“Certainly not. The jewels are in my pockets. If you recollect, I said it was the jewel-case that was stolen.”

I began to smile.

“Mr. Foster,” she said, smiling too, “I am extremely angry.”

“Forgive the joke,” I entreated. “Perhaps it is a bad one — but I hope not a very bad one, because very bad jokes are inexcusable. And here are your jewels.”

I put on the expression of a peccant but hopeful schoolboy, as I emptied one pocket after another of the scintillating treasures. The jewels lay, a gorgeous heap, on her lap. The necklace which she had particularly mentioned was of pearls. There were also rubies and emeralds, upon which she seemed to set special