“Oh, you weren’t far away, were you, Staff?” she said lightly. “These gentlemen want to ask you some questions about that wretched necklace. I wish to goodness I’d never bought the thing!”
Her expression had changed to petulance. Ceasing to speak, she resumed the nervous drumming of her foot upon the carpet.
Manvers took the initiative: “Mr. Staff, this is Mr. Siddons of the customs service; this is Mr. Arnold of the United States Secret Service; and this, Mr. Cramp of Pinkerton’s. They came aboard at Quarantine.”
Staff nodded to each man in turn, and reviewed their faces, finding them one and all more or less commonplace and uninteresting.
“How-d’-you-do?” he said civilly; and to Manvers: “Well ...?”
“We were wondering if you’d seen anything of Mr. Iff this morning?”
“No—nothing. He came to bed after I’d gone to sleep last night, and was up and out before I woke. Why?”
“He—” the purser began; but the man he had called Mr. Arnold interrupted.
“He claimed to be a Secret Service man, didn’t he?”
“He did,” returned Staff. “Captain Cobb saw his credentials, I believe.”