"Of course that's possible," Hanaud agreed.
"And of course this room was open to any one between the time of my aunt's funeral and Sunday morning, when the doors were sealed."
"A week, in fact—with Boris Waberski in the house," said Hanaud.
"Yes ... yes," said Betty. "Only ... but I expect it is just mislaid and we shall find it. You see Monsieur Boris expected to get some money from my lawyers in London. No doubt he meant to make a bargain with me. It doesn't look as if he had stolen it. He wouldn't want a thousand pounds if he had."
Jim had left Boris out of his speculations. He had recollected him with a thrill of hope that he would be discovered to be the thief when Hanaud mentioned his name. But the hope died away again before the reluctant and deadly reasoning of Betty Harlowe. On the other hand, if Boris and Ann were really accomplices in the murder, because he wanted his legacy, the necklace might well have been Ann's share. More and more, whichever way one looked at it, the facts pointed damningly towards Ann.
"Well, we will see if it has been mislaid," said Hanaud. "But meanwhile, Mademoiselle, it would be well for you to lock that case up and to take it some time this afternoon to your bankers."
Betty shut down the lid and spun the knobs one after the other. Three times a swift succession of sharp little clicks was heard in the room.
"You have not used, I hope, the combination which Madame Harlowe used," said Hanaud.
"I never knew the combination she used," said Betty. She lifted the jewel-case back into its cupboard; and the search of the drawers and the cupboards began. But it was as barren of result as had been the search of the treasure-room for the arrow.
"We can do no more," said Hanaud.