“And there is absolutely no clue to them?” demanded Jacqueline.
“No clue, dear lady,” he murmured, spreading wide his hands.
“But at least tell us whose the gems were?” I asked.
“Ah, yes, that at least I can tell you. The gems belonged to Beatrice d’Este, Duchess of Milan and wife of Ludovico Il Moro. She pawned them to the Doge of Venice to raise money for her husband’s army.”
“And they have absolutely disappeared?” I insisted.
“As if they had never existed. But they do exist, and here in Venice. Think of it! In Venice. And now, perhaps, my dear Hume, you can understand the fascination of Venice for me.” He sighed deeply.
“But why are you reminded of them so particularly this afternoon?” I persisted curiously.
“Because we are going to see the box that is said to have contained the casket.”
“In the palace of our duke?” asked Jacqueline’s aunt.
St. Hilary bowed. “In the palace of our duke, madame.”