“Of course. I thought it might be wanted to get back my diamonds. The fact that your firm might deny having them never entered my head.”
She opened the vanity bag which hung at her side and took out a piece of paper crushed with much folding.
“There! You can't get away from that!”
The inspector read it.
“Mrs. Carnthwacke has entrusted her diamonds to me for valuation and I have deposited them in my safe. Signed—Luke Francis Bechcombe,” he read.
The paper on which it was written was Luke Bechcombe's. There was no doubt of that. The inspector had seen its counterpart in Mr. Bechcombe's private room. But his face altered curiously as he looked at it.
“Certainly, if this receipt was given you by Mr. Bechcombe, the estate is liable for the value of the diamonds,” he finished up.
“Well, Mr. Bechcombe gave it me, safe enough,” Mrs. Carnthwacke declared. “I put it in this same little bag and went off, little thinking what was going to happen. It struck one as I came out.”
“One o'clock!” The inspector was looking puzzled. If Mrs. Carnthwacke's story was true it was in direct contradiction to the doctors'. “Did you meet anyone on the stairs?”
Mrs. Carnthwacke looked undecided.