“No,” replied Sir Roland. “Deeply regret, ma’am, but Lord Lethbridge denies all knowledge.”
“B-but I know it’s there!” insisted Horatia. “You d-didn’t tell him it was mine, d-did you?”
“Certainly not, ma’am. Thought it all out on my way. Told him the brooch belonged to my great-aunt.”
The Viscount, who had been absently shuffling the pack, put the cards down at this. “Told him it belonged to your great-aunt?” he repeated. “Burn it, even if the fellow was knocked out, you’ll never get him to believe your great-aunt came tottering into his house at two in the morning! “Taint’ reasonable. What’s more, if he did believe it, you oughtn’t to set a tale like that going about your great-aunt.”
“My great-aunt is dead,” said Sir Roland with some sever-ity.”
“Well, that makes it worse,” said the Viscount. “You can’t expect a man like Lethbridge to listen to ghost stories.”
“Nothing to do with ghosts!” replied Sir Roland, nettled. “You’re not yourself, Pel. Told him it was a bequest.”
“B-but it’s a lady’s brooch!” said Horatia. “He c-can’t have believed you!”
“Oh, your pardon, ma’am, but indeed! Plausible story—told easily—nothing simpler. Unfortunately, not in his lordship’s possession. Consider, ma’am—agitation of the moment—brooch fell out in the street. Possible, you know, quite possible. Daresay you don’t recollect perfectly, but depend upon it that’s what happened.”
“ I do recollect p-perfectly!” said Horatia. “I w-wasn’t drunk!”