“Oh, yes, ma’am. I do know that.”

“They give me great solace. I am particularly fond of my collection of snuffboxes. Such delicate little things, aren’t they? Such exquisite workmanship.”

Again I nodded.

“A valuable snuffbox is missing from my collection, Georgiana.”

“Stolen, you mean?”

“I’m rather afraid so.”

“Isn’t that a matter for the police?”

She shook her head firmly. “I can’t mention this to the police. It’s too embarrassing. You see, the snuffboxes were on display in one of the niches in the Music Room. Two weeks ago we held a large reception there for the New Year Honors. Shortly afterward, I noticed one of the boxes was missing. So the choice of culprit is either one of the servants or one of the guests at our reception. I have conducted a secret investigation of the servants, but those who were in attendance that night have all been with us for some time and have impeccable backgrounds. Which leaves only one conclusion—a person who attended that elite gathering made off with one of my snuffboxes. It wouldn’t be too hard to do. It’s not like a formal dinner where everyone is seated. The crowd mills around. And especially as His Majesty and I moved through the crowd, all eyes would have been on us.”

“How terrible, ma’am. To think that one of us is a common thief.”

“I’m afraid that weakness shows up in all classes, Georgiana. Your own forebears did not always lead exemplary lives, did they? They kept mistresses and cheated at cards. But on this particular occasion the audience was not composed entirely of the aristocracy. There were entertainers and captains of industry among them. The recipients of those New Year Honors.”

I nodded. “Do you have your suspicions?”

“It had to have been a real connoisseur who took the box. There were much flashier ones in the collection—more ornate but not nearly as valuable. The person who took this recognized the box for what it was and took it to complete his own collection, I am sure.”

“So there’s no likelihood of the box being resold, then.”

“Unless it was stolen on behalf of someone else who had offered a large sum of money for it—and even then it would never appear on the open market, so I’d have no hope of retrieving it.”

“You think it has gone to the Riviera, ma’am?”

She sighed. “It could be sitting on any mantelpiece in Birmingham, for all I know, but the only person on that guest list who truly fits the bill is Sir Toby Groper and he remarked to me that he was off back to his villa in Nice immediately after the reception.”

“Sir Toby Groper—he owns Britannia Motors, doesn’t he?”