“Well?”
“At half past ten,” Webber resumed; “Clayton was seen to leave the office inclosure and enter his private office. He closed the door, as he habitually does, denoting that he does not wish to be intruded upon. The clerks never interrupt him at such times except on very important business. Those are his instructions.”
“Well?” Nick repeated.
“About five minutes later Clayton came from the corridor and spoke to the head clerk, Robert Vernon, over the counter, directing the clerk to hand Mademoiselle Falloni’s jewel casket from the vault, remarking that she wanted them in her suite and that he would take the casket up to her.”
“Is that so?” Nick muttered, brows knitting.
There was no need for Webber to tell him of the tremendous value of Mademoiselle Falloni’s wonderful jewels. The world-famous prima donna, then singing Cleopatra with the International Grand Opera Company, had created a sensation and broken all records with her dazzling display of gems and jewels in her portrayal of Egypt’s ill-starred queen.
The precautions to preclude robbery, moreover, would[Pg 9] have seemed amply adequate to protect her. Three special detectives occupied her limousine during its run to and from the opera house. They guarded her dressing room between the acts. They watched her constantly when on the stage. From the moment her jewel casket was taken from the vault in the Westgate, in fact, until it was safely returned to it after each performance, these three trusty guardians never once lost sight of it.
Not less careful of her own costly jewels, which were deposited in the Westgate vault when not in use on the stage, was Madame Escobar, the celebrated Swedish contralto, to whom Detective Webber also had referred.
Half a million of money, in fact, was a conservative estimate of the value of both superb collections, though that of Mademoiselle Falloni greatly exceeded the other.
“Continue,” said Nick, gazing steadily at Webber. “Tell me the whole business.”