“She is–unique,” he said.
“But the second thing that interested me was your mention of a certain lady.” “Really?” “Yesa Miss Joanna Southwood. You see, I had recently been hearing that name.” He paused and went on.
“For the last three years there have been certain jewel robberies that have been worrying Scotland Yard a good deal. They are what may be described as Society robberies. The method is usually the same–the substitution of au imitation piece ofjewellery for an original. My friend, Chief Inspector Japp, came to the conclusion that the robberies were not the work of one person, but of two people working in with each other very cleverly. He was convinced, from the considerable inside knowledge displayed, that the robberies were tlae work of people in a good social position. And finally his attention became riveted on Miss Joanna Southwood. Every one of the victims had been either a friend or acquaintance of hers, and in each case she had either handled or been lent the piece of jewellery in question. Also, her style of living was far in excess of her income. On the other hand it was quite clear that the actual robbery–that is to say, the substitution had not been accomplished by her. In some cases she had even been out of England during the period when the jewellery must have been replaced. So gradually a little picture grew up in Chief Inspector Japp’s fnind. Miss Southwood was at one time associated with a Guild of Modern Jewellery. He suspected that she handled the jewels in question, made accurate drawings of them, got them copied by some humble but dishonest working jeweller and that the third part of the operation was the successful substitution by another person–somebody who could have been proved never to have handled the jewels and never to have had anything to do with copies or imitations of precious stones. Of the identity of this other person Japp was ignorant.
“Certain things that fell from you in conversation interested me. A ring that had disappeared when you were in Majorca–the fact that you had been in a house-party where one of these fake substitutions had occurred, your close association with Miss Southwood. There was also the fact that you obviously resented my presence and tried to get your mother to be less friendly towards me. at might, of course, have been just personal dislike but I thought not. You were too anxious to try and hide your distaste under a genial manner.
“Eh bien after the murder of Linnet Doyle it is discovered that her pearls are missing. You comprehend, at once I think of you! But I am not quile satisfied.
For if you are working, as I suspect, with Miss Southwood (who was an intimate friend of Mrs. Doyle’s) then substitution would be the method employed–not barefaced theft. But then, the pearls quite unexpectedly are returned ad what do I discover. That they are not genuine but imitation.
“I know then who the real thief is. It was the imitation string which was stolen and returned–an imitation which you had previously substituted for the real necklace.”
He looked at the young man in front of him. Tim was white under his tan. He was not so good a fighter as Pennington his stamina was bad. He sid with an effort to sustain his mocking manner:
“Indeed? And if so, what did I do with them?”
“That I know also.”
The young man’s face changed–broke up.
Poirot went on slowly.
“There is only one place where they can be. I have reflected, and my reason tells me that that is so. Those pearls, Mr. Allerton, are concealed in a rosary that hangs in your cabin. The beads of it are very elaborately carved. I thinl you had it made specially. Those beads unscrew though you would never think sO to look at them. Inside each is a pearl, stuck with seccotine. Most police searchers respect religious symbols unless there is something obviously queer about them–you counted on that. I endeavoured to find out how Miss Southwood sent the imitation necklace out to you. She must have done so, since you came here from Majorca on hearing that Mrs. Doyle would be here for her honeymoon. My theory is that it was sent in a book a square hole being cut out of the pages in the mid6tle. A book goes with the ends open and is practically never opened in the post.”