Mummy nodded in approval when I went to find her. “The duckling is finally growing into a swan,” she said. “The outfit suits you. Did you hear about the burglaries? I’ve been closeted with Stella and Cy all day and my maid has only just told me. Thank God I never travel with my good jewels. How stupid can you be to bring valuable stones on board a ship?”

She was wearing a backless black evening dress that accentuated her still wonderfully slim and boyish figure and sported long white gloves and a delightful little white feather cap on her head. Over one glove she wore a sparkling bracelet. Seeing it gave me an idea. “Mummy, can I possibly wear that tonight? The jet is a bit drab.”

“It’s only costume jewelry, darling.” She pulled it off. “Here, have it.”

I slipped it on. Hoping but not hoping that the thief would think it was real. Off we went to dinner and for once I enjoyed heads turning as we passed. Still no sign of Princess Promila. Mrs. Simpson wore the black beaded dress again, proving that she had nobody on board she needed to impress. The talk was naturally all about today’s robbery.

“They called us all on deck, and of course the robber took that opportunity to strike,” Sir Digby said. “Thank God Lady Digby leaves her good jewelry in the bank when we travel.”

“I can’t imagine anyone traveling with real jewels,” Mrs. Simpson said. “I have paste copies made and leave the real ones at home.”

“Exactly what I do,” Mummy said. “I mean, whom does one need to impress on a ship?”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Mrs. Simpson said.

The two women looked at each other, for one rare occasion on the same side and in agreement.

At a table close by we heard Mrs. Waldeck loudly lamenting her stolen diamond. Dinner ended and we made our way up to the ballroom for the black-and-white ball. Everyone looked rather splendid and seemed to be having a good time. I looked around, hoping that Darcy might have come out of hiding. Instead I saw Algie, heading toward me with a look of determination on his face.

“Care to hop around the floor, old bean?” he said. “It’s a slow number so I won’t tread on your toes too often.”

Pity overtook regard for the safety of my feet. Off we shuffled onto the crowded dance floor.

“So where will you go when we step ashore?” he asked me.

“A couple of days in New York, I gather, and then a train across the country and ending up in Hollywood where my mother might be persuaded to take part in a film. Who knows what she’ll do?”

“Crikey,” he said. “Whiz bang, what? It will be dashed exciting, watching a film being made. I don’t suppose they’ll need any good-looking young British extras, will they?”