I

“My confidential secretary, Miss Robinson,” said Mr. Blunt with a wave of the hand. “You may speak freely before her.” Then he lay back for a minute, half closed his eyes and remarked in a tired tone: “You must find traveling in a bus very crowded at this time of day.”

“I came in a taxi,” said the girl.

“Oh!” said Tommy aggrieved. His eyes rested reproachfully on a blue bus ticket protruding from her glove. The girl’s eyes followed his glance, and she smiled and drew it out.

“You mean this? I picked it up on the pavement. A little neighbor of ours collects them.”

Tuppence coughed, and Tommy threw a baleful glare at her.

“We must get to business,” he said briskly. “You are in need of our services, Miss⁠—?”

“Kingston Bruce is my name,” said the girl. “We live at Wimbledon. Last night a lady who is staying with us lost a valuable pink pearl. Mr. St. Vincent was also dining with us, and during dinner he happened to mention your firm. My mother sent me off to you this morning to ask you if you would look into the matter for us.”

The girl spoke sullenly, almost disagreeably. It was clear as daylight that she and her mother had not agreed over the matter. She was here under protest.

“I see,” said Tommy, a little puzzled. “You have not called in the police?”

“No,” said Miss Kingston Bruce, “we haven’t. It would be idiotic to call in the police and then find that the silly thing had rolled under the fireplace, or something like that.”

“Oh!” said Tommy. “Then the jewel may only be lost after all?”