The man said, “Just a minute,” picked up a telephone which had a device clamped on the mouthpiece making his conversation inaudible. He talked for some two or three minutes, then turned from the phone to Mason.” What’d you say her name was?”
“Mrs. Bedford, Lone Bedford.”
The man returned the telephone to his lips, there followed additional conversation, then he nodded, hung up the telephone, and moved over to the vault. He brought out Mrs. Breel’s bag, took the tissue-covered jewelry from the bottom, placed the pieces on the counter, and unwrapped the tissue. Mrs. Bedford, her hilarity completely dissipated, watched the paper coverings being removed with eyes which were narrowed in scrutiny. “No,” she said slowly, as the diamonds came to view, “those aren’t mine.”
“You’re certain?” Mason asked.
She nodded, then turned to face him. “I never saw them before in my life,” she said. “They’re somewhat similar to my pieces, but they’re not mine.”
“That’s all,” Mason told her. “Thanks.”
The property clerk carefully rewrapped each of the diamonds. “How did it happen Mrs. Breel was carrying those stones around in her handbag?” Mrs. Bedford asked. “They’re worth money.”
“That,” Mason told her, “is something we don’t know. Mrs. Breel stepped out from the curb, apparently right in front of an automobile, it was out on St. Rupert Boulevard between Ninety-First and Ninety-Second Streets and...”
“What was she doing out there?” Lone Bedford interrupted, her voice suddenly hard.
“I don’t know,” Mason said. “No one knows. Of course, with the finding of Cullens’ body, the police think...”