I

“There is the cook⁠—she has been with us only two months, but then she would have no occasion to go near the drawing-room⁠—the same applies to the kitchen maid. Then there is the housemaid, Alice Cummings. She also has been with us for some years. And Lady Laura’s maid, of course. She is French.”

Colonel Kingston Bruce looked very impressive as he said this. Tommy, unaffected by the revelation of the maid’s nationality, said: “Exactly. And the party at dinner?”

“ Mr. and Mrs. Betts, ourselves⁠—(my wife and daughter)⁠—and Lady Laura. Young St. Vincent was dining with us, and Mr. Rennie looked in after dinner for a while.”

“Who is Mr. Rennie?”

“A most pestilential fellow⁠—an arrant socialist. Good looking, of course, and with a certain specious power of argument. But a man, I don’t mind telling you, whom I wouldn’t trust a yard. A dangerous sort of fellow.”

“In fact,” said Tommy drily, “it is Mr. Rennie whom you suspect?”

“I do, Mr. Blunt. I’m sure, holding the views he does, that he can have no principles whatsoever. What could have been easier for him than to have quietly wrenched off the pearl at a moment when we were all absorbed in our game? There were several absorbing moments⁠—a redoubled No Trump hand, I remember, and also a painful argument when my wife had the misfortune to revoke.”

“Quite so,” said Tommy. “I should just like to know one thing⁠—what is Mrs. Betts’ attitude in all this?”

“She wanted me to call in the police,” said Colonel Kingston Bruce reluctantly. “That is, when we had searched everywhere in case the pearl had only dropped off.”