"What's that?" Sir Cyril, big-jowled, heavy, strolled in.
Sutton repeated the news of the loss, turning over the cases. "The case is here," she said, "but I noticed it open."
"The pendant old Aunt Sukey sent?" Sir Cyril went to the safe himself. "That's valuable."
"I—it must be there somewhere. Lock the safe, Sutton." Denise would have told the maid she had sent the pendant to be cleaned. Cyril was one of the men who question closely. It would have been: "To which shop, Den? I could get it for you to-morrow."
"It must be there," she repeated sharply. "It's just muddled away; or I may have lost it. I'm very careless."
"We'll look to-morrow. It's time to go now." But big Cyril Blakeney stood still for a minute, staring at the safe; thoughts which he longed to smother rising in him.
He had seen Esmé Carteret bending over the safe, fingering the jewels. She could not ... it was a monstrous thing!
He put the idea away resolutely as though it were some crawling beast; came down to where his wife was getting into her motor.
"You must have dropped it," he said slowly, "but I thought you never wore the thing. We'll offer a reward."
"Oh, very well," Denise Blakeney answered nervously, pulling at the buttons of her gloves. "Oh, I may find it to-morrow. Wait and see. I often stuff things away into other places, if I am in a hurry."