“I know it,” Sir Richard said. “I take it you have heard the news about Beverley?”
“My God, don’t tell me you’ve heard it?”
“I found him,” Sir Richard said.
The Honourable Cedric clapped a hand to his head. “Found him? What, you weren’t looking for him, Ricky, were you? How many more people know about it? Where’s that damned necklace?”
“Unless the law-officers have now got it, I fancy it is in one Captain Trimble’s pocket. It was once in my possession, but I handed it over to Beverley, to—er—restore to your father. When he was murdered—”
Cedric recoiled, his jaw dropping. “What’s that? Murdered? Ricky, not Bev?”
“Ah!” said Sir Richard, “so you didn’t know?”
“Good God!” Cedric said. His roving eye alighted on the decanter and the glasses which the waiter had left upon the table. He poured himself out a glass, and tossed it off. “That’s better. So Bev’s been murdered, has he? Well, I came here with a little notion of murdering him myself. Who did it?”
“Trimble, I imagine,” Sir Richard replied.
Cedric paused in the act of refilling his glass, and looked up quickly. “For the sake of the necklace?”