The Major made a gesture as of one brushing aside a gnat. “What should I care for that? It is my misguided child I am thinking about!”
“I dare say you don’t care, but I do. The man who was murdered was my brother, and those diamonds belong to my family!”
“Your brother? Good Gad, sir, I am astonished!” said the Major, glaring at him. “No one—no one, believe me!—would credit you with having sustained such a loss! Your levity, your—”
“Never mind my levity, old gentleman! Has that damned necklace been found?”
“Yes, sir, I understand that the prisoner had a necklace in his possession. And if that is your only concern in this appalling affair—”
“Ricky, I must get my hands on that necklace. I hate to leave you, dear boy, but there’s nothing for it! Where the devil’s that coffee? Can’t go without my breakfast!” He caught sight of the waiter, who had reappeared in the doorway. “You there! What the devil do you mean by standing gaping? Breakfast, you gaby!”
“Yes, sir,” said the waiter, sniffing. “And what will I tell the lady, sir, if you please?”
“Tell her we ain’t receiving!—What lady?”
The waiter proffered a tray with a visiting card upon it. “For Sir Richard Wyndham,” he said lugubriously. “She would be obleeged by the favour of a word with him.”
Cedric picked up the card, and read aloud: “Lady Luttrell. Who the deuce is Lady Luttrell, Ricky?”