"I gave it to you just now."
Miss Nunn looked behind her and in front of her, eyed her gray silk
_pochette_, and then slowly drew up a large purple silk bag that was
reposing on the ground beside her. She began to turn the contents out
slowly on the table, much to Mr. Satterthwaite's interest.
There was a powder puff, a lipstick, a small jewel case, a skein of
wool, another powder puff, two handkerchiefs, a box of chocolate
creams, an enameled paper knife, a mirror, a little dark brown wooden
box, five letters, a walnut, a small square of mauve crepe de Chine,
a piece of ribbon, and the end of a _croissant_. Last of all came the
preserved pineapple.
"_Eureka_," murmured Mr. Satterthwaite softly.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Nothing," said Mr. Satterthwaite hastily. "What a charming paper
knife."
"Yes, isn't it? Somebody gave it to me. I can't remember who."
"That's an Indian box," remarked Mr. Tomlinson. "Ingenious little
things, aren't they?"
"Somebody gave me that too," said Miss Nunn. "I've had it a long time.
It used always to stand on my dressing-table at the theater. I don't
think it's very pretty, though, do you?"
The box was of plain dark brown wood. It pushed open from the side. On
the top of it were two plain flaps of wood that could be turned round
and round.
"Not pretty perhaps," said Mr. Tomlinson with a chuckle. "But I'll bet
you've never seen one like it."
Mr. Satterthwaite leaned forward. He had an excited feeling. "Why did
you say it was ingenious?" he demanded.
"Well, isn't it?"
The judge appealed to Miss Nunn. She looked at him blankly.
"I suppose I mustn't show them the trick of it--eh?"
Miss Nunn still looked blank.
"What trick?" asked Mr. Judd.
"God bless my soul, don't you know?"
He looked round the inquiring faces.
"Fancy that now. May I have the box a minute? Thank you."
He pushed it open.
"Now then, can anyone give me something to put in it--not too big.
Here's a small piece of Gruyère cheese. That will do capitally. I place
it inside, shut the box."
He fumbled for a minute or two with his hands.
"Now see--"
He opened the box again. It was empty.
"Well, I never," said Mr. Judd. "How do you do it?"
"It's quite simple. Turn the box upside down, and move the left-hand
flap halfway round, then shut the right-hand flap. Now to bring our
piece of cheese back again we must reverse that. The right-hand flap
halfway round, and the left one closed, still keeping the box upside
down. And now--Hey, presto!"
The box slid open. A gasp went round the table. The cheese was
there--but so was something else. A round thing that blinked forth
every color of the rainbow.
"_My opal!_"
It was a clarion note. Rosina Nunn stood upright, her hands clasped to
her breast.
"My opal! But how did it get there?"
Henry Judd cleared his throat. "I--er--I rather think, Rosy, my girl,
you must have put it there yourself."
Someone got up from the table and blundered out into the air. It was
Naomi Carlton-Smith. Mr. Quin followed her.
"But when? Do you mean--"
Mr. Satterthwaite watched her while the truth dawned on her. It took
over two minutes before she got it.
"You mean last year--at the theater."
"You know," said Henry apologetically. "You _do_ fiddle with things,
Rosy. Look at you with the caviar today."
Miss Nunn was painfully following out her mental processes. "I just
slipped it in without thinking, and then I suppose I turned the box
about and did the thing by accident, but then--but then--" At last
it came. "But then Alec Gerard didn't steal it after all. Oh!"--a
full-throated cry, poignant, moving--"how dreadful!"
"Well," said Mr. Vyse, "that can be put right now."
"Yes, but he's been in prison a year." And then she startled them. She
turned sharply on the Duchess. "Who is that girl--that girl who has
just gone out?"
"Miss Carlton-Smith," said the Duchess, "was engaged to Mr. Gerard.
She--took the thing very hard."
Mr. Satterthwaite stole softly away. The snow had stopped. Naomi was
sitting on the stone wall. She had a sketchbook in her hand, and some
colored crayons were scattered round. Mr. Quin was standing beside her.
She held out the sketchbook to Mr. Satterthwaite. It was a very rough
affair--but it had genius. A kaleidoscopic whirl of snowflakes with a
figure in the center.
"Very good," said Mr. Satterthwaite.
Mr. Quin looked up at the sky. "The storm is over," he said. "The roads
will be slippery, but I do not think there will be any accident--now."
"There will be no accident," said Naomi. Her voice was charged with
some meaning that Mr. Satterthwaite did not understand. She turned and
smiled at him--a sudden dazzling smile. "Mr. Satterthwaite can drive
back with me if he likes."
He knew then to what length desperation had driven her.
"Well," said Mr. Quin, "I must bid you good-by."
He moved away.
"Where is he going?" said Mr. Satterthwaite, staring after him.
"Back where he came from, I suppose," said Naomi in an odd voice.
"But--but there isn't anything there," said Mr. Satterthwaite, for Mr.
Quin was making for that spot on the edge of the cliff where they had
first seen him. "You know you said yourself it was the world's end."
He handed back the sketchbook.
"It's very good," he said. "A very good likeness. But why--er--why did
you put him in fancy dress?"
Her eyes met his for a brief second.
"I see him like that," said Naomi Carlton-Smith.