With an ejaculation, he handed it to his wife. Then he glanced at my friend.

 

“Just a minute, Monsieur Poirot. I feel you ought to know about this. It’s from

Hoffberg. He thinks he’s found a customer for the diamond—an American, sailing

for the States to-morrow. They’re sending down a chap to-night to vet the stone.

By Jove, though, if this goes through——” Words failed him.

 

Lady Yardly had turned away. She still held the telegram in her hand.

 

“I wish you wouldn’t sell it, George,” she said, in a low voice. “It’s been in

the family so long.” She waited, as though for a reply, but when none came her

face hardened. She shrugged her shoulders. “I must go and dress. I suppose I had

better display ‘the goods.’” She turned to Poirot with a slight grimace. “It’s

one of the most hideous necklaces that was ever designed! George has always

promised to have the stones reset for me, but it’s never been done.” She left

the room.

 

Half an hour later, we three were assembled in the great drawing-room awaiting

the lady. It was already a few minutes past the dinner hour.

 

Suddenly there was a low rustle, and Lady Yardly appeared framed in the doorway,

a radiant figure in a long white shimmering dress.

 

Round the column of her neck was a rivulet of fire. She stood there with one