“Look for yourself,” he said slowly. “It does not require the eyes of an expert.”
Daphne Collis snatched the pearls and stared at them dazedly. Her pretty face was now quite colorless.
“This is not my rope of pearls,” she said, in a monotonous voice; “it is a very poor imitation!”
Ere I could frame any kind of speech—
“Look at this,” groaned Chundermeyer, “as you talk of a poor imitation!”
He was holding out a leather-covered box, plush-lined, and bearing within the words, “Isaacs and Chundermeyer, Madras.” Nestling grotesquely amid the blue velvet were six small pieces of coal!
Chundermeyer sank upon the cushions of the settee, tossing the casket upon a little coffee table.
“I am afraid I feel unwell,” he said feebly. “Mr. Kernaby, I wonder if you would be so kind as to find Inspector Carlisle, and ask a waiter to bring me some cognac.”
“Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do?” whispered poor Daphne Collis.