Lord Peter Views the Body by Dorothy L. Sayers Page B

morning. Now, this is the trouble. Last year he gave me a magnificent diamond necklace of a hundred and fifteen stones—’
        ‘The Light of Africa – I know,’ said Wimsey.
        She looked a little surprised, but assented. ‘The necklace has been stolen from me, and I can’t hope to conceal the loss from him. No duplicate would deceive him for an instant.’
        She paused and Lord Peter prompted gently:
        ‘You have come to me, I presume, because it is not to be a police matter. Will you tell me quite frankly why?’
        ‘The police would be useless. I know who took it.’
        ‘Yes?’
        ‘There is a man we both know slightly – a man called Paul Melville.’
        Lord Peter’s eyes narrowed. ‘M’m, yes, I fancy I’ve seen him about the clubs. New Army, but transferred himself into the Regulars. Dark. Showy. Bit of an ampelopsis, what?’
        ‘Ampelopsis?’
        ‘Suburban plant that climbs by suction. You know – first year, tender little shoots – second year, fine show – next year, all over the shop. Now tell me I am rude.’
        Mrs Ruyslaender giggled. ‘Now you mention it, he is exactly like an ampelopsis. What a relief to be able to think of him as that. . . . Well, he is some sort of distant relation of my husband’s. He called one evening when I was alone. We talked about jewels, and I brought down my jewel-box and showed him the Light of Africa. He knows a good deal about stones. I was in and out of the room two or three times, but didn’t think to lock up the box. After he left, I was putting the things away, and I opened the jeweller’s case the diamonds were in – and they had gone!’
        ‘H’m – pretty barefaced. Look here, Mrs Ruyslaender, you agree he’s an ampelopsis, but you won’t call in the police. Honestly, now – forgive me; you’re askin’ my advice, you know – is he worth botherin’ about?’
        ‘It’s not that,’ said the woman, in a low tone. ‘Oh, no! But he took something else as well. He took – a portrait – a small painting set with diamonds.’
        ‘Oh!’
        ‘Yes. It was in a secret drawer in the jewel-box. I can’t imagine how he knew it was there, but the box was an old casket, belonging to my husband’s family, and I fancy he must have known about the drawer and – well, thought that investigation might prove profitable. Anyway, the evening the diamonds went, the portrait went too, and he knows I daren’t try to get the necklace back because they’d both be found together.’
        ‘Was there something more than just the portrait, then? A portrait in itself isn’t necessarily hopeless of explanation. It was given you to take care of, say.’
        ‘The names were on it – and – and an inscription which nothing, nothing could ever explain away. A – a passage from Petronius.’
        ‘Oh, dear!’ said Lord Peter, ‘dear me, yes. Rather a lively author.’
        ‘I was married very young,’ said Mrs Ruyslaender, ‘and my husband and I have never got on well. Then one year, when he was in Africa, it all happened. We were wonderful – and shameless. It came to an end. I was bitter. I wish I had not been. He left me, you see, and I couldn’t forgive it. I prayed day and night for revenge. Only now – I don’t want it to be through me!’
        ‘Wait a moment,’ said Wimsey, ‘you mean that, if the diamonds are found and the portrait is found too, all this story is bound to come out.’
        ‘My husband would get a divorce. He would never forgive me – or him. It is not so much that I mind paying the price myself, but—’
        She clenched her hands.
        ‘I have cursed him again and again, and the clever girl who married him. She played her cards so well. This would ruin them both.’
        ‘But if you were the instrument of vengeance,’ said Wimsey gently, ‘you would hate yourself. And it would be terrible to you because he would hate