It was noticeable that as Betty's reluctance increased Hanaud became more peremptory and abrupt.
"Not so very."
"Describe it to me, Mademoiselle!"
Betty hesitated. She stood with a troubled face looking out upon the garden. Then with a shrug of resignation she obeyed.
"There were thirty-five pearls—not so very large, but they were perfectly matched and of a beautiful pink. My uncle took a great deal of trouble and some years to collect them. Madame told me herself that they actually cost him nearly a hundred thousand pounds. They would be worth even more now."
"A fortune, then," cried Hanaud.
Not a person in that room had any belief that the necklace would be found, laid aside somewhere by chance. Here was Hanaud's case building itself up steadily. Another storey was added to it this afternoon. This or that experiment might fail. What did that matter? A motive for the murder came to light now. Jim had an intuition that nothing now could prevent a definite result; that the truth, like a beam of light that travels for a million of years, would in the end strike upon a dark spot, and that some one would stand helpless and dazzled in a glare—the criminal.
"Who knew of this necklace of yours, Mademoiselle, beside yourself?" Hanaud asked.
"Every one in the house, Monsieur. Madame wore it nearly always."
"She wore it, then, on the day of her death?"