enigma. Whoever stole the diamonds had had to get rid of them in a hurry. Emma Kelling’s happening to show up on the ferry with a satchelful of fake jewels had offered a chance to work the old purloined-letter trick.
She’d read in the paper not long ago that there were more multimillionaires in Maine than anywhere else in the United States, notwithstanding the fact that Maine was by no means a wealthy state by and large. They would be chiefly part-time residents like the Sabines, Emma surmised, weekenders and vacationers who came and went as the mood took them. It would not be too farfetched to visualize one of those super-rich women taking the ferry on a whim in the old Blue Train manner with a jewel case and a light-fingered maid or else with a husband whose millions were less multi than he was anxious to make his business associates keep on believing. This amazing discovery might be evidence of outright theft or of an insurance fraud in the making. Emma didn’t care which; her sole concern just now was how to get rid of it.
Was this her only problem, as if it weren’t enough? She laid the dog collar on the bed, fetched the long hatpin she’d worn on the boat to anchor her long-cherished panama, and began probing the bag’s lining. To her relief, she failed to strike pay dirt again. To steady her nerves, she went back to sorting out the Iolanthe pieces. Some of the sets were incomplete, but that didn’t surprise her. They’d been lent around so many times that it was a marvel the Pirates hadn’t lost them all.
None of these blatant fakes could have functioned as a plausible substitute for that gold digger’s dream. Emma supposed a couple might possibly have been stuffed into the jewel case, supposing there was one, in order to bring it back to the correct weight after the collar was taken out. For no special reason, she picked up the Fairy Queen’s necklace she’d chosen for herself so many years ago, doubled it into a neat package, and stuffed it under the lining whence she’d drawn out the dog collar. Then, suddenly disgusted with the whole business, she jumbled the rest of the stuff in on top of it and closed the bag as best she could.
The plan, she assumed, had been for an accomplice to collect the bag from the men’s room. Somebody might be feeling pretty sick about now because Count Radunov had got to it first. Unless, of course, Radunov himself was the accomplice. He could have made the pickup any time while she was asleep and decided only after that next-to-last stop that it would be safer to let her carry the Gladstone bag off the ferry herself. He’d have gambled on the assumption that a silly woman who’d let herself be drugged and temporarily robbed in full daylight aboard a busy ferryboat wouldn’t have the brains to notice there’d been an addition to her imitation dragon’s hoard before he found the chance to steal the necklace back again.
Well, Emma knew how to deal with that. Adelaide Sabine had confided to her the whereabouts of a wall safe that even Vincent was supposed not to know about. Emma thought he probably did, but he probably wouldn’t know the combination; he wouldn’t suppose Mrs. Kelling had anything special to put in it, and he wasn’t likely to come snooping anyway. She put on her blue robe and found a pair of soft-soled slippers. It mightn’t be wise to go clacking about in her mules.
Nor did she feel like turning on a light in Adelaide’s bedroom, not even a flashlight. Ted and Neil might still be doing their rounds outside, or one of the cottagers could be taking a pre-bedtime stroll. The windows were large and the moon was close to full; she’d be able to see well enough. Emma turned off her own light, put the dog collar in the pocket of her robe, and went into the only other bedroom on the floor.
Hers was good-sized, but the one Adelaide and her late spouse had occupied was enormous. Mr. Sabine’s bed had never been taken away; it stood complete with its
She’d read in the paper not long ago that there were more multimillionaires in Maine than anywhere else in the United States, notwithstanding the fact that Maine was by no means a wealthy state by and large. They would be chiefly part-time residents like the Sabines, Emma surmised, weekenders and vacationers who came and went as the mood took them. It would not be too farfetched to visualize one of those super-rich women taking the ferry on a whim in the old Blue Train manner with a jewel case and a light-fingered maid or else with a husband whose millions were less multi than he was anxious to make his business associates keep on believing. This amazing discovery might be evidence of outright theft or of an insurance fraud in the making. Emma didn’t care which; her sole concern just now was how to get rid of it.
Was this her only problem, as if it weren’t enough? She laid the dog collar on the bed, fetched the long hatpin she’d worn on the boat to anchor her long-cherished panama, and began probing the bag’s lining. To her relief, she failed to strike pay dirt again. To steady her nerves, she went back to sorting out the Iolanthe pieces. Some of the sets were incomplete, but that didn’t surprise her. They’d been lent around so many times that it was a marvel the Pirates hadn’t lost them all.
None of these blatant fakes could have functioned as a plausible substitute for that gold digger’s dream. Emma supposed a couple might possibly have been stuffed into the jewel case, supposing there was one, in order to bring it back to the correct weight after the collar was taken out. For no special reason, she picked up the Fairy Queen’s necklace she’d chosen for herself so many years ago, doubled it into a neat package, and stuffed it under the lining whence she’d drawn out the dog collar. Then, suddenly disgusted with the whole business, she jumbled the rest of the stuff in on top of it and closed the bag as best she could.
The plan, she assumed, had been for an accomplice to collect the bag from the men’s room. Somebody might be feeling pretty sick about now because Count Radunov had got to it first. Unless, of course, Radunov himself was the accomplice. He could have made the pickup any time while she was asleep and decided only after that next-to-last stop that it would be safer to let her carry the Gladstone bag off the ferry herself. He’d have gambled on the assumption that a silly woman who’d let herself be drugged and temporarily robbed in full daylight aboard a busy ferryboat wouldn’t have the brains to notice there’d been an addition to her imitation dragon’s hoard before he found the chance to steal the necklace back again.
Well, Emma knew how to deal with that. Adelaide Sabine had confided to her the whereabouts of a wall safe that even Vincent was supposed not to know about. Emma thought he probably did, but he probably wouldn’t know the combination; he wouldn’t suppose Mrs. Kelling had anything special to put in it, and he wasn’t likely to come snooping anyway. She put on her blue robe and found a pair of soft-soled slippers. It mightn’t be wise to go clacking about in her mules.
Nor did she feel like turning on a light in Adelaide’s bedroom, not even a flashlight. Ted and Neil might still be doing their rounds outside, or one of the cottagers could be taking a pre-bedtime stroll. The windows were large and the moon was close to full; she’d be able to see well enough. Emma turned off her own light, put the dog collar in the pocket of her robe, and went into the only other bedroom on the floor.
Hers was good-sized, but the one Adelaide and her late spouse had occupied was enormous. Mr. Sabine’s bed had never been taken away; it stood complete with its
Similar Books
