from his taciturnity to mention the value, in dollars, of the stolen pearl.
And withal, Tommy felt an irritating certainty that he was not getting on.
“I think that will do,” he said at length. “Miss Robinson, will you kindly fetch the special photographic apparatus from the hall?”
Miss Robinson complied.
“A little invention of my own,” said Tommy. “In appearance, you see, it is just like an ordinary camera.”
He had some slight satisfaction in seeing that the Betts were impressed.
He photographed the pendant, the table on which it had lain, and took several general views of the apartment.
Then “Miss Robinson” was delegated to interview the servants, and in view of the eager expectancy on the faces of Colonel Kingston Bruce and Mrs. Betts, Tommy felt called upon to say a few authoritative words.
“The position amounts to this,” he said. “Either the pearl is still in the house, or it is not still in the house.”
“Quite so,” said the Colonel with more respect than was, perhaps, quite justified by the nature of the remark.
“If it is not in the house, it may be anywhere—but if it is in the house, it must necessarily be concealed somewhere—”
“And a search must be made,” broke in Colonel Kingston Bruce. “Quite so. I give you carte blanche, Mr. Blunt. Search the house from attic to cellar.”
“Oh! Charles,” murmured Mrs.