DENBY came eagerly down the stairs, looking about him with no especial care. He had learned that the special service men assumed him to have made good his escape and were contenting themselves with surrounding the gardens.
“What’s happened?” he asked, coming quickly toward her. “Is everything all right now? Where is—”
Ethel interrupted him. “Will you have a cigarette, Dick?” she asked, pushing the silver box to him.
He took it calmly enough but instantly realized her warning. His alert gaze swept about the room and dwelt no longer on the screen than any other of its furnishing, but he knew where his enemy was hidden. “Thanks,” he said simply, and lighted it with a hand that was steady.
“Now we are alone,” she said, “and those men imagine you are not here, and I admit you’ve beaten me, please tell me the truth about that necklace. What have you done with it?”
“Are you still persisting in that strange delusion?” he asked calmly. “I never had a necklace, Miss Cartwright.”
“But I know you did,” she persisted, “I saw it.”
“Ah, you thought you did,” he corrected. “We went all over that in my room and I imagined I had persuaded you. Why do you want to know this?”
“The agent of the secret service has been here,” she told him, “and he suspects that I am defending you and won’t believe what I say. If you’ll tell me the truth, I’ll get him to let you go.”
“Then the secret service agent is just as wrong as you,” he remarked. “I have no necklace. Because I knock down a man who breaks into my room at night and escape rather than be shot, am I supposed on that account to carry these fabulous necklaces about with me? I don’t care even to prolong this conversation, Miss Cartwright.”