“And her veracity,” Charles remarked.

“Indeed,” Murray said, somewhat sardonically. “However, with regard to this ring, might I point out that it bears the Empress’s mark: that tiny pair of interlaced circles.” He pointed with his fork to the mark. “There is no doubt in the world that it belongs to the stolen set.” He glanced up at Charles. “If you would be so kind, sir, where did you obtain this ring?”

“Indeed, Sheridan!” Bradford exclaimed. “Where did you get it? From Mrs. Langtry?” He frowned. “But that’s impossible, since the ring was stolen. Where did you get it?”

“In the safe at the home of Mr. Alfred Day, in Oxford Street.”

“Alfred Day!” Bradford exclaimed. “Good Lord!”

Jack Murray whistled between his teeth. His eyes were gleaming. “So it was Badger who stole those jewels! Or fenced them,” he added. He grinned. “I doubt if the Jersey Lily would have made a gift of the ring to Badger. And in those days, he had not yet taken up bookmaking, so she would not have owed him any money.”

“But she has owed him money more recently,” Charles remarked. “And he seems to have been anxious to collect.” He took a note out of his other pocket. “This morning, I encountered Mrs. Hardaway just coming out of the butcher’s shop. She urgently entreated me to accompany her to Hardaway House so that she could give me this note, which my wife enclosed in one of her own and sent to me yesterday afternoon.” He unfolded the note, which bore evidence of having been crumpled. “Through a series of misadventures,” he added regretfully, “I did not receive it quite as soon as Kate intended.”

“It’s like Kate,” Bradford said with a smile, “to go about discovering intrigue. Who wrote the note?”

“The now-deceased Mr. Day,” Charles replied. “Kate’s maid Amelia found it in the fireplace in Mrs. Langtry’s bedroom.” He held up the note. “It escaped burning, as you can see, because wine was spilled on it-fortunately for us.” He read the note slowly, pausing after each sentence so his hearers could understand its full import. When he had finished, he looked up.

“By Jove!” Bradford let out his breath. “What a crafty old conniver! So the Badger was blackmailing our Gilded Lily! And if he’d succeeded, she would lose her chance at young de Bathe.”

“So it would seem,” Charles agreed. “He also implies that he knows how Edward Langtry died and who stole the jewels-an insinuation confirmed by the ring in his safe, where he was no doubt keeping it in case it proved useful.” He held up the ring so that the stones caught the light. “However, there is something quite interesting about this particular piece of jewelry.”

“I’m sure there is, sir,” Murray said. His eyes, unexpectedly, were twinkling. “Have you had it to a jeweler yet?”

“On my way here,” Charles said. “I stopped to have it examined. And as you have guessed, Jack, the gems are paste.”

“Paste!” Bradford gasped. “You must be joking! The Lily made her reputation on the authenticity of those gems!”

“It’s no joke, sir,” Murray said. “Those of us working the case theorized that the jewelry wasn’t worth anything like what the lady claimed. Nobody but a fool would carry forty thousand pounds worth of diamonds and emeralds and sapphires on those Wild West tours of hers. And while she may not be much of a stage actress, Mrs. Langtry is no fool.”

“But she is hungry for publicity,” Charles said. “Her career depends upon her being constantly in the public eye. The jewels brought her that sort of attention-and plenty of customers. The cowboys and farmers and miners didn’t come to appreciate her acting ability. They came to gawk at her, and at the jewels she wore. As far as she was concerned, the gems were merely stage props. On the other hand,” he continued thoughtfully, “the fact that these jewels are fakes doesn’t mean that she arranged for the substitution. The thief could have done so, and sold the genuine stones for full value.”

“But why would a thief go to the trouble of replacing the real stones with paste?” Bradford said. “He’d simply sell the gems and be done with it. I cast my vote for the Lily.”

“Right,” Murray said. “Anyway, our theory was more or less confirmed when we were tipped by one of her acquaintances to the effect that the gems were worthless-which she denied, of course, when we questioned her about it. She was trying to get the bank to make good the loss at the full forty thousand pounds she was claiming. She settled, I think, for ten.” He added, parenthetically, “If she knew the stuff was real, she’d have held out for more.”

“So Badger either took the tin box from the bank, or was given the jewels to fence,” Bradford said. “At which time, he discovered their true worth.”

“I suspect there’s more to it than that,” Charles said.

“Such as Mrs. Langtry’s staging the theft for the sake of publicity?” Murray asked. “Or to cover up the fact that she’d already sold the gems? Or to defraud the Union Bank?”

“It’s all possible,” Charles said. “It’s also possible that someone else-someone she trusted, perhaps someone she loved-did it without her knowledge. Short of a confession from her or the person who committed the crime, I doubt we will ever know the truth, either about the jewels, or about Langtry’s death.”

Murray frowned. “D’you suppose Badger actually killed Langtry?”

“Anything is possible,” Charles said. He looked up. “All of these alternatives, gentlemen, might add up to a motive for murder.”

“Damn!” Bradford exclaimed. “So we’re back to the Lily again! Did she kill Badger?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Charles replied. “And neither does Kate. In fact, it is her theory that Alfred Day was killed by a man whom Lillie calls by the nickname of Spider, who visited her on Monday afternoon.” He looked at Murray. “Does that name strike any sort of chord with you, Jack?”

“Spider?” Murray frowned. “Not right off, I’m afraid. What makes Lady Sheridan believe that this Spider person killed Badger?”

“Kate told Bradford and me on Monday night that she had overheard a conversation between this man and Mrs. Langtry in which he alluded to a knowledge of the jewel theft and of Edward Langtry’s death. The next day, Kate learned that a parlormaid had observed this same man in the act of opening the drawer where Mrs. Langtry’s gun was kept-which has now turned up missing. The servants apparently know the man only by the name of Spider.”

“Spider,” Bradford said thoughtfully. “Members of the Marlborough Set take a great pleasure in giving one another nicknames. There’s Billy Stomachache, for instance-Lord William Savernake, the Marquess of Aylesbury. And Harty-Tarty, Lord Hartington. And of course, Hugh Lowther, the Earl of Lonsdale, is Lordy to his friends.”

“Can you think of anyone who might be called Spider?” Charles asked.

“I’ve never heard the name.” Bradford frowned. “The only possibility that comes to mind is Reggie Hunt. He lost a great deal of money on his horse Tarantula, whom he fancied for the Derby. But I’ve never heard anyone call him Spider, and I can’t think that he would’ve been involved with the Lily, for heaven’s sake. He’s so… ineffectual.”

“Lord Hunt,” Murray said slowly. “He’s the owner of Gladiator, isn’t he? He’s here in Newmarket -I saw him yesterday.”

Bradford shrugged. “Come to that, I seem to recall that Suggie de Bathe owned a racing yacht called The Black Widow-yet I don’t quite see him stealing the Lily’s gun to shoot Alfred Day. Anyway, Lillie Langtry’s servants would surely know de Bathe.” He appealed to Charles. “Don’t we already have quite enough suspects without adding more to the list?”

“The trick is,” Charles said soberly, thinking of Owen North, “to have the right suspect.” He pulled out his watch and looked at it. “If you’re going to catch the London train, I’m afraid that you’d best be on your way, Bradford. The lovely Edith wouldn’t like to go without you.”