“Then, I should explain that they make up a certain famous necklace, worth, I dare say, anything you like.”
“Upon my word! An heirloom! Yes, yes, but in what way—”
“While on my way to Bristol with a young relative of mine, a slight accident befell our coach, and we were forced to put up for the night at a small inn near Wroxhall. There, sir, I encountered an individual who seemed to me—but I am not very well-versed in these matters—a somewhat questionable character. How questionable I did not know until the following morning, when a Bow Street Runner arrived at the inn.”
“Good God, sir! This is the most—But I interrupt you!”
“Not at all,” said Sir Richard politely. “I left the inn while the Runner was interrogating this individual. It was not until my young cousin and I had proceeded some way on our journey that I discovered in my pocket a purse containing the Brandon necklace.”
The magistrate sat bolt upright in his chair. “You amaze me, sir! You astonish me! The necklace in your pocket? Really, I do not know what to say!”
“No,” agreed Sir Richard, rising and refilling his guest’s glass. “I was rather taken aback myself. In fact, it was some time before I could think how it came to be there.”
“No wonder, no wonder! Most understandable, indeed! You recognized the necklace?”
“Yes,” said Sir Richard, returning to his chair. “I recognized it, but—really, I am amazed at my own stupidity!—I did not immediately connect it with the individual encountered near Wroxhall. The question was then not so much how it came, to be in my possession, as how to restore it to Lord Saar with the least possible delay. I could picture Lady Saar’s dismay at such an irreparable loss! Ah—a lady of exquisite sensibility, you understand!”
The magistrate nodded his comprehension. The rum punch was warming him quite as much as the fire, and he had a not unpleasant sensation of mixing with exalted persons.