“You would not admit, then, that you could be mistaken?”
“Impossible—utterly impossible!” Vernon forcibly declared. “Why, Mr. Carter, he stood as near to me as you are at this moment. He is not a man who could be successfully impersonated by another.”
“Certainly not,” put in Webber flatly.
“His smooth-shaved face could not be duplicated,” added Vernon. “The man was Clayton, with Clayton’s features, eyes, voice, and manner of speaking. Furthermore, an impersonator, if that is conceivable, could not have had on Clayton’s clothing. I would have detected any change since morning. I noticed his suit, his navy-blue necktie, and his carbuncle scarfpin, when I gave him Mademoiselle Falloni’s jewel casket over the counter. Mistake—that’s utterly absurd, out of the question.”
Nick did not argue the point.
“How large is the casket?” he inquired.
“About a foot long and eight inches square on the ends,” said Vernon. “It is made of aluminum and it has two combination locks.”
“And Madame Escobar’s?”
“That is a leather-covered case, about half as large.”
“Both of these thefts, then, if such they are, took place in about twenty minutes?” said Nick inquiringly.