"I—I'm afraid it's ridiculous of me to suppose you can help me," she began.
"Always my unfortunate appearance," moaned Lord Peter, with such alarming acumen as to double her discomfort. "Would it invite confidence more, d'you suppose, if I dyed my hair black an' grew a Newgate fringe? It's very tryin', you can't think, always to look as if one's name was Algy."
"I only meant," said Mrs. Ruyslaender, "that I don't think anybody could possibly help. But I saw your name in the hotel book, and it seemed just a chance."
Lord Peter filled the glasses and sat down.
"Carry on," he said cheerfully; "it sounds interestin'."
Mrs. Ruyslaender took the plunge.
"My husband," she explained, "is Henry Ruyslaender, the diamond merchant. We came over from Kimberley ten years ago, and settled in England. He spends several months in Africa every year on business, and I am expecting him back on the Zambesi to-morrow morning. Now, this is the trouble. Last year he gave me a magnificent diamond necklace of a hundred and fifteen stones——"
"The Light of Africa—I know," said Wimsey.
She looked a little surprised, but assented. "The necklace has been stolen from me, and I can't hope to conceal the loss from him. No duplicate would deceive him for an instant."
She paused, and Lord Peter prompted gently: