off day, p'r'aps," Johns re- 
 marked. 
 
 [264]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 When Luke Johns returned to his room his wife 
 signed to him to bring the slate and wrote : 
 
 "It strikes me this way. We think one of these 
 three men was the thief. We don't know any of 
 them as crooks, and they all have good reputa- 
 tions. There was a thought-out plot, because the 
 door between the rooms was unbolted beforehand; 
 but that doesn't prove an expert hand. Any one 
 might have carried this through." 
 
 Johns assented, and his wife went on: 
 
 "Whoever did it, started from the clock affair. 
 He had seen the necklace night after night. Prob- 
 ably he was in a tight place ; anyway, he wanted to 
 lay hold of it. He'd been thinking how useful it 
 would be, and then the clocks came along and 
 started him off. He was quicker than you and me, 
 because he found out how to get into Pfeiffer's 
 room. And after that, all he had to do was to 
 unbolt the inside door between dinner and bedtime 
 and the road was open." 
 
 "That sounds right," Johns wrote. "Seeing's 
 coveting, when you want money; and I guess he 
 didn't loiter soon as the clocks showed him the 
 way." 
 
 Mrs. Luke Johns paused for some minutes be- 
 fore she took up the pencil again. 
 
 "If we're going right, what would he do with 
 it?" she wrote. "He's got no friends in the trade 
 to help him pass it, and he'd be bound to move 
 around and sell it himself. He hasn't done that 
 yet, so he's still got it." 
 
 [265!
 
 Luke Johns took the pencil from her and wrote : 
 
 "He might post it off, addressed to himself." 
 
 "He might, only he'd be scared. He's got no 
 experience; doesn't know what he can or can't 
 do. Well, then either he hides it somewhere 
 here or keeps it on him." 
 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 "Come down to that. He knows there'll be de- 
 tectives ferreting round; maybe every one'll be 
 searched. So he doesn't want it in his trunks." 
 
 Johns nodded more appreciatively. 
 
 "Then he keeps it in his pocket, or, much more 
 likely, puts it somewhere safe. If he's got sense he 
 wants a place where, if it is found, it won't drag 
 him in." 
 
 "Agreed. He'd want to lay off the risk." 
 
 "Just so. And he had sense, because he put the 
 empty case under the woman's doormat, which is 
 the cutest thing he could have done." 
 
 She paused, waiting for him to digest her rea- 
 soning. After a minute's reflection he assented; 
 and she went on : 
 
 "If he put it somewhere safe, he's got to fetch 
 it back again. When? As soon as the detective 
 is through? That's days ago. But if he's got 
 sense he might leave it where it was till he was 
 going away." 
 
 Johns eagerly seized the pencil and wrote : 
 
 "He'll fetch it to-night sure." 
 
 Mrs. Johns laughed softly. They had so often 
 worked out puzzles together, and what McVitie 
 [266]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 called "surmising" always amused her. Long prac- 
 tice had given her a delicate sense in weighing 
 probabilities, so that she had grown to have con- 
 fidence in her own powers. She took the pencil 
 from her husband and wrote : 
 
 "We'll watch to-night. It's a fair chance and 
 it's the last one we've got." 
 
 "Wish we had a few more days." 
 
 "Wishing won't alter it. We're booked for to- 
 morrow's train, and so is every one else. If we 
 don't pull it off to-night there's only one thing left. 
 But I don't think it'll go." 
 
 "What's that? Bluff?" 
 
 "You can't bluff the three of them. No; we 
 can put the cards on the table with Vawdrey and 
 call for a search. But the case isn't strong enough." 
 
 Luke Johns shook his head. 
 
 At that moment the dressing-gong sounded. 
 
 [267]
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 A T dinner Mr. and Mrs. Luke Johns exerted 
 ' * themselves to be even more agreeable than 
 usual, and no one would have supposed that in 
 their minds they were accusing one of the company 
 of being a thief. Mrs. Johns listened intently to 
 Sir Charles's interminable description of a croquet 
 match, and Luke Johns put his dislike of Fraser 
 behind him and answered his banderilla remarks 
 with good-humored meekness. Even Drury felt 
 them to be less oppressive than before, and, in an- 
 ticipation of soon being free from them, found it 
 possible to be almost tolerant. 
 
 Mrs. Dayrell-Wing went early to bed, pleading 
 to-morrow's journey; and the others followed soon 
 afterward. Luke Johns stayed in the billiard-room 
 for half an hour, and when he got to his room his 
 wife had undressed. She was making her toilet in 
 preparation for the night watch, and she looked 
 surprisingly different from the elegant little person 
 whom Sir Charles had taken in to dinner. She had 
 shaken down her hair and redone it in a hard knot; 
 and, in place of the tight black frock covered with 
 yellow sequins, she was putting on a thick flannel 
 petticoat and bodice and a serge dress which hung 
 several inches from the ground. Her very pretty 
 feet were shod most unbecomingly in sand-shoes. 
 Johns smiled at her with approval in his eyes. 
 [268]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 They had kept watch together before, and he knew 
 how useful she was, both in the certain tedium of 
 waiting and in the possible moment of emergency. 
 
 He .began rapidly to take off his dress clothes, 
 stripping down to his vest. Then, unlocking his suit- 
 case, he took from it what he called his burgling 
 outfit a gray flannel shirt, old black trousers, a 
 Cardigan jacket with sleeves, and black felt slip- 
 pers. His appearance in these clothes was certainly 
 not that of a man whom one cares to meet on a 
 lonely road. He looked a malefactor, and a pow- 
 erful one, for his sinewy arms showed thick under 
 the stretched woollen sleeves. Into one side-pocket 
 he slipped his electric torch; into the other a re- 
 volver, fully charged. 
 
 His wife stood waiting for him, and when he 
 was ready she placed two chairs near the door and 
 softly drew back the bolt. Johns blew out the 
 candles and sat down. Then he felt for the door- 
 handle and turned it cautiously, opening the door 
 an inch. The passage outside was in darkness. 
 
 They sat perfectly still, hand in hand. Now and 
 again they exchanged a slight pressure of the 
 fingers, as a precaution against falling asleep. The 
 silence of the house was complete, save when it 
 was broken at each half-hour by the chiming of 
 the hall clock, which seemed to occur at enormous 
 intervals of time. 
 
 To amuse himself, Luke Johns began to plan 
 what he would do with the reward if they earned 
 it. Things had not been going too well lately; 
 [269]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 they had had one or two failures, and, in conse- 
 quence, money had been coming in slowly. One 
 of their reasons for taking a holiday had been that 
 they both felt used up and in need of a change of 
 scene to give them renewed capacity for work. 
 With three thousand dollars in hand they would 
 be free from worry; they could stay in Europe for 
 a while longer, and when they got home they would 
 not feel themselves at the point of the bayonet. 
 They would have a fortnight in Paris and do the 
 restaurants. 
 
 Mrs. Luke Johns, more prudent than her hus- 
 band, was concentrating her mind on the theft. She 
 was fully aware that they had not yet "made 
 good," and no less aware that the most carefully 
 laid plans often break down. They were dealing 
 with probabilities, not with certainties, and she 
 asked herself what should be done if they failed 
 to lay hands on the necklace to-night. She could 
 find no satisfactory answer, for she was sure that 
 Vawdrey would not sanction a search, if for no 
 other reason than because it would show that he had 
 admitted detectives into the house to spy upon his 
 guests. Rather than that, she thought, he would 
 let the thief escape, saying that he had done all, 
 and more than all, that could be expected of him. 
 
 The hall clock struck two. It seemed to her 
 that she had been sitting there for several hours, 
 and she judged that, if nothing happened soon, they 
 were wasting their time. She was growing despon- 
 dent and very sleepy, and she made up her mind 
 [270]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 to wait only for another half-hour. Suddenly, the 
 silence of the night was broken by the creak of a 
 door. It was faint and cautious, but it did not 
 escape the practised ears which were listening for 
 it. Johns pressed his wife's hand firmly. 
 
 There was a pause of a few seconds. Then the 
 door creaked again: it was being opened wider. 
 Johns rose to his feet, and, secure in the knowledge 
 that he had oiled the hinges of his own door when 
 he arrived, he swung it slowly back. The creaking, 
 he judged, was not far away. 
 
 He looked out, and, as he looked, a figure carry- 
 ing a candle came from one of the rooms and went 
 noiselessly along the corridor, past the head of the 
 staircase. Johns followed it, keeping well behind 
 in the darkness. It stopped at the door which led 
 to the back staircase, opened it carefully, and 
 passed through. 
 
 Johns quickened his pace. He saw the flicker of 
 the candle on the upper flight and went on. He 
 crept upstairs, keeping close to the wall, and 
 reached the top in time to see the figure disappear 
 into one of the garrets. His heart throbbed with 
 excitement, for he knew it was the garret over 
 Pfeiffer's room. 
 
 "The luck's holding!" he thought exultantly. 
 "The luck's holding, by gum!" 
 
 He waited for a moment, and then moved for- 
 ward. The door was open, and as he came to it 
 he put his hand in his pocket and took out his 
 revolver. Then he stepped in.
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 The candle was set upon the floor. Beside it a 
 man dressed in pajamas was stooping down. His 
 arm was thrust into one of the empty packing-cases 
 which lay about the room. Presently he withdrew 
 his arm and stood up. He turned slowly round, 
 looking intently at something in his hand. 
 
 The man was Leslie Eraser. 
 
 Johns lifted his revolver, saying quietly: 
 
 "Hands up!" 
 
 Eraser started convulsively, and looked up with 
 abject terror in his eyes. The necklace fell clatter- 
 ing to the floor, and one of the stones, catching a 
 ray from the candle, sent up a shoot of fire. 
 
 "You I" Fraser cried. "You!" 
 
 He was shaking with fear, and his teeth clicked 
 together so that he could scarcely speak. His voice 
 came in a faint scream, as if he were being 
 smothered. 
 
 "You're a detective," he cried, when Johns said 
 nothing. "I wondered if you were." 
 
 "That's right," Johns answered imperturbably. 
 "I'm a detective, and I guess I'm home on this 
 trip." 
 
 Fraser did not speak for a minute ; he was fight- 
 ing to regain control of himself. Presently he said 
 in a more natural voice : 
 
 "I'm in your hands. What are you going 
 to do?" 
 
 "Stand back a pace while I pick up the necklace." 
 
 Fraser retreated a yard. A crafty light came 
 into his eyes as the possibility of escape occurred to 
 [272]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 him. Without looking ahead, he thought that, if 
 he could disarm Johns, he might somehow save 
 himself. 
 
 As Johns stooped down to get the necklace 
 Fraser sprang forward and aimed a blow at his 
 head. But Johns was too quick for him ; he 
 dodged, and the blow glanced harmlessly aside. 
 With surprising agility he flung himself upon 
 Fraser, sending his left hand crashing into his jaw. 
 Fraser staggered backward, and before he could 
 recover himself Johns had pocketed the necklace 
 and stood covering him with his revolver. 
 
 "Don't try that on," he said roughly; "I could 
 choke one of you in each hand, you blamed, an- 
 cestral, weasely Scotchman!" 
 
 Fraser looked at him as if he meant to spring. 
 Then, realizing the completeness of his defeat and 
 the inevitable disgrace which would come upon 
 him, he hid his face in his hands and burst into 
 sobs. It was a horrible sight, but Luke Johns had 
 seen too many dreadful things to be easily moved. 
 He sat down on the edge of a box and watched 
 Fraser with a half-contemptuous smile on his lips. 
 
 "Come," he said presently, "you ain't dead yet, 
 you know. While there's life there's hope." 
 
 "Hope!" Fraser groaned. "What have I to 
 do with hope? I'm broken, finished. I wish to 
 God you'd shot me. Then I should be clear of 
 it all." 
 
 Johns' smile broadened as he answered: 
 
 "You're taking a black view. If I'd put a bul- 
 
 [273]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 let into you maybe you'd be wishing you were alive 
 again." 
 
 Silence fell. Fraser gradually regained control 
 of himself; and presently, as a man does when he 
 knows the worst and resolves to face it, he drew 
 himself up and squared his shoulders. 
 
 "What are you going to do?" he asked in a low 
 voice. "You had better rouse the house and send 
 for the police. Let's get it over." 
 
 Johns eyed him narrowly. He disliked him, and 
 he was glad to have him in his power; he was glad, 
 too, to have recovered the necklace and earned the 
 reward. But he knew a man when he saw one, and 
 he appreciated Fraser's "grit" in forcing himself 
 to meet his troubles calmly. 
 
 "I don't fancy that," he said, after a pause. 
 "We don't want any village policeman shoving in 
 here. Come to that," he added reflectively, "Vaw- 
 drey won't be pleased at making a scandal. These 
 things are best kept quiet." 
 
 A flicker of hope dawned in Fraser's eyes. 
 
 "Do you mean," he asked, "you're going to let 
 me off? You've got the necklace." 
 
 "Can't say that. It isn't up to me, any more'n 
 it's up to me to raise a din in Vawdrey's house by 
 sending for the police." 
 
 "What d'you mean, then ?" 
 
 Johns sucked his teeth in contemplation. He 
 had got the necklace that was what he was to be 
 paid for, and, having got it, he did not care a curse 
 what happened to Fraser. Long experience of 
 
 [274]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 delicate cases had taught him that, when the main 
 object was achieved, it generally suited all parties 
 not to press further, and he was disinclined to do 
 anything on his own responsibility which might 
 embarrass Vawdrey. 
 
 "See here," he said presently, "you're going to- 
 morrow. Well, you can. If you're wanted, you 
 won't find it easy to keep out. Go to London and 
 stop there. Guess I'd take your word to be on 
 hand when you're called." 
 
 "I see," Fraser answered slowly. "You won't 
 arrest me till I've left here?" 
 
 "That's so. You don't want to say good-by in 
 handcuffs." 
 
 "Very well. I shall do as you wish; I've got 
 to. I will go to London and stay at my rooms till 
 I hear from you." 
 
 He turned to pick up the candle, with the inten- 
 tion of going downstairs. But Luke Johns seemed 
 in no hurry and remained seated. He was nat- 
 urally curious, and now that his work was done, 
 and the necklace in his pocket, he was inclined to 
 indulge his curiosity. 
 
 "Say," he said in an easy tone, "this job was 
 cleverly put through. Have you been in the trade 
 before?" 
 
 Eraser's eyes fell and the color rushed into his 
 face as he answered : 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then you're a darned good performer. Some- 
 
 [275]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 thing gave you the office eh? That business with 
 the clocks, I surmise." 
 
 Eraser looked at Johns. There was something 
 persuasive, almost friendly, in the man's tone, 
 which prompted him to tell the whole story. 
 
 "I suppose that began it," he said. 
 
 Then, with the thought that, if he could not 
 justify his action, he could at least show an exten- 
 uating motive, he yielded himself more unreserv- 
 edly, and added in a quick, tense voice : 
 
 "I was worried to death for a sum of money 
 which had to be found; and seeing her wearing 
 the necklace the devil himself made me think of 
 taking it. It obsessed me; I couldn't get away 
 from it. And, on top of that, some one suggested 
 hiding it as a joke, and the whole plan rolled out 
 before me. I tried to forget it and I couldn't; 
 and when we were in her room before dinner, pre- 
 tending to look for the necklace, I slipped back the 
 bolt of the door. Even then I didn't mean to take 
 it; I swear I didn't; and if I'd had a chance I'd 
 have gone back and bolted the door again." 
 
 "And when you went to bed it kind o' gripped 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes. I tried to go to sleep, but the thing 
 danced before my eyes, and I think I went mad. 
 I got up at last and came up here." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "I knew there was a coil of rope which used to 
 hang on a peg in the passage; it was kept there so 
 that the servants could scramble down in case of 
 [276]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 fire. When I lived here as a boy I used it scores 
 of times I suppose that's what gave me the idea 
 of getting into Pfeiffer's room. I came up to 
 look for it, and I think I was glad to find it gone, 
 because it settled the matter. But I came in here, 
 and I found a lot of ropes which had come off 
 these boxes." 
 
 "And that fixed you?" 
 
 "It was so infernally easy," Fraser cried 
 piteously, "I couldn't resist. There didn't seem to 
 be a risk in it." 
 
 "There wasn't. You must have smiled some 
 when McVitie went snuffing off on the wrong tack." 
 
 "I don't know what he discovered. I never 
 heard." 
 
 "He's after Pfeiffer. He couldn't see how any 
 one else got in." 
 
 "Good heavens ! Of course, Pfeiffer had noth- 
 ing to do with it." 
 
 "We tumbled to that in about two seconds. We 
 were sent here to see if it had ever been stolen at 
 all. The lady was our mystery." 
 
 "Then it was you who went through her 
 letters?" 
 
 "That's so," Johns answered, with a chuckle. 
 "And a more blithering lot of writing I never saw. 
 Diary Monday: 'Arthur took my hand in the 
 garden. I let him. He is a dear boy.' Tuesday: 
 'Arthur was very sweet.' Wednesday: 'Arthur 
 was a dear boy again.' Gosh! It made me sick!" 
 
 Fraser did not respond to Luke Johns' pleas-
 
 antry, but turned the conversation abruptly, 
 saying : 
 
 "How did you find out?" 
 
 "Just luck and then reasoning. My wife's a 
 terror at reasoning. I found the rope and the 
 marks on "the window-post, and we reckoned it out 
 that whoever'd taken it wouldn't keep it on him. 
 Chances were he'd put it somewhere till it was time 
 to start and that's to-morrow. So we watched 
 to see him fetch it." 
 
 "Did you suspect me?" 
 
 "Well, counting everything, we narrowed it 
 down to you and Benyon and Drury." 
 
 There was a pause. Then Luke Johns said : 
 
 "Say, why did you do it? You weren't giving 
 all that to a girl?" 
 
 Eraser's lips quivered with pain. 
 
 "No; not to a girl," he said softly. "I had to 
 find some money." 
 
 "That's the same thing, mostly." 
 
 Fraser hesitated. He wanted to justify himself, 
 and at last he said: 
 
 "It was my mother. She had lost a lot at cards 
 and had got into a money-lender's hands. He was 
 threatening her, and I promised to find five thou- 
 sand pounds by the end of September." 
 
 Luke Johns was touched. He had had to do 
 with so many criminals, and he had never before 
 met with an unselfish one. 
 
 "Well, that's a noble motive," he said. "Guess 
 I almost wish I hadn't spotted you." 
 [278]
 
 WHAT LUKE JOHNS DISCOVERED 
 
 Fraser turned to him impetuously, crying: 
 
 "That's the truth. I did it to save her, so give 
 me a chance. You've got the necklace. Let to- 
 night be between you and me. You can easily 
 make up a story, and I'll pay your fee and do any- 
 thing you want to make it square." 
 
 "I couldn't do that," Johns answered, recover- 
 ing from his momentary lapse into sentimentality. 
 "My clients'll want to know; but I reckon they 
 won't want to make a fuss." 
 
 "Must you tell them?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then at least persuade them not to prosecute. 
 They'll listen to you you've got the necklace back 
 for them." 
 
 "Well, I'll do what I can," Luke Johns drawled. 
 "You haven't been overpolite to me, but I won't get 
 back on you for that." 
 
 Fraser was trembling with excitement and fear. 
 
 "Plead with them, beg them, to do nothing," 
 he cried. "Perhaps you can't realize what it means 
 to me the disgrace on the family. It would kill 
 my mother." 
 
 "All right, I'll try. You go to London, and I'll 
 pass you word soon as I get it. Now, I reckon we 
 might turn in if you're ready." 
 
 Johns stood back and allowed Fraser to go in 
 front of him with the candle. They went silently 
 downstairs and along the lower corridor. They 
 parted at Fraser's room, and Johns moved on to his 
 own room. 
 
 [ 279 ]
 
 His wife was waiting for him. He pressed the 
 button of his electric torch, and she came toward 
 him with eyebrows uplifted in an eager question. 
 He said nothing, but drew the necklace from his 
 pocket and turned the light upon it. Unemotional 
 as she was by nature and training she put her hand 
 to her breast and gasped. 
 
 She took it from him and held it up, turning it 
 this way and that to catch the light. It was like a 
 live thing, shifting and sparkling in her fingers. 
 For some minutes she could not let it go; it ab- 
 sorbed her, and as she watched it flash, little 
 breaths of laughter came from her lips. 
 
 At length she gave it back to her husband. 
 Their eyes met, and in hers Luke Johns saw some- 
 thing which he had never seen there before the 
 lust of covetousness. 
 
 [280]
 
 BOOK V 
 WHAT NO ONE DISCOVERED
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 T UKE JOHNS slept the sleep of the just man 
 *-"' who has earned his reward. With the neck- 
 lace under his pillow he curled himself up; and so 
 he lay, untroubled by dreams or by the cares of 
 other people. 
 
 His wife was more restless; in fact, she did not 
 sleep at all. As with Fraser, the diamonds danced 
 before her eyes, flashing out of the darkness and 
 seducing her with their promise of wealth. Pres- 
 ently, by an extension of thought, she saw mirrored 
 before her all that they might mean the freedom 
 from the struggle to live, the abandonment of the 
 stuffy New York flat, the little house "down 
 South" of which she and her husband often talked 
 as a distant possibility. She was tired of work, 
 and she craved for a home where she could be at 
 peace, and forget that there were such things in 
 the world as divorces and blackmail and robberies. 
 
 Hour after hour she lay beside her sleeping hus- 
 band, asking herself again and again : "Can we get 
 away with it?" Abstract morality had never trou- 
 bled her much, and she was too well accustomed to 
 mix with people who had none to value it highly. 
 Some people were honest and some were not; and 
 she had never found anything to show that the dis- 
 honest ones had the worst of it. It was the stupid 
 [283]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 who went to the wall the fools, who made mis- 
 takes, who "got into trouble." 
 
 Thus, no qualms of conscience distracted her 
 thoughts from the craving to keep Mrs. Dayrell- 
 Wing's necklace ; and, though it was the first time 
 she had been tempted by the magnitude of the prize 
 to betray a client, no hesitation existed in her mind 
 about doing it. The question which vexed her 
 was how it could be done without bringing unpleas- 
 ant consequences in its train. Naturally, they 
 would keep the necklace until they reached Lon- 
 don, and from there they might make a dash for 
 the Continent and disappear. But she saw the 
 futility of this as soon as it suggested itself. True, 
 they were not known; but with such plunder the 
 whole police force of Europe would be turned upon 
 their track, and money spent like water to get in 
 touch with them. That was "stupid," a fool's 
 game, the sort of thing that made her contemp- 
 tuous when other people did it. 
 
 No, it would have to be something cleverer than 
 that if it were to be done at all. What they wanted 
 was to create the belief that some one else had the 
 necklace. Who? And how? Those were the 
 questions which exercised her all through the night 
 and remained unanswered in the morning. Finally 
 she decided that they must wait upon events, and 
 that no plan was possible at the moment. Things 
 happened she knew that as well as any one ; and 
 a lucky turn of the wheel might present the open- 
 ing for which she had searched in vain. Mean- 
 [284]
 
 WHAT NO ONE DISCOVERED 
 
 while, no one knew that they had the necklace, 
 except, of course, Eraser; and he could be trusted 
 not to speak. She would warn Johns to say no 
 more than was necessary to Vawdrey, and to let 
 him think that they had not yet recovered it. With 
 this decision, she looked at her watch, and seeing 
 that it was now past seven she roused her husband 
 and bade him fetch the slate. 
 
 "So it was Eraser," she wrote. "Tell me what 
 happened." 
 
 Luke Johns, rather sleepy but in the best of 
 tempers, sat up in bed and began to write : 
 
 "It was in the garret, under some straw in a 
 packing-case. I might have found it myself if I'd 
 thought to look. I caught him with his hand on it 
 and scared him some. Seemed to me we didn't 
 want a scene here, so I took it from him and told 
 him to go to London and wait orders there. 
 Reckon they won't prosecute, now they've got the 
 swag." 
 
 "So he'll leave to-day?" 
 
 "Yes; along with us and the others. He said 
 he'd been itching to get it and fighting it off; and 
 then those clocks started him in fairly. He used 
 to monkey up and down ropes here when he was a 
 boy, and knew all about it from A to Z. Next 
 day some of 'em put a laugh on Mrs. Dayrell- 
 Wing and hid the necklace, and it just swept him 
 off his feet. Says he never meant to do it, but all 
 the same he unbolted the door when they were in 
 [285]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 the room making believe to look for the necklace. 
 And after that it was as easy as eating pie." 
 
 "Short of money, I suppose?" 
 
 "Wanted it for his mother. She was up a tree, 
 with a few yapping underneath. I'm real sorry 
 for him; I am so." 
 
 Mrs. Luke Johns was not so easily moved to 
 pity as her husband, and she paid little heed to the 
 extenuating circumstances of Eraser's case. She 
 was much more interested in her own affairs, for 
 Johns had his prejudices, and she was not sure 
 what amount of persuasion would be necessary to 
 bring him into line with her wishes. While she 
 was considering how to broach the subject to him 
 he wrote : 
 
 "Said I'd get him off if I could." 
 
 Mrs. Johns took the pencil from him with quick 
 decision and answered: 
 
 "We've enough to do with ourselves. Don't 
 worry about him." 
 
 Johns raised his eyebrows and grunted. 
 
 "Guess we're through," he wrote. "It's two 
 weeks in Paris and then home." 
 
 "We're not through." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Are you seeing Vawdrey?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "Then don't tell him you've got the necklace. 
 Let him think it's in London, and we're getting it 
 there. If it comes out after, it's easy to say it was 
 safer for no one to know you had it on you." 
 [286]
 
 WHAT NO ONE DISCOVERED 
 
 "What's the game?" 
 
 Mrs. Luke Johns hesitated for a long minute. 
 Then she wrote: "The necklace would be more 
 use to us than three thousand dollars." 
 
 Johns looked at her sharply. He understood; 
 but the thing was beyond possibility. 
 
 "You're mad," he wrote. "If we walked away 
 the first Marconigram would hold us up." 
 
 "It won't happen like that." 
 
 "Explain." 
 
 "I can't. I don't see clear yet. Likely it won't 
 come out right, but anyway keep the necklace as 
 long as you can." 
 
 "This is just fool talk. It's mesmerized you, 
 looking at it." 
 
 "Never you mind. You do as I tell you. I'll 
 boss this trip, and if we don't make anything, we 
 don't lose anything." 
 
 Johns shook his head obstinately. 
 
 "See here," he wrote, "if we go on the cross, 
 we're finished." 
 
 "We sha'n't go on the cross unless the road's 
 open. I'm not a flat any more than you are. Do 
 as I tell you." 
 
 "I don't fancy it." 
 
 "You make me tired. Have I ever let you 
 down?" 
 
 "No; but breaking into the Treasury vaults is 
 easier than this." 
 
 "Never you mind. Do as I tell you. Let Vaw- 
 [287]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 drey think the necklace is in London, and we'll 
 see what happens when we get there." 
 
 She put the slate aside without giving him an 
 opportunity to reply. Luke Johns got out of bed 
 and began to dress. 
 
 In the middle of shaving he laid down his razor 
 and came back to her room. He took up the slate 
 and wrote: "I can't see it. I've got to meet Por- 
 ton to-morrow, and suppose I do fend off inquiry 
 for a time, it leads nowhere and looks queer." 
 
 Mrs. Luke Johns dealt patiently with him. She 
 answered: "Just so. You're worrying yourself 
 about something which likely won't happen. I tell 
 you, I've got no plan only an idea. All I say is, 
 keep the necklace so long as you don't have to risk 
 anything." 
 
 "Give me a pointer how you're steering. I 
 can't see." 
 
 Mrs. Luke Johns sucked the pencil and consid- 
 ered how she could put her nebulous idea into an 
 intelligible form. It was so nebulous that in words 
 it looked foolish, and yet she felt that there might 
 be some good in it, if it could be developed. 
 
 "If," she wrote, "we made them believe we 
 hadn't got it " 
 
 Luke Johns blew out his cheeks and then 
 laughed. 
 
 "You've got quit," he answered. "But seems to 
 me this idea's just a pastime." 
 
 "Think it over. At worst, you can deliver up 
 [288]
 
 WHAT NO ONE DISCOVERED 
 
 the necklace to-morrow or next day and take a 
 check." 
 
 He was turning to go back to his dressing-room 
 when she laid her hand on his arm. She took the 
 slate again and wrote : 
 
 "Would you do it, if the way was clear?" 
 
 He hesitated. He had done scores of dishonest 
 and mean things in the interest of clients, but he 
 had never yet been dishonest to benefit himself. 
 He did not like the suggestion, less perhaps from 
 any reason of morality than because he knew the 
 pitfalls which lay in the path of the transgressor. 
 
 He began to walk up and down the room. His 
 wife watched him shrewdly and noted his inde- 
 cision. Presently she rose quietly from her seat and 
 went to the bed. Slipping her hand under the pil- 
 low she drew out the necklace and spread it on the 
 sheet. It lay there, quivering in the sunlight, a 
 thin line of stones, yet uncannily alive and serpent- 
 like. Johns came and stood beside her, looking 
 down at it with kindling eyes. 
 
 "Yes, by gum!" he said. "If there's a safe 
 way." 
 
 The favorite drama of Adam and Eve had been 
 staged once more. 
 
 Breakfast that morning was earlier than usual 
 and was a hurried meal. Fraser did not appear. 
 Luke Johns, who fully appreciated the Gains chef, 
 was the first to begin and ,the last to finish, work- 
 ing his way steadily through the line of silver 
 dishes on the sideboard, and ending with cold 
 [289]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 grouse pie. It would be a long time, he guessed, 
 before he tasted the equal to that pie, and he took 
 a second helping. But when Vawdrey rose he 
 abandoned the last elusive drops of gravy and fol- 
 lowed him out of the room. 
 
 "I'd like a word," he said, touching Vawdrey on 
 the arm. 
 
 "Yes? What can I do for you?" 
 
 "In your library." 
 
 "Come along. But we haven't got many min- 
 utes; the car is due." 
 
 Luke Johns went with him into the study and 
 shut the door. 
 
 "About the necklace," he said. "We know who's 
 got it." 
 
 "Eh ?" Vawdrey exclaimed. "You've discovered 
 something?" 
 
 "Yes. Fraser took it." 
 
 "Good God! But when I spoke to you yester- 
 day morning you hadn't found out anything. Are ' 
 you sure?" 
 
 "Positive. And I'll tell you how he fixed it. 
 He knew Pfeiffer slept like a boa constrictor, and 
 he slid down a rope from the garret window and 
 walked in. He'd unbolted the door into Mrs. 
 Dayrell-Wing's room the night before. There 
 wasn't any risk about it; you might have done it 
 yourself if you'd thought of it first." 
 
 "Then what is happening? Does he admit it? 
 Have you confronted him?" 
 
 "Yes, he climbs down right enough. And he's 
 [290]
 
 WHAT NO ONE DISCOVERED 
 
 going through to London to wait orders. I reck- 
 oned you didn't want a flare up here, and it'll all 
 be done quietly." 
 
 "Thanks, yes. I appreciate your tact," Vawdrey 
 said thoughtfully. "So McVitie was wrong in 
 saying that no one entered Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's 
 room. He didn't hit on the idea of a man lowering 
 himself down from above. How did you?" 
 
 "Well, I guessed it. I'm used to guessing, and 
 when you're used to it you sometimes guess right. 
 It came to me when I was walking over the grass 
 with you yesterday." 
 
 "I remember; you asked me who slept upstairs. 
 I didn't see your point." 
 
 "No? Well, all at once it struck me this house 
 kind o' lends itself to trapeze business. One win- 
 dow over another, .and the door in the middle, like 
 the picture on a box of bricks. Guess the man was 
 short of notions when he built it." 
 
 Vawdrey laughed, saying: "They liked a sym- 
 metrical design in the eighteenth century. Many 
 of us like it still." Then, relapsing into gravity, 
 he went on: "I suppose there's no possibility of 
 doubt about this. You have recovered the neck- 
 lace?" 
 
 "I shall recover it," Johns answered. 
 
 "You know where it is?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Where? If Eraser took it, it would be in the 
 house." 
 
 "No. In London." 
 
 [291 ]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "Then he sent it away by post, I suppose?" 
 
 "Says so. I'm not fretting ; I've got him round 
 the neck." 
 
 "Then I may take it for certain that the robbery 
 will be satisfactorily cleared up, and that no sus- 
 picion will attach to Mr. Pfeiffer? I have a par- 
 ticular reason for asking." 
 
 "You may take it for certain, Mr. Vawdrey. I 
 don't say Eraser's going to jail; likely enough it'll 
 be hushed up." 
 
 "For every one's sake I hope it will be. I only 
 want to be assured that there's not going to be 
 any doubt about Mr. Pfeiffer." 
 
 "That's sure. There'll be no loose ends." 
 
 "Well, I'm greatly relieved. I'm sorry for 
 Fraser, very sorry indeed. Sudden temptation, I 
 suppose." 
 
 "Just so. Couldn't stand seeing a hundred thou- 
 sand dollars flash on a woman's neck; he's not the 
 first." 
 
 Gibson came in to announce that the motor was 
 ready. 
 
 "By the way," Vawdrey said, as he moved to the 
 door, "am I to know about this? It's very awk- 
 ward." 
 
 "Know nothing. Shake Fraser by the hand as 
 if you wanted to see him again to-morrow." 
 
 "I'll try." 
 
 [292]
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ' I A HE Vawdreys stood at the door to see their 
 -^ guests depart, and when the motors had dis- 
 appeared round the bend of the drive they turned 
 back into the house. 
 
 "Only half-past nine," Mrs. Vawdrey said, 
 glancing at the clock. "I shall have a nice, long 
 morning to write letters before the others come. 
 Ethel dear, are you going for a ride?" 
 
 "No, mother; I shall stay in the garden." 
 
 Her voice was lifeless and despondent, for, now 
 that they were alone, she could not make an effort 
 to appear in good spirits. The accusation against 
 Pfeiffer was more than she could bear. She be- 
 lieved him to be innocent; but, as day after day 
 went by, the weight of facts against him seemed 
 by the mere lapse of time to grow heavier. "I 
 won't believe it of him," she said to herself again 
 and again, and each repetition was more vehement 
 than the last, because the pressure against her faith 
 was greater. 
 
 Vawdrey saw how near to breaking down she 
 was. He slipped his arm into hers, saying: 
 
 "Come along, Ethel girlie, come and talk to me." 
 
 "Yes, father," she answered submissively. 
 
 "Come into the study and watch me smoke a 
 cigar. It tastes twice as good when you're there." 
 
 [293]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "But it's such a nice morning. Why not the 
 garden?" 
 
 "No; let's sit in the study. I've got something 
 to tell you something you may like to hear, 
 perhaps." 
 
 "Not about ?" she asked breathlessly. 
 
 "Yes, about " he answered, smiling. 
 
 A light flashed into her eyes, and she put her 
 hands impulsively on his shoulders as she cried : 
 
 "Oh, father ! Best and dearest, have you found 
 out something? Tell me quickly." 
 
 "Mayn't I light my cigar first?" 
 
 "Well, make haste. Come along. You're not 
 you're not going to be disappointing? I can't bear 
 chaff just now." 
 
 Vawdrey's eyes softened as he looked at her. 
 She was very dear to him, and he would not have 
 thwarted her even if Pfeiffer had been a much less 
 eligible son-in-law than he was. 
 
 "No; bar chaff," he said. "I've got a bit of 
 news for you. Come and nestle down beside me 
 and I'll tell you." 
 
 She sat down on the arm of his chair and put 
 her hand in his, saying: 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 The cigar would not draw, and Vawdrey was 
 provokingly slow over a second match. At last 
 he said: 
 
 "Do you know, that little American bounder has 
 solved the mystery?" 
 
 [294]
 
 WHAT NO ONE DISCOVERED 
 
 "Do you mean Mr. Johns? What has he to do 
 with it?" 
 
 "He was a detective." 
 
 "No! Was he? Oh, father, did you really 
 bring him in because the Scotch person muddled it 
 so? How splendid and enterprising of you!" 
 
 '7 didn't bring him in my conscience is clear 
 of that. But I let him come, which was almost as 
 bad ; and ever since, I've fervently wished I hadn't. 
 Still, as he has pulled it off, I suppose it's all right 
 now." 
 
 "Tell me," she cried. 
 
 "How he did it, goodness only knows. But he 
 says the man has confessed, and he's going to get 
 the necklace in London." 
 
 "But who was it?" 
 
 "Well, I suppose you've guessed it wasn't the 
 stainless Willie." 
 
 "I knew that all along," she boasted, laughing. 
 
 "And how do you think it was done?" 
 
 "But I want to know who it was first. Was it 
 one of the servants?" 
 
 "No. It was Fraser." 
 
 "Oh! How perfectly hateful! What could 
 have induced him to do such a thing?" 
 
 "Ah, my dear, the usual reason, which you and 
 I don't realize the force of want of money." 
 
 "I liked him rather," Ethel said slowly. "He 
 seemed so depressed, as if he'd had a bad time." 
 
 "I suppose he had. There was a screw loose 
 somewhere." 
 
 [295]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "How was it found out?" 
 
 "I don't really know. Johns didn't say much; 
 we only had a minute together, just before he left. 
 But it appears that Fraser let himself down from 
 the window above Willie's, went through into 
 Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's room, bagged the necklace, 
 and climbed up again. It looks simple enough; 
 in fact, Johns was kind enough to say that I might 
 have done it myself if I'd thought of it first." 
 
 "That accounts for there being no trace of a 
 ladder." 
 
 "Yes. Our worthy Scotchman didn't think of 
 that. He'll be a little bit vexed when he hears." 
 
 "That's a good thing. He was perfectly odious. 
 Poor little Johns and his wife were a thousand 
 times nicer; really, he was rather a dear." 
 
 "I daresay he wasn't so bad, only I was so sick 
 at having him here. You know it was he who ran- 
 sacked Mrs. Dayrell-Wing's room and read all her 
 , letters " 
 
 "Was it? How funny!" 
 
 "Awfully funny! It worried me nearly out of 
 my senses." 
 
 There was a pause. Ethel sat playing with the 
 jade ball which hung from a long chain round her 
 neck. She was dreaming, and the dream was evi- 
 dently pleasant, for a soft, happy glow brightened 
 her gray eyes. Presently she turned to her father, 
 and nestling closer to him said: 
 
 "Dada, what shall we do?" 
 
 She rarely used the old pet name. 
 [296]
 
 WHAT NO ONE DISCOVERED 
 
 "Go for a walk, I should think," he laughed 
 back at her. 
 
 "Stupid dada! I mean about Willie." 
 
 "Oh, about Willie? Well, suppose we wait till 
 we get back to town?" 
 
 "I shall do nothing of the sort. I meant shall 
 we telegraph?" 
 
 "I shouldn't do that. It would be so bad for 
 the postmistress." 
 
 "Then write. He could get here to-morrow 
 evening." 
 
 Vawdrey stroked her hand gently. 
 
 "Quite sure, little girl? Certain you know what 
 you want?" 
 
 "Quite. Absolutely quite." 
 
 "Well, I suppose you must sail your own boat in 
 your own way; and, if you know your own mind, 
 I'm not going to interfere. Run away and write 
 your letter, dear, and I'll write too. I've got to 
 apologize." 
 
 "Dearest!" 
 
 "No, little girl, only second dearest now," he 
 answered, drawing her closer and kissing her. 
 
 When Ethel had left him he went in search of 
 his wife, whom he found in the drawing-room 
 dealing with some heavy arrears of family 
 correspondence. 
 
 "How much has Ethel told you ?" he asked. 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 "About Willie." 
 
 "Why, nothing. Is there ?" 
 
 [297]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "He came to me a week ago and asked my 
 consent." 
 
 "But why didn't you tell me? Ethel hasn't 
 said a word. Is that why he left so suddenly?" 
 
 "I didn't tell you because I was worried to death 
 about it." 
 
 "I don't see. If she likes him You always 
 said you weren't ambitious about her marrying, 
 and I feel the same." 
 
 "That's all right; but his proposal came at an 
 awkward moment. Emily, I've been keeping you 
 in the dark, because it didn't seem any good up- 
 setting you; but I've been having a stormy time." 
 
 "What's the matter? I do wish you'd tell me 
 things, Tom. You know you always have to in 
 the end." 
 
 "Well, this wretched woman's beastly necklace 
 that's been the trouble. That Scotch owl came 
 here and sifted things out; and, when Willie in- 
 terviewed me about Ethel, he'd just told me that 
 Willie was the only possible person who could 
 have taken it." 
 
 "Good gracious! And had he?" 
 
 "It looked awfully like it, and I bundled him 
 off hotfoot. Of course, he told Ethel, and I had a 
 job to prevent her from doing something silly; 
 but at last I persuaded her to look on and see what 
 happened. I've been simply praying that they'd 
 get evidence enough to arrest him." 
 
 "What an extraordinary story. I should like to 
 know why I wasn't told," poor Mrs. Vawdrey ex- 
 [298]
 
 WHAT NO ONE DISCOVERED 
 
 claimed with rising indignation. "It's too ridicu- 
 lous to treat me as if I were a child in the nursery." 
 
 "Well, dear, I acted for the best. And, besides, 
 I thought Ethel would confide in you." 
 
 "She has never said a syllable. You know how 
 fond she is of being secretive. Of course, I knew 
 she liked Willie, and he was always very pleasant. 
 But now It's really dreadful." 
 
 "Stop a bit. You haven't had half the story 
 yet." 
 
 "Then pray go on. I shall have to postpone my 
 letter to Maria." 
 
 "You'll have something to tell her after this. 
 Well, to continue. As if McVitie wasn't enough, 
 we had another detective thrust upon us Mr. 
 Luke Johns." 
 
 Mrs. Vawdrey bounced in her chair. 
 
 "A detective ! I wondered why you asked that 
 common little American and his wife to stay. I 
 might have known there was something behind it." 
 
 "Perhaps you might. It was the silliest thing 
 I ever did, I believe ; but it turned out right. He's 
 unravelled the whole story and caught the thief and 
 carried him off to London." 
 
 "Who was it? No one in the house, I'm sure, 
 unless it was Tipton." 
 
 "Eraser." 
 
 "Mercy upon us !" Mrs. Vawdrey cried in much 
 agitation. "He stole the necklace? You can't be 
 serious." 
 
 [2991
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "I am. And that's the end of the story, as far 
 as we're concerned." 
 
 "Oh, Tom! To think of it! How dreadful !" 
 
 "Don't let's think of it; there's something else 
 to think of now. I've told Ethel, and she's up- 
 stairs writing half a ream to Willie, to bring him 
 back by the next train." 
 
 "You've upset me so I can't think of anything," 
 poor, stout Mrs. Vawdrey cried. "Ring for Gib- 
 son. I must have my salts." 
 
 "I don't know what to do," she murmured, 
 when the salts had been brought. "You and Ethel 
 between you are always carrying me off my feet. 
 You bought Gains in such a hurry that I didn't 
 even know whether there was a cupboard to put a 
 blanket in. You're so impetuous, Tom." 
 
 "Life's too short to argue everything out." 
 
 "And this engagement I can't decide all in a 
 moment. I like Willie, he's always so pleasant; 
 but as a husband for Ethel 
 
 "Why, you said a moment ago that you didn't 
 see any objection if she liked him." 
 
 "Well, if I did, I don't want to be driven into 
 it without an instant to look round." 
 
 "Hadn't you better talk it over with the child. 
 She'll tell you much more than I can." 
 
 "Of course I must talk it over. I'll go to her 
 at once." 
 
 Left to himself, Vawdrey went into his study 
 and sat down to write to Pfeiffer; for he knew his 
 wife too well to doubt her consent to the engage-
 
 WHAT NO ONE DISCOVERED 
 
 ment as soon as she was satisfied that Ethel wanted 
 to marry him. He lighted another cigar and 
 began : 
 
 "Mv DEAR WILLIE: 
 
 "I owe you a very sincere apology for 
 what I said when we met last. Circum- 
 stances, of which you will learn later, put 
 us at cross purposes; and, in expressing my 
 real and deep regret, I can only hope that 
 when you know the whole story you will 
 acquit me of evil. 
 
 "Ethel is writing to you, asking you to 
 run up here for a few more days' shooting. 
 Please come. / never refuse her anything, 
 and I hope you will follow the same rule 
 now and in the future. 
 
 "Yours sincerely, 
 
 "T. VAWDREY." 
 
 Apparently, Ethel had little difficulty in satisfy- 
 ing her mother that Willie Pfeiffer was beyond 
 criticism; for, soon after Vawdrey had finished 
 his letter they came into the study together. 
 
 "Then has the child got her way once more?" 
 Vawdrey said. 
 
 "Oh, Tom, it's it's very upsetting. But she 
 seems so sure of herself, and Willie is very nice. 
 I've always said so." 
 
 "But you've never thought of him as a son-in- 
 law? Now, that's odd." 
 
 [301]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 Ethel put her arms round his shoulders, saying: 
 "You're not to tease mums. She's been perfectly 
 angelic." 
 
 "And what about me? Haven't I been angelic, 
 too?" 
 
 "Of course, you both are dear things!" 
 
 "This," Vawdrey said, "is getting too much like 
 the last act of a melodrama. Bless you, my chil- 
 dren, and totter off. That's what I've said to 
 Willie," he added, handing his letter to his wife. 
 
 She read it and passed it on to Ethel. 
 
 "Thank you, father," Ethel said. "Now I'm 
 going straight off to the post." 
 
 Vawdrey and his wife watched her out of the 
 room. 
 
 "We shall miss her," he said wistfully. 
 
 Mrs. Vawdrey sniffed, and found that she had 
 mislaid her handkerchief. 
 
 [302]
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 ROM Edinburgh Luke Johns sent a telegram 
 to Porton : 
 
 "Leslie Fraser arrives London to-night 
 10.45. Business almost through. I will 
 call to-morrow morning. JOHNS/' 
 
 By a natural adjustment, the other members of 
 the party had taken a carriage between them, leav- 
 ing the Luke Johns to find seats in the next com- 
 partment; and save in the dining-car, and for a 
 hurried moment on arrival at King's Cross, Fraser 
 was free from the burden of their presence. They 
 were as well pleased as he was at this, for they had 
 a problem to think out the most delicate and the 
 most important which had ever occupied their 
 acute minds. Although they were alone for a good 
 part of the journey they scarcely exchanged a word. 
 Mrs. Luke Johns sat with her hands in her lap, 
 looking out of the window with eyes which saw 
 nothing except the flash of a thin line of stones. 
 Her husband intermittently read a newspaper and 
 picked his teeth. 
 
 The next morning they woke early, for after the 
 keen air of Scotland the boarding-house in Blooms- 
 bury was intolerably hot and stuffy. Johns got out 
 of bed and fetched the slate, and they began the 
 discussion which both of them had been putting 
 
 [303]
 
 i 
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 off in the hope of finding a definite plan to pro- 
 pound. 
 
 "Anything?" Johns wrote. 
 
 "Nothing much." 
 
 "I've got to see Porton this morning." 
 
 Mrs. Luke Johns nodded. 
 
 "And give him the necklace." 
 
 "Don't do it. Remember what I said. Keep it 
 as long as you can." 
 
 "But he's got to have it. There's no way out, 
 far as I see. If he doesn't have it to-day, what 
 yarn can I tell him? And later, when he gets it, 
 he'll want to know why I've been keeping it. 
 There's no sense in taking risks for nothing." 
 
 Mrs. Johns' forehead was puckered with the 
 stress of thinking. She took the pencil and held it 
 suspended for a moment. Then she put it down, 
 straining her hands across her eyes. Johns waited. 
 
 Presently she began to write slowly, as if con- 
 sidering the exact value of each word. 
 
 "Put it this way : Tell him what we've done and 
 that you've brought Fraser up ; but don't say you 
 found him in the attic. Cover that up, and let 
 him think we managed some other way. Say the 
 necklace is in London, and that Fraser will hand it 
 over, but wants to know first whether they will 
 prosecute. Don't make it out a condition, but sug- 
 gest that if they prosecute it won't be so easy to 
 get. Go on and say there's some one else in the 
 business. Say Fraser told you the necklace is in 
 a safe place." 
 
 [304]
 
 WHAT NO ONE DISCOVERED 
 
 She stopped, and Johns, after considering what 
 she had written, answered: 
 
 "You're not looking all round this story. 
 There's a big lot of risks in it. Suppose he sees 
 Fraser, and it comes out we've had it all along, 
 I'd sing pretty small. And, anyway, it only gives 
 us a few more hours. If he doesn't have it to-day 
 he's got to have it to-morrow, and it'll queer us 
 properly if he starts asking questions." 
 
 "No, it won't. If they get the necklace they'll 
 swallow most everything you say. You can slip 
 out by saying Fraser asked you to do the best for 
 him, so you put it that way trying to get him off. 
 You're real sorry for him see?" 
 
 "I don't fancy it. It's too much of a tight-rope 
 excursion. Likely enough we'll lose the reward and 
 the necklace too." 
 
 "Not if you're smart. You can do it." 
 
 "Where's it leading?" 
 
 "I don't know. I don't see the way clear a step 
 farther. But I've got a feeling that necklace is 
 ours if we've got grit enough, and we'll go on 
 keeping it till we have to pass it on. Things hap- 
 pen; and when it's all dark some flat turns the gas 
 on for you." 
 
 Johns made a gesture of protest. 
 
 "I'm as keen as you are," he wrote, "but this 
 isn't the road home. If I'd had sense I'd have 
 searched the attic and found the necklace myself 
 when I first went up there ; and then we could have 
 
 [305]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 hopped it easy enough. But Eraser's going to blab 
 if we trick him you may bet on that." 
 
 "Not if we can get the right kind of pull on 
 him." 
 
 "And how can you?" 
 
 "I don't know yet." 
 
 Johns stroked his cheek reflectively as he bent 
 his mind to this possibility. He thought he had 
 never met one less promising. 
 
 "Well," he wrote at last, "I'll go on, as you say 
 so. And I'll reel this yarn off to Porton and see 
 what he says." 
 
 "When you've seen him come right back here. 
 I'll wait. And keep him off going direct to Eraser; 
 have the deal left in your hands. That's urgent." 
 
 Johns, with a gloomy face, slid off the bed and 
 began to dress. 
 
 Soon after eleven o'clock he was shown into 
 Mr. Porton's room at the office in Lincoln's Inn 
 Fields. The hot, dusty atmosphere, the tin boxes 
 and bundles of papers, and the secluded quietness 
 of the big room, combined with the inflexible lines 
 of Porton's legal face to send his spirits down with 
 a run. He seemed to himself to be made of glass 
 a figure to be seen through and then broken in 
 pieces. He felt the perspiration breaking out all 
 over his body, and he furtively wiped a damp hand 
 on his trousers. 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. Johns," Porton said, rising 
 from his chair. "I got your very satisfactory tele- 
 [306]
 
 WHAT NO ONE DISCOVERED 
 
 gram, and I hope I may now congratulate you on 
 completing an excellent piece of work may I?" 
 
 "Thanks. We're in train." 
 
 "But I didn't understand your mention of 
 Fraser. Was it the lady, as we thought?" 
 
 "No. Eraser's our man." 
 
 "Nonsense ! You astonish me. The Erasers 
 are a very old and well-connected family. I 
 couldn't have thought it possible. Dear, dear! 
 Very sad." 
 
 "It's often the cleanest one of the crowd that 
 does the dirtiest jobs." 
 
 Luke Johns was beginning to recover his nerve, 
 and when Porton asked him how he came to suspect 
 Fraser he answered with more ease. 
 
 "Can't say we did suspect him. We settled the 
 lady wasn't in it, and that stranded us; there 
 didn't seem any more for us to do. All the same, 
 we didn't believe the Pfeiffer story, so we kept on 
 looking round." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "Well, the point was how anybody got into the 
 room. He didn't come down the chimney or 
 through the door, and the Scotch detective swore 
 there were no footmarks under the window, though 
 the gravel was soft enough to show where the bugs 
 had walked." 
 
 "He'd raked it over?" 
 
 "No, and he hadn't come by aeroplane either. 
 Guess he would have in a Sunday Supplement story, 
 but this plot wasn't made to sell at ten cents." 
 
 [307]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "How did he get in, then?" 
 
 "It fair puzzled me, but I struck it right at last. 
 And when I went to look, it was plain as daylight, 
 rope and all. He'd taken a tip from the angels 
 and come from above." 
 
 "By Jove! How did you find it out?" 
 
 ' 'Just guessing. ' ' 
 
 "But even then you didn't know who it was." 
 
 "We guessed again. I had a talk with Eraser, 
 and he folded up as easy as a parlor bed." 
 
 "Good. Very good indeed. When was that?" 
 
 "Yesterday morning." 
 
 "And the necklace? Have you got it?" 
 
 Johns had it in his pocket, in case it should be 
 wanted. One never knew what turn a conversation 
 might take. Now, half-unconsciously, he felt for 
 it; but he answered without the quiver of an 
 eyelid : 
 
 "It's close handy." 
 
 "Where is it? Didn't he hand it over?" 
 
 "Well, it's this way. He's parted with it." 
 
 Porton was startled and said energetically: 
 "Good Lord! Then some one was in with him? 
 We may miss it yet. Has he confessed who?" 
 
 "I don't know who's in with him. He told me 
 he'd parted with it, but he reckons he can lay his 
 hand on it right enough. I'm going to get it 
 to-day." 
 
 "Well, for goodness' sake do so. Don't delay 
 an instant." 
 
 Johns took a deep breath. 
 [308]
 
 WHAT NO ONE DISCOVERED 
 
 "I've fixed to get it," he answered, "but he asked 
 me to see you first. He'd like to know whether 
 you're going to prosecute." 
 
 Porton shot a keen glance at Johns. 
 
 "Oh, that's it, is it?" he said. "If we prosecute, 
 we can whistle for the necklace. Young black- 
 guard ! I'd like to get him seven years." 
 
 Johns said nothing. Porton fumed and tapped 
 the desk angrily with his pencil. 
 
 "Why did you let him out of your sight?" he 
 asked in a sharp tone. "Why didn't you wire me 
 to have him shadowed when he arrived last night?" 
 
 "I did wire. I supposed you would shadow him. 
 I gave you the office as plain's I could in a tele- 
 gram." 
 
 "It conveyed nothing of the kind to me. You 
 said, 'Business almost through.' ' 
 
 "So it is. You're worrying about nothing. 
 Come to that, what's the use of shadowing him? 
 He said the necklace was in London in a safe 
 place. 'Tisn't likely he'd lay the scent for us right 
 up to the door." 
 
 Johns was getting into deep water. He had 
 made Porton angry perhaps suspicious and he 
 was not sure that he would be able to explain away 
 all he had said if he was obliged to surrender the 
 necklace. He wished fervently that he had dis- 
 regarded his wife's advice and had put the necklace 
 on the table as soon as he entered the room. Even 
 now it was not too late. He could whip it out and 
 tell Porton he had been chaffing him. He slid his 
 
 [309]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 hand again into his pocket. If Porton pressed his 
 inquiries further he would own up. 
 
 But, when Porton spoke again, his annoyance 
 seemed to have passed. He had abandoned use- 
 less regrets for the real business of recovering the 
 necklace. 
 
 "Well, well," he said more easily, "what's done 
 can't be helped, and I daresay, with your experience 
 in handling scoundrels, you've taken the best 
 course. The point now is, how far can we rely on 
 Fraser? Can he get it back from whoever has it? 
 And will he?" 
 
 "I'd say yes." 
 
 "You know, this is a damning light on his 
 character he's done this before. He's too wide- 
 awake for a novice." 
 
 Johns did not answer. He was still feeling very 
 uncomfortable. 
 
 "It's beyond doubt," Porton continued. "It 
 looks to me as if he was one of a country-house 
 gang. These robberies are always happening." 
 
 "Yes. It's a popular industry." 
 
 "We certainly ought to prosecute; but it seems 
 to me he's got us in his hands." 
 
 "He didn't say he wouldn't bail up if you 
 prosecuted." 
 
 "No; but he meant it. That kind of gentry 
 doesn't dot every i. What do you think yourself? 
 You saw him." 
 
 "I think," Johns answered slowly, "there'll be 
 difficulties if he doesn't get his free pass." 
 
 [310]
 
 WHAT NO ONE DISCOVERED 
 
 "So do I. But, upon my soul, if my clients 
 weren't so heavily interested I'd get a warrant out 
 and chance it." 
 
 "Don't do it that way. Leave him to me. If 
 you're going to prosecute, I'll do the best I can." 
 
 "It's too risky, it's too risky. We've got to re- 
 cover the necklace. You'll have to tell him that 
 we'll take no steps, provided it's in our possession 
 by midday to-morrow." 
 
 "All right," Johns said, rising. "I think I'll 
 bring it." 
 
 "I hope to heaven you will, for your sake as well 
 as ours. There's a pretty big check waiting for 
 you pay for your holiday and leave a bit 
 over eh?" 
 
 "I can do with it." 
 
 "Well, then, you'll see Eraser at once. And if 
 you have any news, come round or telephone. You 
 can get me here all day." 
 
 "I've agreed to see him this afternoon," Johns 
 said, wishing to gain as much time as possible. 
 
 "Oh. I suppose he's out now, fetching it. Con- 
 found it ! I wish he'd been watched. However, 
 twelve o'clock to-morrow not a moment longer." 
 
 "That's right. You may count on me." 
 
 Luke Johns left Porton's office overweighted by 
 the consciousness that he had started himself on a 
 perilous adventure, which might lead him to a 
 place far different from the little house down 
 South. Already he was not sure how he had fared 
 or whether a way of retreat was still open. One
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 thing only was certain and satisfactory the neck- 
 lace was still in his side-pocket. He put his hand 
 on it, and the feel of it under the paper gave him 
 courage. 
 
 His wife was watching for him at the boarding- 
 house, and they went upstairs together. She was 
 excited, but she did not betray it, and she waited 
 quietly while he unlocked his suit-case and took out 
 the slate. 
 
 "I've still got it," he wrote. "But if he'd said 
 another word I'd have been bluffed into parting. 
 I made out Fraser passed it before he was nabbed. 
 He judged some one was in with him, and got riled 
 because I hadn't wired to shadow him." 
 
 "Go on," Mrs. Luke Johns answered. 
 
 "I asked him about prosecuting, and he got 
 madder than ever. Wanted to arrest Fraser right 
 away and chance getting the necklace. I put him 
 off that and he quieted down some, and agreed 
 they wouldn't prosecute if the necklace was handed 
 over by twelve to-morrow. I told him I had a 
 meeting fixed with Fraser for after lunch." 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 "That's all. But we're in up to the knees, I 
 reckon. I didn't say more than I had to, but it'll 
 take a lot of explaining. I wish we weren't in 
 this, I do fairly. Looks as if we couldn't miss get- 
 ting nipped somewhere." 
 
 "If you only said what you've told me, you've 
 done it well." 
 
 "I'm afraid."
 
 WHAT NO ONE DISCOVERED 
 
 "Why? Supposing it does come out, it'll puzzle 
 them; but when they've got the necklace, they 
 won't worry. What can Porton do to us?" 
 
 "Nothing, if we hand out and get the dollars." 
 
 "Then don't fret." 
 
 "Have you thought of anything fresh?" Luke 
 Johns asked, after a pause. 
 
 Mrs. Luke Johns shook her head. 
 
 "There's no way," she wrote, with evident reluc- 
 tance. "Seems as if we'll just have to take the 
 money and be pleased with that." 
 
 "I thought so all along. Still, I'll kick myself 
 having to part with it." 
 
 "Would you risk a bolt?" 
 
 "No. Not for a million," he answered em- 
 phatically. 
 
 "Then we'll have to play the game." 
 
 "That's so. I'll have to see Fraser this after- 
 noon. Think I'll tell him to get abroad for a bit, 
 in case he says anything." 
 
 Mrs. Johns got up and walked to the window. 
 She stood looking out for two or three minutes, 
 resting her chin on her hand. Then she turned 
 and came back to where Johns was sitting. She 
 took the pencil and wrote : 
 
 "Don't go to his rooms. See him somewhere 
 outside." 
 
 Johns looked at her with narrowed eyes. She 
 had got an idea, and renewed hope set his heart 
 thumping.
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "Why?" he wrote. "I thought you'd given up." 
 
 "I have almost. But don't go to his rooms. 
 Don't ask why, because I don't know. The feel- 
 ing's in my bones you'd best not be seen there." 
 
 Johns' face fell. Even his clever wife had her 
 illogical moments, he thought. 
 
 "But I said I'd go. He's waiting there for me 
 to 'phone him." 
 
 "Well, 'phone him to meet you somewhere else," 
 she cried, her temper giving way under the strain 
 which she had been enduring. "You make me 
 tired, Luke, with your bald-headed fool talk." 
 
 Johns, the patient husband, yielded to her. 
 After all, it did not matter whether he went to 
 Eraser's rooms or met him elsewhere, and his wife 
 seemed set on it. She was about used up, that was 
 the truth; and as soon as they had cashed Porton's 
 check they would get over to Paris and put this 
 thing behind them. 
 
 "All right," he said quietly, "I'll ring him up." 
 
 [3i4]
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 * I A HE high value which religion puts upon a 
 - contrite heart is not so arbitrary as it seems. 
 For, while an expression of regret for a wrong 
 discovered slips off the tongue no less easily than 
 any other lie, the feeling which prompts it is 
 usually no deeper than a desire to be rid of a mis- 
 take as cheaply as possible. The contrite heart is 
 rare, much rarer than optimists would have us be- 
 lieve so rare that it is specially singled out as an 
 acceptable peace-offering. 
 
 Fraser was contrite; and therein let him find 
 compassion before the tribunal of the Pharisees as 
 well as before that of the Publicans. The journey 
 from Scotland, following upon a sleepless night, 
 was an ordeal savage enough to break the strongest 
 spirit. His companions were in a gay mood the 
 gayer, perhaps, at ending a visit on which a shadow 
 had been cast and he was forced to bear his part 
 in the laughter and foolish conversation. On the 
 platform at King's Cross he sought out Luke Johns 
 and begged him once more to do what was possible. 
 Johns promised to telephone or call on him the 
 next day, as soon as he had seen Porton. 
 
 The appearance of his rooms gave Fraser a 
 strange feeling of a return to reality. They were 
 so entirely familiar, so much a part of his life as he 
 had lived it until he went to Gains that the fort- 
 night which had elapsed since he left them seemed 
 
 [3151
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 to belong to a separate existence. It was like a 
 nightmare which had harassed him until he awoke 
 to find it gone. 
 
 That was for a moment. Then the crushing 
 blow swung in upon him his former life was the 
 dream which was past; it was to horror and dis- 
 grace that he had awakened. Everything was 
 gone his name, his position, his easy, cynical con- 
 tentment. Gone, blown to the winds by a tempta- 
 tion which he had not been strong enough to 
 master. 
 
 Mechanically, he undressed and went to bed. 
 For a long time- he lay awake, and when sleep at 
 last came it was torn by dreams. He lived over 
 again the moment in the attic, and saw the iron 
 glint of Johns' eyes as he covered him with his 
 revolver. Then the scene changed, and out of the 
 darkness sprang a vision of unholy light. A Thing, 
 which moved sinuously toward him, flashing and 
 coiling, coming close to him and breaking away, 
 then advancing upon him again, nearer, nearer, 
 nearer 
 
 He awoke with a scream of terror and 
 sprang up. 
 
 "What was it? What was it?" he cried in a 
 dazed voice. 
 
 He was subject to fits of neuralgia, and when 
 morning came he was racked by a blinding head- 
 ache. He could eat nothing, and a cup of tea, like 
 the cordials of the torture-chamber, served only to 
 increase his capacity for suffering. He looked at 
 [316]
 
 WHAT NO ONE DISCOVERED 
 
 his watch. It was not much past eight, and he 
 could not expect to see Johns before eleven. 
 
 Supposing they let him off, he thought. Even 
 so, people would know about it. The Vawdreys 
 would know, and Drury, and probably Mrs. Day- 
 rell-Wing. And they would talk did they ever 
 fail to talk! He must leave England; he could 
 not show his face in London, to risk a cut direct 
 from one or another. Oh, he knew the cruelty of 
 it the averted eyes, the bolder stare which looked 
 at you and through you, seeing nothing; the silence 
 which fell as you entered the club smoking-room; 
 the quiet retreat of men from the chairs near you. 
 Had he not seen it? There was Haley, the poor 
 devil who put his uncle's name on a bill. Nothing 
 was done, but every one knew about it, and called 
 him shameless because he tried to live it down. 
 Live it down ! He stood it for three months, and 
 then shot himself in a squalid hotel in Paris. 
 
 He would not make Haley's mistake. He 
 would go to America or Australia, and begin life 
 afresh in a country where they do not ask you what 
 you have done, but what you are going to do. 
 Here at home the past was always round one's 
 neck. For him, as Eraser of Gains, it had carried 
 privileges : doors had been opened, and hands held 
 out. For him, as a victim of a temptation, it car- 
 ried a sentence of excommunication. No ; he would 
 not make Haley's mistake. 
 
 But supposing they decided to prosecute. The 
 thought stabbed him like a knife. He put his hands 
 
 [317]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 to his head and drew a deep, sobbing breath. It 
 was not the hardships of the prison that dazed 
 him, the loss of all the necessary trifles which 
 made life civilized; that was bearable, a penance 
 which might even bring with it a certain consola- 
 tion. It was the public ordeal, the degradation in 
 the eyes of his world, which drew a black curtain 
 over the future, making it unrealizable. 
 
 He sprang up and paced the room, mad with 
 pain and with the terrors which confronted him. 
 If only Johns would come ! A word from him 
 would at least end the uncertainty. Even the 
 worst was preferable to this awful suspense. It 
 was past eleven now; surely he must have seen 
 them by this time. Then why didn't he telephone? 
 He promised to telephone. 
 
 He took off the receiver and called the exchange. 
 
 "Is my line in order?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes. Have you been ringing?" came the 
 answer. 
 
 "No. But I was expecting a message and it 
 hasn't come through. You're sure there hasn't 
 been a call for me?" 
 
 "They'd have rung you if there'd been one." 
 
 He hung up the receiver and resumed his restless 
 march from the window to the door and back 
 again. To and fro he went, it seemed for the 
 thousandth time, and, when he looked at his watch, 
 only ten minutes had gone. 
 
 His man came in to clear away the breakfast. 
 
 "Will you be lunching out, sir?" he asked.
 
 WHAT NO ONE DISCOVERED 
 
 "Lunching out? Oh, I suppose so. Leave these 
 things; I'll ring when I want you." 
 
 "Very good, sir." 
 
 Eraser called him back. 
 
 "No one's been here, have they?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "I'm expecting some one a short, clean-shaved 
 person. Show him up directly he comes." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 Eraser threw himself into an armchair. There 
 was his mother; he must write and tell her she 
 would not have the money he had promised. What 
 a mess it was ! Whatever induced her to lose such 
 a lot of money at cards ? It was always that, as long 
 as he could remember anything; his father used to 
 get so furious about it, and then she would give up 
 playing for a time. But she never left off for long, 
 and she always lost. What would happen to her? 
 Probably not much; people thought nothing of 
 bankruptcy nowadays. She had cried when she 
 begged him to help her, and had talked of being 
 ruined ; but the ruin was his, not hers. 
 
 "What a fool I was !" he cried weakly. "What 
 a fool I was!" 
 
 As the minutes went by he became more and 
 more distracted. What had happened? Was 
 Johns playing him false? He had promised to 
 telephone or come, and it was past twelve. Had 
 he lost his telephone number? But he saw him 
 write it down, and, besides, it was in the book. 
 What could be happening? Three or four times
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 he rang up the exchange, always to get the same 
 answer no one had called him. At the last at- 
 tempt the girl had kept him waiting and he had 
 sworn at her. Then, dreading lest she would not 
 connect him when Johns called, he rang up again 
 and apologized. 
 
 "I'm awfully sorry," he said. "I've got such a 
 headache I don't know what I'm doing." 
 
 It was two o'clock when the bell rang. He 
 snatched at the receiver and heard the girl say not 
 unkindly : 
 
 "Double three one, here you are." 
 
 "Hullo!" 
 
 "Is that Mr. Fraser?" Johns' voice came over 
 the wire. 
 
 "Yes. Is that Johns ? I've been waiting hours." 
 
 "Sorry. I'm only just through." 
 
 "Tell me what's happened. Are they going 
 to " 
 
 "Mind what you say over the 'phone," Johns 
 interrupted sharply. "Some one may be listening." 
 
 "But I can't wait. Tell me what they said." 
 
 "I want to see you. I can't talk now." 
 
 "Well, come along, then. Where are you?" 
 
 "Callbox in Oxford Street." 
 
 "Then jump into a taxi. You'll be here in five 
 minutes." 
 
 "Can't manage that. I've got an appointment. 
 You'd best meet me." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 [320]
 
 WHAT NO ONE DISCOVERED 
 
 "Say Marble Arch. I'll be inside the railings at 
 three o'clock." 
 
 "But it's only two now. Make it in ten minutes." 
 
 "Can't. Three o'clock's the earliest." 
 
 "You must. I won't wait another hour," Fraser 
 shouted desperately. 
 
 But Johns had rung off, and Fraser was an- 
 swered by the girl in the exchange. 
 
 At a few minutes before three Luke Johns came 
 out of the Tube station at the Marble Arch and 
 entered the Park. He glanced to right and left, 
 and then walked slowly along the path which fol- 
 lows Park Lane. His face was grave, and his 
 eyes lacked the alert brightness which was usually 
 in them. He was depressed, for, as he told him- 
 self, the game was up : to-morrow he would have 
 to surrender the necklace to Porton and pretend to 
 be delighted with a reward of three thousand dol- 
 lars. The appointment with Fraser did not claim 
 a thought. He was bored with Fraser, and meant 
 to get rid of him as quickly as possible. He had 
 fixed Hyde Park as a meeting-place because he 
 was tired, and a couple of hours under a tree might 
 calm his mind and help him to accept the inevitable. 
 
 Presently he saw Fraser approaching; but at first 
 he scarcely recognized him, so greatly had he 
 changed from the neat, well-groomed young man 
 who had made sarcastic remarks to him at Gains 
 about his Scotch ancestry. He was wearing an 
 old flannel suit and a Panama hat. His tie was 
 disordered, and he was trailing his stick on the 
 
 [321 ]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 ground as he slouched along. His shoulders were 
 bent, his chest seemed to have fallen in, and he 
 walked with the loose, stumbling movements of a 
 man who has lost his hold on life. 
 
 Luke Johns looked at him attentively. He had 
 seen many a trapped criminal, he had seen a man 
 collapse on hearing his sentence, he had seen fear 
 and hatred twist a man's face into the likeness of a 
 fiend; but he could not recall so rapid and com- 
 plete a transformation as Fraser had undergone. 
 
 "My God!" he said below his breath. 
 
 When Fraser came up Johns looked into his 
 eyes. They were blurred and dim, like the eyes of 
 an old man. His hand trembled upon his stick, 
 and a convulsive working of the lips showed the 
 effort he was making to control himself. 
 
 Luke Johns could be tender-hearted when he 
 was in a good humor in the attic at Gains, with 
 a big fee just earned. Now, disappointed of 
 something larger, he was as hard as stone. He 
 looked at Fraser, coldly, dispassionately, without 
 pity as a doctor may look at an interesting, if 
 slightly disgusting, specimen in a laboratory jar. 
 As he looked the expression of his face changed. 
 His eyes narrowed and the iron glint flashed into 
 them; the line of his mouth straightened, and his 
 chin took a more resolute curve. He had found 
 the idea for which he and his wife had been 
 searching. 
 
 He saw that Fraser was paralyzed with abject 
 fear the fear of disgrace, of trial and sentence, 
 [322]
 
 WHAT NO ONE DISCOVERED 
 
 of being "found out." Only once had he seen 
 such an intense agony of fear in a man's face in 
 the Toulon scandal, when he told Graham Toulon 
 that his secret was known and the proofs against 
 him were complete. 
 
 And an hour later Graham Toulon had been 
 found with his throat cut. 
 
 He knew it. He had only to tell Eraser that 
 they were going to prosecute him. And then? 
 Then there would be no evidence. No one except 
 Eraser knew who had the necklace, and Porton 
 would draw the natural inference that he had 
 passed it to an accomplice, and could not get it 
 back when he asked for it. There would be no 
 evidence unless he left a letter. That was a 
 chance against them; that was the one risk which 
 they must run in a game for the biggest stake they 
 had ever had on the table. 
 
 "Why don't you speak?" Eraser cried hoarsely, 
 breaking in upon Johns' reflections. "What have 
 you got to tell me?" 
 
 Johns recalled himself. 
 
 "Oh, how are you?" he said. 
 
 "What have you got to tell me ? Are they going 
 to prosecute?" 
 
 Johns turned a flinty eye upon him. 
 
 "That's so," he said. 
 
 For a moment Frazer reeled. His knees shook 
 under him and he leant heavily upon his stick, put- 
 ting his other hand to his forehead with a gesture 
 
 [323]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 of utter weariness. Then he pulled himself to- 
 gether, and said in a quiet, restrained voice: 
 
 '.'Thanks. I don't think I need ask you any- 
 thing further. I shall be at my rooms when I'm 
 wanted." 
 
 He turned and walked slowly away. Johns 
 watched him go. Not a muscle of his face moved, 
 not a shadow of hesitation or regret crossed his 
 eyes. For a full minute he stood still, thinking. 
 Then he spat noisily, as if some flavor had dis- 
 pleased him, and blew his nose. Then, striking off 
 across the grass, he looked about him for a shady 
 seat. 
 
 [ 324 1
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 T UKE JOHNS stayed in the Park till after 
 *-' five o'clock. He did not hurry his return 
 to Gower Street, though he knew that his wife 
 was expecting him, and something had been said 
 about a visit to Madame Tussaud's. For the 
 present he preferred to be alone ; and he sauntered 
 along Oxford Street, looking idly in the shop- 
 windows, and enjoying the hot afternoon sunshine 
 which beat upon his back. He found it exceed- 
 ingly grateful, and the sight of the shadier by- 
 streets made him feel chilly as he passed them. 
 
 He stopped at a shop where views of London 
 and reproductions of pictures in the national col- 
 lections were displayed. A photograph of West- 
 minster Abbey caught his fancy and he went in 
 and bought it. He and his wife had been there 
 soon after they arrived in London, and it would be 
 a pleasant memento of their trip. 
 
 He strolled as far as the Frascati Restaurant, 
 where he ordered a cup of tea and a cigar. He 
 sat watching the people round him, in particular a 
 girl in a monstrous hat, whose appetite for French 
 pastry seemed unlimited. 
 
 "That's her fourth, bless her," he murmured, 
 
 as she took the last piece on the dish. "What time 
 
 do you get dinner, my dear?" 
 
 * He was about to go when two men came in. 
 
 One of them was an American, and Johns recog- 
 
 [325]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 nized him as a member of the New York police 
 service whom he knew. He signalled to him, and 
 they made their way to his table and sat down. 
 
 "What are you doing here?" the man asked. 
 
 "Brought the missis over for a holiday," Johns 
 answered. "We're about half through. And 
 you?" 
 
 "Oh, business. We don't get enough dollars 
 Jor holidays in Europe." 
 
 "That so? Then I guess you'll be taking a 
 passenger back with you eh?" 
 
 "Dessay." 
 
 "What's new the other side? If you read the 
 papers here you'd think America didn't exist 'cept 
 Roosevelt and Taft." 
 
 "Nothing fresh when I left." 
 
 "Are you seeing the town? There's a healthy 
 lot of monuments." 
 
 "No time. It's there and back with me, and 
 the sooner I'm back the better it suits me this trip." 
 
 "That's a pity. There's Westminster Abbey 
 now. It's impressive." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 "I've bought a photograph of it," Johns said, 
 producing his purchase. 
 
 The detective and his friend looked at it with 
 no more than a faint interest; and, as the conversa- 
 tion seemed to be languishing, Johns got up, 
 saying: 
 
 "Well, I'll be moving. Pleased to meet you. 
 So long." 
 
 [326]
 
 WHAT NO ONE DISCOVERED 
 
 u So long." 
 
 Johns turned away, and the detective, leaning 
 toward his friend, said: 
 
 "That's Luke Johns, unofficial agent in New 
 York. He and his wife work together doing so- 
 ciety jobs. He's smart, but he's hell-fire hot. He's 
 been over the edge more than once, / know; one 
 of these times he'll get bagged." 
 
 Luke Johns reached the boarding-house as the 
 bell was ringing for dinner. He said nothing to 
 his wife about his interview with Fraser, and 
 during the meal he talked mainly of their plans for 
 Paris. When they had finished she suggested 
 that he should take her to a music-hall, and they 
 set off on foot down Gower Street to go to the 
 Palace. 
 
 At a corner a man was selling newspapers. He 
 was calling out "Society Suicide." Johns' face be- 
 trayed no sign of interest, but he bought a paper 
 and read it as he walked along. 
 
 It was a paragraph on the front page which 
 held his attention. He read it through, and then 
 handed the paper to his wife. When she saw 
 Eraser's name she started and looked at her hus- 
 band with a keen, searching glance. He was busy 
 lighting a cigar, and she read on to the end of the 
 column without speaking. Then she folded up the 
 newspaper and gave it back to him. 
 
 After a silence which lasted almost to the door 
 of the music-hall she turned to him and said: 
 
 "What did you tell him?" 
 
 [327]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "I told him they would prosecute," he answered. 
 
 She understood. The case of Graham Toulon 
 had been already in her mind. 
 
 It was nearly midnight when they returned to 
 the boarding-house. On the hall table there was 
 an envelope addressed to Luke Johns. It contained 
 Porton's card, on which he had written: "I have 
 called twice, trying to find you. Come to my office 
 at ten to-morrow without fail." 
 
 Upstairs Mrs. Johns signed to her husband to 
 bring the slate. 
 
 "What are you going to do?" she wrote. 
 
 "See Porton in the morning," he answered. 
 
 "And tell him what?" 
 
 "It's up to him to do the telling. He thinks I 
 didn't see Eraser." 
 
 "And then ?" 
 
 "If he left a letter giving the show away I cut 
 my loss and get out. I put the necklace on the 
 table and dodge the questions. Suppose he does 
 say he gave it me on Sunday. I say he didn't, and 
 he's not there to answer back." 
 
 "And if there's no letter, there's no evidence. 
 Fraser took it and passed it on and Lord knows 
 who's got it now." 
 
 Mrs. Johns looked steadily at her husband. 
 She was not worrying about morals; she was try- 
 ing to find a loophole in his argument. Ap- 
 parently she was satisfied; for after a minute she 
 laid aside the slate and got up. 
 
 "We'd best turn in, Luke," she said. "It's 
 late." 
 
 [328]
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 ~^HE next morning Luke Johns was in Lincoln's 
 * Inn Fields by ten o'clock, and was promptly 
 shown into Mr. Porton's room. 
 
 "You've heard what's happened, I suppose," 
 Porton said, without any preliminary greeting. 
 "Did you get the necklace out of him in time?" 
 
 Johns sat down, assuming the air of an elderly 
 person who thinks it necessary to give an undivided 
 attention to the process. He was in no hurry to 
 reply, but when he was comfortably settled he said : 
 
 "I've heard about Fraser." 
 
 It was not his policy to afford Porton an oppor- 
 tunity to ask questions which might be difficult to 
 meet until he knew more; and he followed on 
 quickly: 
 
 "What's been done?" 
 
 "Everything possible. But did you get the 
 necklace? That's what I want to know." 
 
 Porton's insistence did not suit Johns at all. 
 He saw that he was in the greatest danger, and 
 his heart beat furiously as the possibilities rose be- 
 fore him. If he said "yes," the game was up, and 
 the necklace must be handed over. But if he said 
 "no" he was committing himsel-f irretrievably. If 
 Fraser had left a letter, the "no" could never be 
 explained away; he could not plead now that he 
 was doing the best for Fraser, or that he was play- 
 [329]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 ing a hoax on Porton. No one would swallow 
 that story, and he would stand to lose not only his 
 fee but his reputation. They might even go to the 
 length of arresting him on a charge of attempted 
 theft. He would have given a thousand dollars to 
 know whether Fraser had left a letter. His lead- 
 ing question, "What's been done?" upon which 
 he had counted for an answer to guide him, had 
 been turned aside, and he did not dare to repeat 
 it. "Everything possible" might mean very little; 
 it did not necessarily mean that Porton had 
 searched Eraser's rooms. 
 
 What did seem clear was that Porton had not 
 yet received a letter. Otherwise, he would scarcely 
 have asked, "Did you get the necklace out of him 
 in time?" He would know that he had got it 
 unless he was laying a trap for him. 
 
 All this passed through his mind in the fraction 
 of a second. He knew that he must decide in- 
 stantly on the course he meant to follow, for the 
 slightest hesitation would make Porton suspicious. 
 He slid his hand into his pocket and fingered the 
 necklace. The feel of it stiffened his courage, and 
 moistening his lips he said: "No; I didn't." 
 
 Porton flung his pencil on the table, crying 
 furiously: "Then we've lost it. Didn't you see 
 him yesterday? You left here to go and see him." 
 
 "No; I told you I was to see him in the after- 
 noon. I 'phoned him up and he put me off. Said 
 he wasn't ready to talk, and he'd ring me last 
 night or this morning first thing. I told him I was 
 
 [330]
 
 WHAT NO ONE DISCOVERED 
 
 to meet you at twelve o'clock to-day, and he said 
 that would be all right." 
 
 "Go on." 
 
 "Well, he didn't ring up last night, but I didn't 
 fret, 'cause I thought it was sure. Then I got 
 your telegram, and I thought p'r'aps he'd gone 
 through to you ; and this morning I read about it 
 in the newspaper. I'm real upset about it, I 
 am so." 
 
 "Confound it! Just when we were within an 
 ace of getting it ! I told my clients yesterday the 
 thing was as good as settled." 
 
 Johns slipped in the question he was waiting 
 to ask : 
 
 "Have his rooms been searched?" 
 
 "Rather. I read about it in the train, going 
 home, and came straight back to town and went to 
 Scotland Yard. Of course, they knew about the 
 robbery, and when I told them Fraser was the 
 man they took me along to Jermyn Street at once. 
 I was there three hours, and we turned the place 
 inside out." 
 
 "Find anything?" 
 
 "Nothing. Not a clue of any sort." 
 
 "No letters?" 
 
 "One." 
 
 Johns' heart bounded. Hardened as he was he 
 could not control himself and his lips twitched with 
 fear. 
 
 Had Porton been leading him on all the time? 
 
 "One?" he cried sharply.
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "To his mother," Porton answered listlessly. 
 "In the circumstances, I took the liberty of open- 
 ing it and made a copy." 
 
 Johns breathed freely again. The danger was 
 passing. 
 
 "What did he say?" he asked. 
 
 Porton threw a folded sheet of paper across the 
 table, saying: "It's a confession, but that's all." 
 
 Johns took it up and read it. 
 
 "Mv DARLING MOTHER : 
 
 "I have tried to keep my promise and 
 let you have the money you want; but I 
 have failed. 
 
 "I am not going to excuse myself for 
 what I have done. I was tempted and I 
 yielded; and you have nothing to re- 
 proach yourself with, for you would have 
 been the last to approve. 
 
 "I cannot bear the disgrace and the 
 knowledge that I have forever ruined the 
 family name, and I am taking what seems 
 to me the only possible course. 
 
 "Forgive me, darling mother, for bring- 
 ing this upon you. The fault is mine alone, 
 and I am paying for it willingly. 
 "Your loving son, 
 
 "LESLIE." 
 
 Luke Johns' spirits rose as he read it. It could 
 scarcely have been more to his purpose if he had 
 written it himself. 
 
 [332]
 
 WHAT NO ONE DISCOVERED 
 
 "That's plain," he said. 
 
 "Yes, plain enough," Porton growled. "But 
 who's got the necklace?" 
 
 "Guess that's what you want to know," Johns 
 could not resist saying. 
 
 "There's five hundred pounds for you if you 
 can put your finger on him." 
 
 "Dessay. But I'm about used up. I don't know 
 the crooks on this side." 
 
 "No. The police here will have to take it over, 
 but it's a poor chance. He gave you no hint where 
 it was?" 
 
 "He said a safe place. Seems to me, it was so 
 safe he couldn't find it again." 
 
 "Yes, that's my idea. I was afraid from the 
 moment you told me he'd parted with it. If we'd 
 shadowed him we might have learnt something. 
 There's no doubt he was in with a gang; and either 
 it had been got rid of before you caught him, or 
 they rounded on him, and refused to hand it over. 
 Don't you think so?" 
 
 "It's likely." 
 
 "They used him and threw him over, I expect. 
 They would, of course. And when he found he 
 couldn't get the wherewithal to settle with us he 
 made up his mind to end it. Not a bad judge, 
 either, but he might have eased his conscience by 
 giving us a hint where to look." 
 
 Johns seemed to have nothing more to say, and 
 after a moment Porton put his hand on the bell, 
 adding: 
 
 [333]
 
 THE WIDOW'S NECKLACE 
 
 "I must give you a check, Mr. Johns. Sorry it 
 won't be for the amount I thought of yesterday." 
 
 Johns smiled. He had a very pleasant smile 
 when he was in a good humor. 
 
 A clerk came in and Porton said to him : 
 
 "Draw a check for twenty pounds to the order 
 of Mr. Luke Johns and bring it in, please." 
 
 "When are you sailing?" he asked, turning to 
 Johns. 
 
 "To-morrow," Johns answered. "We're going 
 to Paris for a while, and then we'll catch a boat at 
 Havre." 
 
 "O ! You're returning by a French boat ? I've 
 never tried them." 
 
 "We came across in a White Star. Reckon 
 one's as good as another." 
 
 "Yes; I've heard they do you very well on the 
 Transatlantique boats." 
 
 There was a pause while Porton signed the 
 check. Then he passed it across to Johns and got 
 up, saying: 
 
 "There you are, Mr. Johns. I'm as sorry as 
 you are that it isn't for five hundred, and I believe 
 it might have been if we'd had Fraser shadowed. 
 Still, there it is, and it can't be helped. But I'm 
 afraid I'm very much afraid that we shall never 
 see that necklace again." 
 
 Johns withdrew his hand from his pocket and 
 took the check, saying in his most strident American 
 tone: "W-e-11, no. I guess you never will." 
 
 THE END 
 [334]
 
 A 000126451 4