“Should you know the studs again?” he asked her.
“You may as well ask me if I should know my own face in the glass, Mr. Bond. Of course I should.”
Mr. Bond opened a pill-box: three green studs lay in it on white cotton. He held it out to Miss Deveen.
“Are these they?”
“No, certainly not,” replied Miss Deveen, speaking like one in disappointment. “Those are not to be compared with mine, sir.”
Mr. Bond put the lid on the box, and returned it to his pocket. Out came another box, long and thin.
“These are my studs,” quickly exclaimed Miss Deveen, before she had given more than a glance. “You can look yourself for the private marks I told you about, Mr. Bond.”
Three brilliant emeralds, that seemed to light up the room, connected together by a fine chain of gold. At either end, the chain was finished off by a small square plate of thin gold, on one of which was an engraved crest, on the other Miss Deveen’s initials. In shape the emeralds looked like buttons more than studs.
“I never knew they were linked together, Miss Deveen,” I exclaimed in surprise.
“Did you not, Johnny?”