“I ought to tell you gentlemen, or at least those of you to whom the Considine pearls are unknown, that they have been in my family for several generations and are of great value. My wife wears them in the form of a necklace that she had made some seventeen years ago. And it has been her fancy, call it whim if you please to, to wear this necklace quite often. The last occasion she wore it was the evening before last—it was my birthday and it delighted her to celebrate the affair. She informs me that she replaced the necklace in her jewel-case when she retired that evening. I ought to mention that it goes into a case of its own which, in turn, is placed in a larger case. Unfortunately, she did not take the trouble to get this second case at the time—she was very tired. Yesterday morning she asked Coombes, her maid, to do so for her. About half an hour ago, it occurred to her that Prescott’s death may have resulted from a clash with burglars. She went to her large jewel-case, and was amazed to discover that the case containing the pearl necklace was not there. Neither was it to be found—anywhere. She is terribly upset to think that her partial neglect may have cost this poor young man his life.”
Baddeley waved his hand deprecatingly.
“There is no need for Lady Considine to worry over that, Sir Charles. None of us ever know the result of some of our most innocent actions. But this requires careful consideration. Coombes—this maid of Lady Considine’s—is she to be trusted?”
“As far as I can say,” replied Sir Charles. “She has been with us seven or eight years. She is desperately worried, Lady Considine says, and has no definite remembrance as to whether she replaced the necklace or not. Will you see her?”
“I will see both Lady Considine and her maid in a few moments. But I should like to feel certain whether I am investigating one case or two.”
“Things certainly are moving, Inspector,” said Anthony. “But perhaps this latest piece of news will help us a lot.”
Lady Considine was heart-broken at her loss. But she did her best to forget her personal loss in the greater sorrow that had befallen others. She was a pretty woman, and I knew that she had been considered a beauty in her day.
“When I went to bed the night before last,” she said, “I took the necklace off and put it into its own case, but I did not put this case into the larger one. I was sleepy and it meant getting up and crossing the room. My maid was brushing my hair. I said, ‘Coombes—put the case with the necklace away, in the morning—never mind now. Hurry up with my hair and I’ll get to bed.’”
Sir Charles interrupted here.
“I understood you asked her the following morning.”