“You know what I’m thinking?” Granddad said. “I’m wondering if we’re not looking at this the wrong way round. You say this bloke’s house is chockablock full of valuable things. He’s a real collector, you say. What if he’s the one what’s been nicking the stuff himself—or at least had other people working for him to nick the stuff?”

“But then how do you explain the necklace, or at least a fake version of it, being returned to me after he was dead?” I asked.

“Because whoever was working for him got cold feet, or decided to make off with the real necklace themselves?”

“It’s possible,” I agreed.

“On the other hand,” Commissaire Germain said, “if a fake necklace has been substituted for a real one, it is possible that Sir Toby had similarly been a victim of such a switch. You say the young woman was seen carrying something beneath her jacket, no? What if she was replacing a stolen object with a replica, so that nobody would ever know?”

He looked at us and we nodded agreement.

“Then the first thing to do is to try to find this mystery girl,” Vera said. “Someone who looks remarkably like Georgie.”

“It may not be so easy. She will surely have been in disguise—wearing a wig and maybe having made up her face to look different too,” Germain said.

“I know that she was seen on a bicycle in a particular section of Nice so I thought I might find myself a bicycle and wheel it around the neighborhood. If she lives nearby, then maybe someone will recognize me.”

“Capital idea,” Germain said, “and you know what I would wish to do first? I would like to take a look for myself at the crime scene. Can you show me the way?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “There are police stationed outside the house to guard it. But perhaps they would let you in if you told them who you were.”

“I would prefer that they not know at this moment,” he said. “Let us gain entry with a little subterfuge.”

“Breaking and entering, you mean?” Granddad asked. “I don’t know about that. Not with the Frenchie police.”

“We will think of something,” Germain said. “Perhaps—” But before he could finish the sentence there were raised voices in the hallway and a flustered maid announced the arrival of Inspector Lafite. The little man swept in, looking around like a bloodhound on a scent.

“You English—is it your wish to keep me on the toes, as you say? First the necklace is stolen and now it is returned, but no—it is not the same necklace, it is a forgery.”

“That is correct,” Vera said coldly.