The pearl necklace was not in its case. At first unperturbed Stella searched among her trinkets, only gradually to realise that the necklace was undoubtedly gone. Champa when questioned of course knew nothing about it, she might almost have been unaware that her mistress possessed any jewels at all! Then she suggested that the memsahib might have lost the necklace out riding, and in response to Stella's derisive rejection of such an absurd idea she dissolved into tears, protesting that she, at least, was no thief, however wicked the rest of the servant-people might be.
"Go and tell the Sahib I wish to speak to him," commanded Stella severely; it was not that she suspected Champa for one moment of having stolen the necklace, but the woman's cowardly attitude incensed her. She understood nothing of the prevalent fear among native servants of false accusation contrived by some colleague intent upon personal purpose, whether vengeful or in the hope of advancement, no matter at whose expense. Champa sidled muttering from the room, and presently Robert came in half dressed. His face shone with perspiration, his neck, minus a collar, reminded his wife of a chunk of raw meat, and suddenly she felt indifferent as to whether the necklace he had given her was lost irretrievably or not; she wished she had not summoned him.
"What's the matter, you're not ill?" he inquired.
"My pearl necklace has gone," she said, much as she might have announced the disappearance of some trivial article.
"Good God!" Robert pounced upon the jewel-box, turning the contents over with ruthless hands.
"It's not there," Stella told him.
"Then where the devil is it? When did you wear it last?"
"I can't remember."
"Nonsense! You often wear it in the daytime as well as in the evening—you must have missed it before now, if it had been gone any time. It's worth hundreds. Where have you looked? It may be among your clothes——"