Again the detective was giving contortional evidence of his perplexity. His long face was longer still, his down-turned face more melancholy.
“Anyway, there is no question of pledge. The only thing we have to decide is, whether he was the kind of man who would receive stolen property.” He glanced round at the black boxes which filled the shelves and shook his head. “The probability is all against that theory,” he said. “Trasmere was too rich a man to run the risk. Besides we should have found other property. It is not likely that he would act as receiver for one gang of thieves, and for only one of their crimes.”
He hoisted himself to the top of the table, pushed his hands in his trousers pockets and with his chin on his breast, considered.
“Now, that beats me,” he said at last. “I admit that I am thoroughly and absolutely beaten. You are perfectly sure that these are Miss Ardfern’s jewels?”
“I am absolutely certain that it is her jewel-case. Probably at headquarters they have a description of the jewels which are lost,” said Tab.
“Then we’ll settle that little mystery at once.”
He was telephoning for a quarter of an hour, taking notes all the time, and when he hung up the receiver, he turned to Tab.
“Without having carefully looked at the pieces in that box,” he said, “I think it is absolutely certain that those jewels are Miss Ardfern’s. She gave a fairly complete list to the police, but could not remember every item. We will go along and check our inventory.”
He had not been at work long before it was clear that the jewelry was Ursula Ardfern’s property.
“Go along and see her, Tab,” said Carver. “Take the empty box with you—we had better hold on to the jewelry a little longer—and ask her to identify the case.”