“They’d probably freeze on to it,” said Julia. “I know I should. It’s a most beautiful ring.”
Fulke drank some champagne.
“I think,” he said uneasily, “I think when I ask to see over, I’d better say why I’ve come.”
“Why?”
“Well, they’ll think I’m mad or something—staring all over the floors.”
“Not if you do it properly. You see, my dear, you mustn’t give it away. If you do, they won’t half show you round, and the moment you’re gone they’ll go through the place with a tooth-comb.”
“All right,” said Fulke gloomily. “I don’t care. Only, if I do find it there’ll be a hell of a row. They’re bound to see me pick it up, and if it looks as valuable as you say it is——”
“Then you can explain,” said Julia, lighting a cigarette. “Once it’s found, you can tell them that that’s what you came for. The great thing is to find it.”
“Yes, I know that,” said Fulke. “It’s the goin’ I’m thinkin’ about. If I don’t find it, they’ll think I’m mad: if I do find it, they’ll think I’m a thief: and if I try to explain, they’ll probably knock me down. . . . However, if it’s going to bring you freedom . . .”
“That’s a dear,” said Julia.