It was Benny Churchill who spoke up before I could answer. His voice, as he spoke, was oddly thin and childlike.
"But why in heaven's name should he want to duplicate my sister's jewelry?"
"For another woman, with more money than brains, or the know-how, or whatever you want to call it," was the impassive response.
I saw the girl across the table from me push the necklace away from her, and leave it lying there in a glimmering heap on the white table. I promptly and quietly reached out and took possession of it, for I still had my own ideas of the situation.
"That's all very well," I cried, "and very interesting. But what I want to know is: who got the first necklace?"
The big-framed man looked once more at his watch. Then he looked a little wearily at me.
"I got 'em!"
"You've got them?" echoed both the girl and her brother. It was plain that the inconsequentialities of the last hour had been a little too much for them.
The man thrust a huge hand down in the pocket of his damp and somewhat unshapely overcoat.
"Yes, I got 'em here," he explained as he drew his hand away and held the glimmering string up to the light. "I picked 'em up from the corner of that box where they slipped off the lady's neck."