“Whether he’ll sell?” Nightingale paused. Basing his judgment on Majendie’s behaviour and a knowledge of his commercial and social status, he had decided that Majendie was either right in the thick of the Hampstead people or completely innocent; no half measures. If he was involved, to tell him of the robbery would occasion him no more than secret amusement at the expense of the police; it would be no indiscreet revelation. If, as Nightingale considered rather more likely, Majendie was innocent, then he was of the sort reliable in co-operation. Discretion, being habitual with him, would scarcely need to be appealed to.

“I’m afraid,” said Nightingale, “that the Princess’s treasures are no longer at Bright’s Row.”

Majendie’s eyes widened immediately. He certainly looked surprised; yet Nightingale would have sworn that his first fleeting reaction was again, inexplicably, one of relief.

“Not there?” he said, puzzled. “But he can’t have sold already! She hadn’t the remotest intention—regrettable as it all seemed—of letting him touch it. Ah—” He smiled wryly. “Unless, indeed, we have both overestimated the influence of Petersburg!”

“You’re thinking that she’d approached other firms than yours, and had silently accepted a better offer? But we have reason to believe that she was robbed.”

There followed what was for Majendie quite a long silence.

“Shocking,” he said at last, “profoundly shocking. But, tell me, was her death—natural?”

“We don’t know,” said Nightingale. He paused. “But could you tell me, in detail, what she had? It would help us, to know what’s been taken, and if we should recover—”

“Quite so, quite so. I made a few rough notes while I was at Bright’s Row, though I could remember the more outstanding items. I drew up a full list for my partners, but unfortunately I haven’t it by me. It’s at the office. You wanted to see it tonight?”

Nightingale hesitated. There was a risk. He decided to take it. “No, thank you,” he said, “tomorrow morning will be soon enough. When may I call?”

“My dear sir, at any time.”

“Thank you. Could you also give a rough valuation?”

Mr. Majendie darted one of his sharp glances at Nightingale. “Why do you ask for that?”

“Because,” explained Nightingale, incredulous that Majendie should need telling, “if there’s a reward offered, someone may inform. We can’t offer the reward, obviously, but we could co-operate with a firm of—”

“Of course, of course. But surely Ivan Karukhin would be prepared to indemnify—” Mr. Majendie stopped to look inquiringly at Nightingale, who said nothing. Mr. Majendie’s face grew thoughtful. “Well, well, no matter,” he said. “You shall have a valuation.”

“An estimate from memory would be enough.” Nightingale paused. “You spoke of a treasure,” he reminded Majendie quietly, “and of a considerable undertaking.”