“What’s the matter?” Lone Bedford asked the niece in a rich, throaty voice. “Been reading Grimm’s fairy tales, dearie?” Virginia Trent drew herself up indignantly. Her mouth tightened into a formless gash.
“Not fairy tales,” Cullens answered easily, “psychology — fixations, complexes and all that stuff. The girl studies, if you know what I mean — Freud, sex, crime...”
“It happens,” Virginia Trent said acidly, “that my aunt has surrendered in public and in the presence of witnesses to these impulses of kleptomania. She was caught shoplifting less than four hours ago.”
Lone Bedford raised inquiring eyebrows in the direction of Austin Cullens. Mason noted that it was evidently an habitual gesture with her, noticed also that they were good-looking eyebrows, and that the mannerism served to direct attention to eyes which were undoubtedly beautiful. Nor did Lone Bedford give any indication that she failed to realize the beauty of her eyes, or the graceful lines of the trim leg which her short skirt disclosed to advantage.
Cullens said, “That’s just a stall, Lone. If you saw Sarah Breel for just ten seconds, you’d realize that it’s a stall. When the foreman started checking over the work orders this morning, he found your gems were missing. Sarah knew at once George had them. So she started the old cover up — bless her soul! It’s meant well, but it isn’t going to get us any place.”
A huge emerald on Mrs. Bedford’s hand showed to advantage as she flicked ashes from the end of her cigarette with a graceful little finger. “Just what,” she asked, “ is going to get us any place?”
Cullens said, “I’m going to get out and start looking for George Trent. He’s in a gambling house somewhere, beautifully plastered. Your stones are wrapped up in tissue paper and carried in a chamois-skin belt next to his skin, and he’s completely forgotten that he has them. But, if he gets drunk enough and desperate enough, he may hock them with some gambler.” Cullens turned to Mason and said, “How about it, Mr. Mason, can we claim embezzlement and get them back if he does?”
“Probably not without a lawsuit,” Mason said. “It will depend somewhat on circumstances, somewhat on the manner in which the stones were given to him, and by whom.”
“I gave him the stones,” Cullen said, “but we don’t want any lawsuits, do we, Lone?”
She shook her head and flashed Mason a smile. “No one makes any money out of lawsuits,” she said, “except lawyers.”