“It is only right that I should come,” she replied, looking up at me. “I am the unconscious cause of most of it, I am afraid. Mrs. Dallas is going to wait in the outer office.”
I presented Hotchkiss and the two detectives, who eyed her with interest. In her poise, her beauty, even in her gown, I fancy she represented a new type to them. They remained standing until she sat down.
“I have brought the necklace,” she began, holding out a white-wrapped box, “as you asked me to.”
I passed it, unopened, to the detectives. “The necklace from which was broken the fragment you found in the sealskin bag,” I explained. “Miss West found it on the floor of the car, near lower ten.”
“When did you find it?” asked the lean detective, bending forward.
“In the morning, not long before the wreck.”
“Did you ever see it before?”
“I am not certain,” she replied. “I have seen one very much like it.” Her tone was troubled. She glanced at me as if for help, but I was powerless.
“Where?” The detective was watching her closely. At that moment there came an interruption. The door opened without ceremony, and Johnson ushered in a tall, blond man, a stranger to all of us: I glanced at Alison; she was pale, but composed and scornful. She met the new-comer’s eyes full, and, caught unawares, he took a hasty backward step.
“Sit down, Mr. Sullivan,” McKnight beamed cordially. “Have a cigar? I beg your pardon, Alison, do you mind this smoke?”