Читать книгу The Carcellini Emerald, With Other Tales онлайн

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“I think some of them may have run up to offer help, but I am not sure,” said Gertrude, tears of nervous distress filling her eyes.

“But you are sure about the position of the ring as you leaned forward beneath the candle?” went on the same unemotional voice.

“Perfectly,” said Gertrude, with emphasis. “In that I cannot be mistaken.”

There was silence for a few moments in the little room with its pale brocades and Dresden figurines and gilded furniture. Then the quiet man spoke deliberately, drumming with a pencil upon the edge of Mrs. Ellison’s dainty blotting-book.

“I have no sort of doubt, madam, that your emerald was stolen. Who took it, and who has it—whether we shall ever get it back—are questions to which I propose to devote my best abilities. If it was one of your own servants or employés from outside, the appearance and character of the jewel will soon put us on the track of it. But if—” He paused, and cleared his throat significantly.

“I had rather lose it,” interrupted Mrs. Ellison, tearfully, “than suspect one of my guests.”