"It was at the theatre," she said. "It occurred on the night of February 14th."
"Six weeks ago!" I exclaimed in dismay. "The trail is cold!"
"I know," she said deprecatingly. "I do not expect a miracle."
I asked her to go on.
"I had an impulse to wear the genuine pearls that night. I got them out of the safe deposit vault in the afternoon. When I saw the real and the artificial together I was afraid of making a mistake, so I made a little scratch on the clasp of the real strand. I wear them in the first act. I have to leave them off in the second act, when I appear in a nurse's uniform, also in the third when I am supposed to be ill. In the fourth act I wear them again.
"On the night in question I wore the real pearls in the first act. I am sure of that, because they were glowing wonderfully when I took them off—as if there was a tiny fire in each stone. I put them in the pocket of the nurse's uniform and carried them on the stage with me during the second act. In the third act I was obliged to leave them in my dressing-room, because in this act I am shown in bed. But I thought they would be safe in the pocket of the dress I took off."
"The instant I returned to my dressing-room, I got them out and put them on, suspecting nothing wrong. It was not until after the final curtain that upon taking them off, I was struck by their dullness. I looked for my little mark on the clasp. It was not there. I found I had two strings of artificial pearls."
I asked her the obvious questions. "Did you have any special reason for wearing the genuine pearls that night?"
"None, except that I loved them. I loved to handle them. They were so alive! I was afraid they might lose their life if I never wore them."
Somehow, I was not fully satisfied with this answer. But for the present I let it go.