The Manager closed the record book, with a sweep of his hand cleared his desk for revelations, and leaning forward in his chair fixed Mr Carlyle with a pragmatic eye.
“On Saturday Mr Bellitzer goes to Luneburg Mansions and the Hon. Mrs Straithwaite shows him the necklace. He examines it carefully, assesses its insurable value up to five thousand, two hundred and fifty pounds, and reports us to that effect. But he reports something else, Mr Carlyle. It is not the necklace that the lady had insured.”
“Not the necklace?” echoed Mr Carlyle.
“No. In spite of the number of pearls and a general similarity there are certain technical differences, well known to experts, that made the fact indisputable. The Hon. Mrs Straithwaite has been guilty of misrepresentation. Possibly she has no fraudulent intention. We are willing to pay to find out. That’s your business.”
Mr Carlyle made a final note and put away his book with an air of decision that could not fail to inspire confidence.
“To-morrow,” he said, “we shall perhaps be able to report something.”
“Hope so,” vouchsafed the Manager. “’Morning.”
From his position near the window, Carrados appeared to wake up to the fact that the interview was over.
“But so far,” he remarked blandly, with his eyes towards the great man in the chair, “you have told us nothing of the theft.”
The Manager regarded the speaker dumbly for a moment and then turned to Mr Carlyle.