"Why do you ask that? What interest can a police-officer, called in, as I understand, to recover a stolen jewel, have in Frances Glover's personal difficulties?"
I saw that I must make my position perfectly plain.
"Only this: She was seen to pick up something from the driveway, where no one else had succeeded in finding anything."
"She? When? Who saw her?"
"I cannot answer all these questions at once," I said, smiling. "She was seen to do this—no matter by whom—while you were stepping down from the carriage. As you preceded her, you naturally did not observe this action, which was fortunate, perhaps, as you would scarcely have known what to do or say about it."
"Yes, I should," she retorted with a most unexpected display of spirit. "I should have asked her what she had found, and I should have insisted upon an answer. I love my friends, but I love the man I am to marry better."
Here her voice fell, and a most becoming blush suffused her cheek.
"Quite right," I assented. "Now will you answer my former question? What troubles Miss Glover? Can you tell me?"
"That I cannot. I only know that she has been very silent ever since she left the house. I thought her beautiful new dress would please her, but it does not seem to. She has been unhappy and preoccupied all the evening. She only roused a bit when Mr. Deane showed us the ruby, and said——Oh, I forgot!"
"What's that? What have you forgot?"