“My dear boy, I must remark on the sharpness of your eyes—yes, and on the imagination shown in your guesswork. You’re right, I was somewhat worried. I knew, you see, that the unfortunate Ivan had seen the collection. The Princess told me so—not in the pleasantest manner, I fear—but you’ve thought of all that for yourself. If he had got wind of my visit, perhaps even been told of what had happened, and had pressed a claim—”

“Why didn’t you ask a solicitor?”

“But my dear fellow! Suppose my solicitor had told me I’d no right to it—he would have known I had it—”

“Look! They’ve stopped,” said Brett.

“Come on, dear boy!” cried Majendie, suddenly shooting forward with such vigour that Brett was almost pulled over. “I must be in at the kill.”

“This snow—” began Brett, then stopped. He had been going to comment on the facility now shown by Majendie in getting through it. But how many, and how shocking, had been the remarks of his which Majendie had magnanimously overlooked! “It reminds me of a paperweight,” he concluded tamely.

“Paperweight?” Majendie appeared to prick up his ears in the midst of his headlong flight.

“You know, the sort you pick up and shake to make a snowstorm inside.”

“Ah yes,” said Majendie indulgently, “charming, charming. Well, my dear Miss Cole?”

They had come up with the others. Mr. Cole and the Superintendent were grovelling in the snow. Stephanie held one torch and Beddoes two.

“Found the place?” asked Brett.

Stephanie flicked her hair. “Sergeant Beddoes noticed the snow was disturbed,” she said coldly.

“Well, it would have been different if there’d been another fall since you buried it,” said Beddoes, with astounding humility.

“Aha!” said the Superintendent, “here’s a strike. Steady on, the lights. Some more off your end, Cole, old man. That’s it—up she rises! Now, sir, is this your property?”

He held out the little dressing case.

“Yes, indeed it is,” said Majendie, seizing it with joyous lack of ceremony. “Will you allow me one moment? I must reassure myself—”

Holding the case in one hand, he dipped with the other into a pocket inside his coat, and brought out a small key. He poked away a clot of snow which was blocked between the handle and the lock, inserted the key, and opened the case, revealing a watered silk sponge bag. He removed this. Underneath, bedded in cotton wool, lay a grey velvet egg-shaped box, some five inches long.

“Ah!” Majendie’s sigh of relief was long and deep. He laid back the sponge bag.

“Oh wait,” said Brett quickly, “don’t you think you’d better make sure?”

“My dear boy—here?”

“It’s as safe as anywhere.”