"What a jolly mess!" ejaculated the bewildered guest under his breath, sinking into his chair and mechanically bolting a caviare hors-d'œuvre. He drained his sherry and tried to grasp the whole significance of the situation.
"I do hope the Baron is feeling better by this time," he heard Mrs. Blair remark. He was about to make an appropriately sympathetic reply when Miss Benson came hurriedly into the room, paused at the foot of the table and grasped the back of a chair for support. She had lost all her color, and her hands and voice trembled with excitement.
"It's gone!" she gasped. "Stolen! My mother's pearl necklace! I had it on the bureau just before tea! Oh, what shall I do!" She burst into hysterical sobs.
Two or three women gave little shrieks and pushed back their chairs.
"My tiara!" exclaimed one.
"And my diamond sun-burst! I left it right on a book on the dressing-table!" cried another.
There was a general move from the table.
"O Gordon! Do you think there are burglars in the house?" called Mrs. Blair to her husband.
"Heaven knows!" he replied. "There may be. But don't let's get excited. Miss Benson may possibly be mistaken, or she may have mislaid the necklace. What do you suggest, McAllister?"
"Well," replied our hero, keeping a careful eye upon Wilkins, "the first thing is to learn how much is missing. Why don't these ladies go right upstairs and see if they've lost anything? Meanwhile, we'd all better sit down and finish our soup."