"Madame de Borria," he said, "I should, perhaps, add my apologies to those which our good friend there is engaged in framing. The necklace is mine, or rather it is entrusted to me for sale. I am well aware that it does not resemble yours, which I have often seen and admired. Mr. Brodie, however, in his excessive zeal, gave me no time for explanations. He descended upon my rooms, seized the necklace from my overcoat pocket—scarcely a likely receptacle, I think, for stolen goods," he added, with a little expostulatory grimace—"and sent off for you."
The lady turned almost savagely upon the detective.
"So this is the way," she said, "you conduct your affairs, Mr. Paul Brodie! You insult a harmless gentleman whom no one but an idiot could mistake for a thief, you drag me from my room to look at a necklace which does not resemble mine in the slightest, and meanwhile the thief gets further and further away," she added, with biting sarcasm. "Oh, you are very busy, are you not, catching him! You are very near that two thousand pounds!"
She stamped her foot and turned away. Brodie opened the door for her. His attitude was apologetic—almost cringing.
"Madame de Borria," he said, "I'm sorry. But two necklaces! Who could conceive such a thing! Rest assured, however, that this is not the end."
She strode away without another word. Brodie came back into the room. He fingered the brim of his hat thoughtfully.
"Say, are you in the habit of carrying valuable necklaces about with you in your overcoat pocket, Grimm?" he asked.
Harvey Grimm took up his stand very deliberately on the hearthrug.
"I am," he announced. "I also occasionally wear a coronet instead of a hat, and a suit of armour instead of pyjamas. I do these things because I choose, and because it's damned well no one else's business except my own."
"So you're going to take that tone, are you?" Brodie observed thoughtfully.