She paused a moment; then went on with a rush. “If this meant the actual loss of the necklace itself, I’d let it go; let the thief make what he could out of it--rather than turn Judy’s wedding into a beastly dime novel of a detective story. Have it smeared all over the front pages of the newspapers. Isn’t that reason enough why Alec shouldn’t tell the world with a bang what’s happened?” She could hardly have been aware of what she had said, for she started when I quoted her own words back at her. “You said just now that even if it really meant the loss of the necklace you’d let it go. Do you mean that it doesn’t mean that?” She took her time before answering. “I’m absolutely sure it doesn’t,” she said. “Do you _know_ where the necklace is now, Victoria?” “No,” she said hotly, “of course I don’t. Not exactly. But I’m absolutely sure that it’s all right.” “How about Judy?” I asked. “Does she agree with you, genuinely, that it’s best to do nothing about it?” Victoria gave me a rather dry smile. “Judy does,” she said. “You may be perfectly sure of that. Call her up on the phone if you like and ask her.” “No,” I said. “I’ll take your word for it. And I’ll do what I can to bring Alexander around to your way of thinking.” She nodded and got up to go, without, I’m glad to say, embarrassing me by any overwhelming manifestations of gratitude. I wasn’t enthusiastic over what I’d let myself in for. I didn’t believe Victoria was as sure as she pretended to be that the necklace would turn up all right. The start of interest she had betrayed over the idea that Punch might have taken it while walking in his sleep had looked genuine, and Victoria never was much of an actress. If it was genuine, it revealed two things. First, that she hadn’t carried off the necklace herself on that hurried trip to town yesterday, and second, that she didn’t know who had taken it. All she had was a theory, but it must be one in which she felt a good deal of confidence. Whom could that theory concern? It seemed to narrow itself down to Judy. A reduction to absurdity, of course. Why should Judy steal the necklace which her grandmother meant to give her for a wedding present? And yet, why had Judy faked a sprained ankle? Why had she asked her brother whether he’d be on her side whatever she did? Why had she laughed in that queer way when she saw the empty box from which the necklace had been taken? My belief in the child’s honor, in her essential straightness, was impregnable. It had not been in the least shaken by Victoria’s account of her escapade last fall, the running away from the school she had hated--earning her own living by being a waitress in a quick lunch. Good lord!