The detective grunted disdain of this inconclusive argument: "You all've got to begin. It'll be there to-morrow, all right."
"It looks bad, eh—not?" the manager questioned, his predacious eyes fixed greedily upon the trinket.
"You think so?" P. Sybarite purposefully misinterpreted. "Let me see."
Before the detective could withdraw, P. Sybarite caught the brooch from his fingers.
"Bad?" he mused aloud, examining it closely. "Phony? Perhaps it is. Looks like Article de Paris to me. See what you think."
He returned the trinket indifferently.
"Nonsense!" Shaynon interposed incisively. "Mrs. Strone's not that kind."
"Shut up!" snapped P. Sybarite. "What do you know about it? You've lied yourself out of court already."
A transitory expression of bewilderment clouded Shaynon's eyes.
"I'm no judge," the detective announced doubtfully.