"Good idea!" returned Blair. "I'll go with them."
The three hurriedly left the room, and the rest of the guests, with the exception of Miss Benson, seated themselves once more.
Everybody began to talk at once. By George! The Benson pearls stolen! Why, they were worth twenty thousand dollars thirty years ago in Rome. You couldn't buy them now for love or money. Well, she had better sit down and eat something, anyway—a glass of wine, just to revive her spirits. Miss Benson was finally persuaded by her anxious hostess to sit down and "eat something." Mrs. Blair was very much upset. How awkward to have such a thing happen at one's first house party.
The searchers presently returned with the word that apparently nothing else had been taken. This had a beneficial effect on the general appetite.
Meanwhile McAllister had been watching Wilkins. Wilkins had been watching McAllister. Since that Christmas in the Tombs they had not seen each other. The valet was unchanged, save, of course, that his beard was gone. He moved silently from place to place, nothing betraying the agitation he must have felt at the realization that he was discovered. People were all shouting encouragement to Miss Benson. There was a great chatter and confusion. The tearful and hysterical Mildred was making pitiful little dabs at the viands forced upon her. Meanwhile the dinner went on. McAllister's seat commanded the door, and he could see, through the swinging screen, that there was no exit to the kitchen from the pantry.
Wilkins approached with the fish. As the valet bent forward and passed the dish to his former master McAllister whispered sharply in his ear:
"You're caught unless you give up that necklace. There's a Central Office man outside. I brought him. Pass me the jewels. It's your only chance!"
"Very good, sir," replied Wilkins without moving a muscle.
The guests were still discussing excitedly Miss Benson's loss. McAllister's thoughts flew back to the time when, locked in the same cell, he and Wilkins had eaten their frugal meal together. He could never bring himself now to give him up to that detective fellow—that ubiquitous and omniscient ass! But Wilkins was approaching with the entrée. As he passed the vol au vent he unostentatiously slipped something in a handkerchief into McAllister's lap.
"May I go now, sir?" he asked almost inaudibly.