The Closing Net. Henry Cottrell Rowland

When she looked for them this morning they were gone. That's all."

      He smoked sulkily, staring out through the window.

      "What have you done about it?" I asked.

      "Nothing," he snapped, "what was there to do? Edith would not let me——" he stopped short and got red.

      "Edith would not let you notify the police," I said. "Of course she wouldn't. What would be the use, after you have taken a felon into your family? The prefect would laugh at you and say it served you right. The thief knew that."

      ​I got on my feet and reached for my hat.

      "Let's go down to the house," I said, "I want to look around."

      John got up and we went out and whirled down to the Boulevard des Invalides. Neither of us spoke until we reached the Place de la Concorde. Then said I:

      "John, I know what has happened to those pearls and I don't despair of getting them back. Not by a whole lot."

      He gave me a startled look. "Well?" he asked.

      "Some of my ex-pals know how you saved me from the law," said I, "and that I stopped for awhile in your house. They also know that your wife has fine jewels. Somebody has sized up the proposition for an easy one, knowing that you could hardly go to the police. Also, the thief counts on your suspecting me. Do you?"

      John looked away. "Oh, no—not a bit," he answered, hesitating a trifle.

      "I'm glad of that," said I; and added: "was Kharkoff playing last night, as usual?"

      "Yes," growled John, "worse luck."

      "You lost?"

      He gave me a quick look, then grunted: "Oh, a trifle."

      Neither of us spoke until we reached the house, where we found Edith and Miss Dalghren on the terrace. The girl's face was pale and I thought she seemed a little embarrassed at seeing me. But Edith's clear, steady eyes were as steady as ever, and she gave me a good grip of the hand.

      "This is horrid, Frank," said she. "It makes ​me wish that there were no such things as jewels. But I have told Mary that she is not to worry; that we have a member of the family who is worth a whole bureau of detectives."

      A cynical sort of grin spread over John's self-indulgent mouth.

      "You are right, Edith," I said. "I told John a little while ago that I could locate those pearls, and so I can."

      "Do you know who stole them?" asked Mary Dalghren, with a straight look.

      "I think so," I answered. "Now I want to ask you some questions. You went to dine at the Billings last night and wore your pearls. Who and what are the Billings?"

      "They are rich Americans who have come over here to educate their daughters. They live on the Avenue de Bois."

      "Are they aristocratic people?" I asked.

      The two women exchanged glances.

      "Hardly that," answered Miss Dalghren, hesitatingly, "Mr. Billings is rather a common man who has made a big fortune in ready-made clothes, or something of the sort. His wife is ordinary, but kind and well meaning. She is very ambitious socially."

      "How about their guests?" I asked. "How many were there and what were they like?"

      There were twelve, only four of whom I had ever met before. Two or three of them I thought rather queer."

      "Could you describe a few of the men?" I asked. "There were a few titles, I suppose?"

      ​She smiled. "They were all titled, I think. Barons and counts and princes and a general or two. Naturally, the one I remember the best is the man who took me out. He was Italian, I think, or possibly a Pole. Just before we went in Mrs. Billings took me aside and said: 'You have made a conquest, my dear. Captain Schlossberg was to have taken you out, but a man has just begged so hard for you that I must give you to him,' and she pointed out a handsome man who looked like an Italian. He was tall and slender, with thick black hair and a black moustache, waxed at the tips."

      "What was his name?"

      "I did not catch his last name, but during the dinner one of the other men called him 'Ivan.'

      "Ivan," I repeated, as if to fix the name in my mind. "Now," I said, "can you remember what you talked about?"

      "At dinner we talked principally about music," she answered. "He was very well informed and appeared to know most of the artists and composers. Also, he seemed to be acquainted with a good many nice people here in Paris."

      "What happened after dinner?" I asked.

      "There was a girl who sang. Then my dinner partner played some Hungarian folk-songs and sang one or two. He had rather a nice voice. At the end I played the harp. When I had finished, my dinner partner brought me some orangeade. There was some sort of liqueur in it, I think, and I did not like the taste, but the room was hot and I was thirsty and drank it all. Shortly after that I came home. ​Thérèse, Edith's maid, was waiting for me in the motor."

      "And when you got home——?"

      "Edith had gone to bed and John had not come in. I did not want to disturb Edith, as she has been sleeping poorly, so I put the pearls in the drawer of my toilet table and dropped the key in one of my stockings. I don't think that I was ever so sleepy in my life, and when I woke up I had a splitting headache, which I put down to that nasty sweet orangeade and the stuff in it."

      "Thank you," said I. "That's quite enough, Miss Dalghren."

      "Have you got a clue?" asked John.

      "I have," I answered.

      "And you think that you can get back the pearls?"

      "Yes," I answered, and turned to Edith. "Are your pearls safe?" I asked.

      Edith nodded. "I haven't looked," said she, "but it's not necessary. I opened the safe to get Mary's out last night and mine were there. I did not leave the room after that, as I was not feeling well, and had my dinner in bed. Nobody could have come into the room during the night because—because I did not go to sleep."

      "Not at all?" I asked quickly.

      "Not a wink," she confessed, and the colour came into her cheeks. "I heard every quarter from the clocks at St. Francois Xavier and the Invalides."

      "In that case," said I, guessing why she had not slept, "it's as you say hardly worth while to look. ​Now I will say au'voir, as there is no time to lose if I want to get the pearls."

      So I went out and jumped into the little car and started back up town alone. The whole business was pretty plain to me, but there were a few details I wanted to study out. Ivan, as you may remember, was the man who had given me the job of stealing Edith's jewels. He was the chief executive of the Paris mob of thieves, some of whom I had met that night at Léontine's house in Passy. Ivan never did any of the active work. He was a clubman and diner-out, and when he was asked to some rich house he looked things over, and if the proposition seemed a good one, assigned it to some worker who robbed the house and turned over the swag to Ivan who disposed of it, deducting his percentage. If the job went wrong and the burglar got caught, there was a fund to defend him. Ivan kept his hands clean and was always in some conspicuous place on the night of the theft.

      So far, all was clear as spring-water. The next thing was to find out who had the pearls at the present moment. The more I thought of this, the more I became convinced that the disposition of jewels stolen by the mob was Léontine's work. Léontine was undoubtedly the fence. Being under the protectorship of Kharkoff, who was fabulously rich, she might be expected to have valuable jewels, and these she might also be expected to dispose of, for various reasons common to women of her position. Her words to me at Bagatelle crossed my mind: "I am a thief on a bigger scale than you ever dreamed of." There was little doubt in my mind that at the ​present moment Léontine had Miss Dalghren's pearls.

      The