“Oh, you recognized Mrs. Bellamy?”
“Yes. She was a friend of my sister-in-law, who lives in Rosemont. I had met her on two occasions.”
“And what did you do then?”
“I considered that the matter was then out of my hands, but I endeavoured to reach Mr. Douglas Thorne by telephone, to tell him what had occurred. I was not successful, however, and returned immediately to New York with my client.”
“He decided not to inspect the place farther?”
For the first time Mr. Conroy permitted himself a small, pallid, apologetic ghost of a smile. “Exactly. He decided that under the circumstances he did not desire to go farther with the transaction. It did not seem to him, if I may so express it, a particularly auspicious omen.”
“Well, that’s quite comprehensible. Did you notice when you were in this parlour whether Mrs. Bellamy was wearing any jewellery, Mr. Conroy?”
“To the best of my recollection, she was not, sir.”
“You are quite sure of that?”
“I am not able to swear to it, but it is my distinct impression that she was not. I was only in the room a minute or so, you understand, but I still retain a most vivid picture of it—a most vivid picture, I may say.”