as it was still in my safe at the Dietz, but he might have seen
the pearls. The fellow must have been hiding close to Mrs. Sands and me,
when we talked, or he wouldn't have known that John Heron had wanted to
buy those pearls! He 'phoned, later, from the Westmorland to Heron, as
you must have guessed from what I 'phoned back. As for Kit, she was in
her room next door when he called Heron up, and heard about his having
pearls to sell; or else she went in to help him pack, and saw them. But
it strikes me that a young woman of her class wouldn't bash a man on the
head, and risk the Chair, for the righteous joy of turning a fortune
over to her pals. No, if she killed Peterson, she killed him because she
wanted the pearls for herself or a 'sweetheart.'"

"There's Churn," said Clo. "He and Kit may be a 'case.' She may have
gone straight to him with the pearls."

"'Churn's' possibly a nickname for that Lorenz Czerny, whose name you
found written on a visiting card," O'Reilly said. "What with that card,
and the memorandum, and Kit's bag, we ought to get on to the track of
the gang. I'm on Mrs. Sands' side now. But I know a private detective
who's worked for clients of mine. He's close as an oyster, and true as a
compass. Chuff may keep his appointment, or he may not. If the real
Kit's turned up and told the truth, perhaps he won't dare, for fear of a
trap. Still, he may, if he's got pluck, and a good disguise--or if the
police have nothing 'on' him. The gang won't want the false Kit to get
away with what she knows if the real one's true to them. And they'll be
eager to see whom they're up against. That's why I should like to have
Denham--the detective--on the spot."

"Would that be the best way to get the pearls?" asked Clo.

"Can you suggest a better one?"

"Not on the spur of the moment."

"It's on the spur of the moment we must decide."

"Well--'phone Denham."

"I will," said O'Reilly. "I think I ought to get him now unless he's on
some job. I'll be back in a few minutes. There's no danger of serious
trouble for you here."

"I'm used to taking care of myself," said Clo. The hot, strong coffee
had brought a faint colour to her face, and she looked up with one of
those "cheeky" grins of hers, such as his "cousin" had given him at the
Dietz. O'Reilly went away bewitched with the creature, absorbed in her.
She had done so much for the love of a woman. What would she do for love
of a man?

He had to go upstairs to th