“It’s mine-you gave it to me.”

Lucius Bellingdon pushed it down into his breast pocket and said,

“I did nothing of the sort! Anyhow the police will want to examine it. And all this wrapping stuff must be kept-they’ll want to see it. As to the necklace, I shall get rid of it as soon as possible. And now suppose we have breakfast.”

Everyone began to move, to talk, and to help themselves to tea, to coffee, to the cereals and other food on the side table. Only Moira, having risen from her seat, did not come back to it again. She went out of the room, turning on the threshold as if she had something more to say. But whatever it was it didn’t get said. She looked at Lucius Bellingdon, who had his back to her, and then she went out and shut the door behind her very softly.

It would have seemed more natural if she had banged it, and Miss Silver for one would have been happier. There had been so much violence in the look, so much control in that soft shutting of the door-so much unnatural control. David Moray drew a long breath and turned to Sally on his left.

“Medusa with a vengeance!” he said.

She looked back at him, and he saw how pale she was.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

He said abruptly, “I’ll get you some coffee,” and pushed back his chair.

Neither of them quite knew what they said or why they were saying it. Miss Silver’s look came back to them, came back to Arnold Bray. He had been a long time picking up his napkin. His hand shook, and instead of being flushed from stooping he was pale. The arrival of the parcel had certainly started something. This would not, of course, have been Miss Silver’s way of putting it, but it was undoubtedly the conclusion at which she arrived. It was, to be sure, a surprising event, and undoubtedly many of the people were surprised. Whether this was the case with all of them, she could not be certain.

The person she felt least sure about was Moira Herne. There had been pleasure and excitement, there had been the evidence of an avid desire in her reaction, but she did not think that there had been any surprise. The usual blankness of her expression had been violently broken up, at first pleasurably, and then in disappointment and anger quite painful to witness.

And why had Hubert Garratt that sick expression? As the thought went through her mind, he got up and went to the serving-table. Watching him, she saw his hand shake on the teapot, the milk jug. He poured himself a cup of tea and came back holding it with a kind of determined steadiness, but when he lifted it to his lips he bent his head halfway to meet it and his hand was shaking again.

The most normal person in the room was Miss Bray. She exclaimed just as one would have expected her to exclaim, asked a number of questions which no one could possibly answer, and produced a gratified stream of conjecture and speculation with which nobody but Wilfrid attempted to cope.

“Now really, you know, I do call this a very extraordinary thing. It was of course extraordinary that the necklace should have been stolen, but it does seem a great deal more extraordinary that it should have been sent back. Now do you suppose that the person who took it had a sudden change of heart? You do hear of such things, don’t you? I remember a long time ago reading about a case like that-in a magazine or a book. I forget what the man had stolen, but he heard the clock strike twelve one night, and it suddenly came over him how wrong he had been and he made up his mind to send it back. Perhaps that is what has happened now.”

Sally took a sip of the coffee which David had brought her. She thought, “It has come back because Moira said it was to come back. She knows who took it, and she knows who murdered Arthur Hughes. Don’t have anything to do with her, David-don’t, don’t, don’t! She shut her eyes, because everything in the room had begun to tilt and slide. She took another scalding sip of coffee and pushed the cup away. David’s hand came down hard upon her knee. Her own went groping to meet it and was held.

Wilfrid Gaunt was saying something about the necklace being too hot to hold, and Elaine Bray went on and on and on about valuable jewellery being only an anxiety, and why did people want to have it anyway when you could get such beautiful paste? It may be said that everyone was glad when breakfast was over.

Lucius Bellingdon rang up the police. When he had done that he told Hilton to find Mrs. Herne and ask her to come to him in the study. She arrived, the old indifferent look back upon her face and the old drawl back in her voice.

“You wanted me?”

The words set up an echo in his mind. He had never wanted her. They had started wrong. It was Lily who had done this to both of them. Lily-weak, obstinate, harmless-she had done enough harm without meaning to.

The mornings were cold. There was a little fire on the hearth. Moira had lighted a cigarette. She wore grey slacks and an emerald pull-over. She stood with one foot up on the kerb and blew a smoke-ring. It broke, and the haze was between them. He said,

“Come and sit down.”

“I’d rather stand.”

He slewed round his writing-chair so as to face her.

“Just as you like. I want to talk to you before the police come.”

She drew at her cigarette.

“The police?”

“Naturally. I have to report the fact that I believe my car to have been tampered with. There is also the return of the necklace.”

“Your car-I thought you had a smash-”

“I did. I should like the police to find out why.”

Her eyebrows rose.

“Getting a bit jumpy, aren’t you?”

“You can put it that way.”

After a brief pause he went on speaking.

“That scene you made in the dining-room was a mistake.”

“Was it?”

“I think so. You wanted to put it on record that I had given you the necklace. Exactly the reverse has happened. Everyone who was there will be in a position to say that I contradicted you when you said so. I contradicted you flat, and reminded you that it was merely to have been lent to you for the Ball. I went on to say that I intended to get rid of it as soon as possible.”

She stood there looking down into the fire, smoking her cigarette, her hand steady, her face colourless. Perhaps it was the brilliant emerald of the pull-over which gave the blanched skin its harder, older look. Perhaps not. She had nothing to say. Lucius Bellingdon went on.

“I have been meaning to speak to you for some time now. I don’t think it will be any surprise to you to hear that I am thinking of making certain changes. I am, in fact, going to be married.”

She said with an accentuation of her drawl, “So Annabel has brought it off. It’s been fairly obvious that that was what she was after.”

He went on as if she had not spoken.

“My marriage will necessitate a good many other alterations.”

“Alterations?”

“To my will, amongst other things. I shall have to make a new one.”

“Is that supposed to affect me?”

“It does affect you-that is to say, it will. All the changes will affect you. I think it is only fair to tell you so.”

He paused briefly, but she neither looked at him nor spoke. The hand with the cigarette went up to her lips and came down again. The lips parted, a cloud of smoke was expelled. The lips closed again. He went on.

“I don’t think the present arrangements have been a great success. I believe we shall all be happier when changes have been made. I shall make Elaine an allowance, and if she likes to set up house with Arnold she can. Since it will be an allowance and not a settlement, he won’t be able to sponge upon her to any marked extent.”

“And are you going to make me an allowance too?”

“No, I don’t think so. You have your settlement.”

“You don’t suppose I can live on that!”

“I think you will have to.”