"What do you want me to do?" said Janet.
"I want you to go up to the flat without being seen, and burn those letters. Try and go up by the main staircase. They may let you if you bluff them; I could do it;—and it may not be burnt out at the top as they say. If it really is burnt out, you must go up by the iron staircase. If they won't let you pass, bribe the policeman: you must go up all the same. The letters are in the lowest left-hand drawer of the Italian cabinet. The key—O my God! The key! Where is the key?"
Cuckoo's mind, brought to bay, rose unflinching.
"The key is on the pearl chain that I wear every day. But where is the chain? Let me think. I had it on. I know I had it on. I wear the pearls against my neck, under my gown. I was in my dressing-gown. Then I had it on. Look on the billiard-table."
Janet looked.
"Look on the mantelpiece. I saw the nurse put something down there which she took off me."
Janet looked. "There is a miniature of Arty on a ribbon."
"I had it in my hand when the alarm reached me. Look on me. Perhaps I have got it on still."
Janet unfastened the neck of the dressing-gown, which, though lacerated by the nurse's scissors, still retained the semblance of a garment. After an interminable moment she drew out a pearl chain.