“I don't remember. Yes, I think I did—some young man or another. I didn't notice him much.”
“And you didn't notice anything peculiar in Mr. Bechcombe's manner?”
“Nothing much,” Mrs. Carnthwacke said, holding out her hand for the receipt. “I'll have that back, please. You bet I don't part with it till I have got my diamonds back. The only thing I thought was that Mr. Bechcombe seemed in rather a hurry—sort of wanted me to quit.”
The inspector felt inclined to smile. Half an hour in the busiest time of the day seemed a fairly liberal allowance even for a millionaire's wife.
“Now, can you tell me how many people know that you were bringing the diamonds to Mr. Bechcombe?”
“Not one. What do you take me for? A first-class idiot?” Mrs. Carnthwacke demanded indignantly. “Nobody knew that I had the diamonds at all—not even my maid. I kept them in a little safe in my bedroom—one my husband had specially made for me. Great Scott, I was a bit too anxious to keep the whole business quiet to go talking about it.”
“Not even to the friend that told you that Mr. Bechcombe had helped her out of a similar difficulty?”
“No, not a word! I didn't think of asking Mr. Bechcombe while she was with me, and the next day she went off to Cannes and I haven't seen her since. The receipt, please?”
The inspector did not relax his hold.
“You will understand that this is a most valuable piece of evidence, madam. You will have to entrust it to me. I will of course give you a written acknowledgment that I have it.”