“Scotland Yard!” Mrs. Faulks was impressed. Mrs. Faulks smiled on him.
“Well, you know, there are points about your case, Mrs. Faulks. I think they would be interested.”
Like one handing his own death warrant, Colonel Beach put down some telegraph forms. Reggie pulled out his pencil, laid it down again and took some marmalade. “Valuable necklace, of course, Mrs. Faulks?” he said blandly. “Quite so. The one you wore the night before last? I remember. I remember.” He described it. Mrs. Faulks approved and elaborated his description. “That’s very clear. Are your jewels insured? Yes, well that is a certain consolation.” He adjusted his pencil and wrote. “I think this will meet the case.” He gave the telegram to Mrs. Faulks.
Mrs. Faulks read it, Mrs. Faulks seemed unable to understand. She continued to gaze at it, and the wondering company saw her grow red to the frozen coils of her hair.
Reggie was making notes on another telegraph form. He read out slowly a precise description of the lost necklace. “That’s it, then,” he said. “By the way, who are you insured with?”
Mrs. Faulks glared at him. “I suppose this is another joke.”
“No,” Reggie shook his head. “This has gone beyond a joke.”
“Where is my brooch, then? Who has my brooch?”
“I have,” said Reggie. He pulled it out of his pocket and laid it on her plate. “I found the brooch in the passage. I didn’t find the necklace, Mrs. Faulks. So I should like to send that telegram.”
“You will do nothing of the kind. I won’t have anything done. The whole affair is disgraceful, perfectly disgraceful. I forbid you to interfere. Do you understand, I forbid it? Colonel Beach! It is impossible for me to stay in your house after the way in which you have allowed me to be treated. Please order the car.”