"That is dated April the seventh?" inquired Mr Carlyle, busy with pencil and pocket-book. "April seventh," repeated the Manager, noting this conscientiousness with an approving glance and then turning to regard questioningly the indifferent attitude of his other visitor. "That put us on our guard--naturally. Wrote by return regretting the necessity and suggesting that a line to her bankers, authorizing them to show us the necklace, would meet the case and save her any personal trouble. Interval of a week. Her reply, April sixteenth. Thursday last. Circumstances have altered her plans and she has returned to London sooner than she expected. Her jewel-case has been returned from the bank, and will we send our man round--'our man,' Mr Carlyle!--on Saturday morning not later than twelve, please." The Manager closed the record book, with a sweep of his hand cleared his desk for revelations, and leaning forward in his chair fixed Mr Carlyle with a pragmatic eye. "On Saturday Mr Bellitzer goes to Luneburg Mansions and the Hon. Mrs Straithwaite shows him the necklace. He examines it carefully, assesses its insurable value up to five thousand, two hundred and fifty pounds, and reports us to that effect. But he reports something else, Mr Carlyle. It is not the necklace that the lady had insured." "Not the necklace?" echoed Mr Carlyle. "No. In spite of the number of pearls and a general similarity there are certain technical differences, well known to experts, that made the fact indisputable. The Hon. Mrs Straithwaite has been guilty of misrepresentation. Possibly she has no fraudulent intention. We are willing to pay to find out. That's your business." Mr Carlyle made a final note and put away his book with an air of decision that could not fail to inspire confidence. "To-morrow," he said, "we shall perhaps be able to report something." "Hope so," vouchsafed the Manager. "'Morning." From his position near the window, Carrados appeared to wake up to the fact that the interview was over. "But so far," he remarked blandly, with his eyes towards the great man in the chair, "you have told us nothing of the theft." The Manager regarded the speaker dumbly for a moment and then turned to Mr Carlyle. "What does he mean?" he demanded pungently. But for once Mr Carlyle's self-possession had forsaken him. He recognized that somehow Carrados had been guilty of an appalling lapse, by which his reputation for prescience was wrecked in that quarter for ever, and at the catastrophe his very ears began to exude embarrassment. In the awkward silence Carrados himself seemed to recognize that something was amiss. "We appear to be at cross-purposes," he observed. "I inferred that the disappearance of the necklace would be the essence of our investigation."