“The necklace—the Ranee’s necklace! The Ladder of Light!” bleated Sir Mawson feebly. “It is gone! It is lost! It went when you went. There has been no trace of it since.” Then he joined Lady Leake, and plucked at the boy’s sleeve, and between them out came the whole miserable story.
“And you think that I stole it? You dare to think that?” flung out his son, jerking back from him and brushing aside Lady Leake’s solicitous hand. “Very well, then, think what you jolly well please! I’m done with the lot of you!”
And after that—the Deluge! Speaking, he turned on his heel and rushed back to his taxi, wrenched open its door, revealing what none of them had suspected before, because of the drawn curtains: that the vehicle was occupied—and sang out in a fine fury, “Pull up the blinds, Curz. Come out, old chap. Come out, Major! Come out, Katie—all of you—at once! There isn’t going to be any ‘jolly lark,’ any ‘pleasant surprise,’ any ‘killing of the fatted calf.’ This isn’t a comedy—it’s a tragedy! Hop out lively—the lot of you! I’m done with my father, and I’ve got to get back to my place in the ranks as fast as I can fly. I’ll pay you back, Katie. I’ll pay you back, Curz, old chap! Yes, by God! I will if I drive this thing night and day without sleeping!”
Then came a sudden banging of the taxi’s door, a hoot from the horn as he jumped back to his seat and sounded a warning note, and in the winking of an eye he was off and away, and there in the road stood a stout, pleasant-faced old gentleman, a youth with a budding moustache, and a bright-faced, fairylike little lady of about eighteen, all three of whom were standing stock still and staring after the vanishing taxi in the blankest of blank amazement. Of a sudden, however:
“My goodness, popper, I guess Curzon and I have sort of muffed it somehow!” the little lady said, forlornly.
“I guess you have, honey—I guess you have. Anyhow, something’s gone bust, that’s a sure thing! Let’s go and ask Sir Mawson what it’s all about.”
“Yes, let us by all means,” put in the younger man. “Come on!”
Mr. Narkom, who heard these things, drew closer to Cleek, looked up at him anxiously, and contrived to whisper an inquiry which fell only upon his ally’s ears.
“Found out anything, old chap?”
“Yes. From their words it is clear that Sir Mawson has taken nobody in the house—even his son, Curzon—into his confidence regarding the lost necklace.”