“Oh, I am bewildered!” said poor Mabel.
“Why did I ever pose as a genius? I am sure I have no head at all for the complications of wickedness.”
“You are very complimentary to me, I must say,” said Annie. “But listen; I will calm your poor, palpitating little heart. I did a splendid thing; I sold the necklace to Mr Manchuri.”
“Who on earth is Mr Manchuri?” said Mabel.
“Mabel, you really are silly. He is the dear old Jewish gentleman who took Priscilla Weir home.”
“And why did you give it to him?”
“Because, my dear, I invariably use my eyes and my ears and, if possible, my tongue; and I made a discovery with regard to Mr Manchuri. He owns a big jeweller’s shop in Bond Street; therefore why should not he have the necklace? So you see it is safe out of Switzerland by this time.”
“And,” continued Mabel, “he gave thirty pounds for it?”
“Oh, he didn’t think much of it,” said Annie. “Still, he gave me that, and I was glad to close with the offer.”
“Well,” said Mabel, “it is a certain relief to know that it won’t be found in any of the shops in Interlaken.”