Stapleton glanced towards the door to see that it was shut, then continued:
“There are several things you may be able to do for me from time to time, and the first is this. I am practically certain I know who took the diamonds and the notes, and the rest of the stuff stolen that night, and though naturally I don’t intend to mention the lady’s name, I can hint at it. I believe the thief—yes, thief—to be a young widow whose husband died in tragic circumstances nine or ten months ago—he was found dead in his bath one morning; possibly you recollect the affair.”
“I ought to, seeing that I was sent to the house the same day to obtain particulars of the tragedy. The house is not far from Portland Place—am I right?”
“Quite.”
“So the widow was among Mrs. Mervyn-Robertson’s guests at supper that night?”
“She was not. She was not even invited. Yet I have a good reason for supposing she was admitted, though the hostess never saw her.”
“Would that have been possible?”
“Certainly. There was a great crush. At one time during the night one could hardly force one’s way through it, and it was then the widow was admitted, the footman believing her to be an invited guest.”
“Could you get me an interview with the footman?”
“Quite impossible, my dear fellow. Besides, it may not have been the footman who admitted her. That was merely my conjecture. It may have been one of the other servants.”