John Dory was accordingly admitted into the room which was so jealously guarded. At first sight, it possessed a somewhat singular appearance. The windows had every one of them been boarded up, and the electric lights consequently fully turned on. A long table stood in the middle of the apartment, serving as support for a long glass showcase, open at the top. Within this, from end to end, stretched the presents which a large circle of acquaintances were presenting to one of the most popular young women in society, on the occasion of her approaching marriage to the Duke of Rochester. In the middle, the wonderful Clenarvon diamonds, set in the form of a tiara, flashed strange lights into the somberly lit apartment. At the end of the table a police sergeant was sitting, with a little pile of newspapers and illustrated journals before him. He rose to his feet with alacrity at his superior’s entrance.
“Good morning, Saunders,” John Dory said. “I see you’ve got it pretty snug in here.”
“Pretty well, thank you, sir,” Saunders answered. “Is there anything stirring?”
John Dory looked behind to be sure that the door was closed. Then he stopped for a moment to gaze at the wonderful diamonds, and finally sat on the table by his subordinate’s side.
“Not exactly that, Saunders,” he said. “To tell you the truth, I came down here because of that list of guests you sent me up.”
Saunders smiled.
“I think I can guess the name you singled out, sir,” he said.
“It was Peter Ruff, of course,” Dory said. “What is he doing here in the house, under his own name, and as a guest?”
“I have asked no questions, sir,” Saunders answered. “I underlined the name in case it might seem worth your while to make inquiries.”
John Dory nodded.