a wrathful glance at the hotel manager and the two detectives--"nobody
has made a single suggestion about finding them!"

Fullaway exchanged looks with the other men. Once more he assumed the
office of spokesman.

"Perhaps you have not told them precisely what it is they're to find," he
suggested. "What is it now, Mademoiselle? The Pinkie Pell necklace for
instance!"

The prima donna, who was already retreating through the door of the
bedroom on whose threshold she had been standing, flashed a scornful look
at her questioner over the point of her white shoulder.

"Pinkie Pell necklace!" she exclaimed. "Everything's gone! The whole lot!
Look at that--not so much as a ring left in it!"

She pointed a slender, quivering finger to a box which stood, lid thrown
open, on a table in the sitting-room, by which the detectives were
standing, open-mouthed, and obviously puzzled. Allerdyke, following the
pointing finger, noted that the box was a very ordinary-looking
affair--a tiny square chest of polished wood, fitted with a brass swing
handle. It might have held a small type-writing machine; it might have
been a medicine chest; it certainly did not look the sort of thing in
which one would carry priceless jewels. But Mademoiselle de Longarde was
speaking again.

"That's what I always carried my jewels in--in their cases," she said.
"And they were all in there when I left Christiania a few days ago, and
that box has never been out of my sight--so to speak--since. And when I