“Gregory knew her when she was out West three years ago,” said Miss Marvell. She hesitated a moment, and then added abruptly: “Do either of you ever see Society Gossip?”
We both pleaded guilty rather shamefacedly.
“I ask because in this week’s number there is an article on famous jewels, and it’s really very curious——” She broke off.
I rose, went to the table at the other side of the room and returned with the paper in question in my hand. She took it from me, found the article, and began to read aloud:
“. . . Amongst other famous stones may be included the Star of the East, a diamond in the possession of the Yardly family. An ancestor of the present Lord Yardly brought it back with him from China, and a romantic story is said to attach to it. According to this, the stone was once the right eye of a temple god. Another diamond, exactly similar in form and size, formed the left eye, and the story goes that this jewel, too, would in course of time be stolen. ‘One eye shall go West, the other East, till they shall meet once more. Then, in triumph shall they return to the god.’ It is a curious coincidence that there is at the present time a stone corresponding closely in description with this one, and known as ‘the Star of the West,’ or ‘the Western Star.’ It is the property of the celebrated film actress, Miss Mary Marvell. A comparison of the two stones would be interesting.”
She stopped.
“Épatant!” murmured Poirot. “Without doubt a romance of the first water.” He turned to Mary Marvell. “And you are not afraid, madame? You have no superstitious terrors? You do not fear to introduce these two Siamese twins to each other lest a Chinaman should appear and, hey presto! whisk them both back to China?”
His tone was mocking, but I fancied that an undercurrent of seriousness lay beneath it.
“I don’t believe that Lady Yardly’s diamond is anything like as good a stone as mine,” said Miss Marvell. “Anyway, I’m going to see.”
What more Poirot would have said I do not know, for at that moment the door flew open, and a splendid-looking man strode into the room. From his crisply curling black head, to the tips of his patent-leather boots, he was a hero fit for romance.