“What burglar is this, sir?” the sheriff asked, suddenly alert.

“I was sent from England on the trail of a jewel thief—someone who moves with ease in upper-class society, who knows their ways, who might be one of them. A valuable ruby was stolen on the ship crossing the Atlantic and the thief tried to negotiate its sale with a well-known gangster. The letter was intercepted and it was posted in Los Angeles. That’s why I’m here. I suspected that Mr. Goldman’s recent acquisitions might be of interest.”

“And you have your suspicions as to who this thief might be?”

“Between ourselves I suspected Stella Brightwell, but now Georgie has proven that she didn’t kill Mr. Goldman. . . .”

“That doesn’t necessarily prove she wasn’t the thief,” the sheriff said, wagging a finger at us with animation. “Perhaps we’re looking at two different crimes here. She sneaked a candlestick up to her room. Someone else wanted Goldman out of the way and knowing that a candlestick was missing it seemed like an opportune moment to strike—making it look as if the thief was also the killer.”

“You know, Sheriff, that’s not bad,” Darcy said.

“So you reckon I should keep Miss Brightwell locked up a little longer?”

“I think it might be wise. And also might make the murderer let down his guard if he thinks he’s not your prime suspect.”

“Right, then. Well, I appreciate your help, young man. And you too, Lady Georgiana.”

“And I may be able to help you even more,” Darcy said. “There is one of the party that we’re not sure about. He may be who he claims to be, and maybe not. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to drive back to Los Angeles and send a cable to Scotland Yard. By tonight I should have an answer.”

“By all means.” The sheriff was now quite affable to us. “I’ll let the guys at the gate know that you have my permission to leave.”

“Right, then.” Darcy gave me a grin. “I’d better get going.”

“I think I’ll ride down to the gate with you,” I said as I accompanied him to the garage on the far side of the house. “I’d like to take a look at the gate and the fence for myself. Just to see if it might be possible for a clever person to find a way in or out. You said yourself that your cat burglar could walk on ledges and cross roofs. Perhaps he can also scale barbed-wire-tipped fences?”

“You’ll be all right walking back on your own?” he asked. “It’s quite a long way.”

“I could do with a good walk,” I said. “And there is a road, after all. I expect the animals stay among the trees.”