“Indeed!” returned Alexa, with marked indifference.
“Yes; it was the work of the famous Benvenuto Cellini, made for Pope Clement the Seventh, for his own communion-chalice. Your father priced it at three thousand pounds. In his last moments, when his mind was wandering, he fancied it the Holy Grail He had it in the bed with him when he died; that I know.”
“And it is missing?”
“Perhaps Dawtie could tell us what has become of it. She was with the laird at the last.”
Dawtie, who had stood aside to let him pass to the open door, looked up with a flash in her eyes, but said nothing.
“Have you seen the cup, Dawtie?” asked her mistress.
“No, ma'am.”
“Do you know it?”
“Very well, ma'am.”
“Then you don't know what has become of it?”