"I have been robbed of a pearl necklace," she said with an air of
infinite sadness.
I did not need to be told that there was more in this than the ordinary
actress'-stolen-jewels case. Irma Hamerton didn't need that kind of
advertising. She was morbidly anxious that there should be no
advertising in this.
"It was a single strand of sixty-seven black pearls ranging in size
from a currant down to a pea. They were perfectly matched, and each
stone had a curious, bluish cast, which is, I believe, quite rare. As
jewels go nowadays, it was not an exceptionally valuable necklace,
worth about twenty-six thousand dollars. It represented my entire
savings. I have a passion for pearls. These were exceptionally
perfect and beautiful. They were the result of years of search and
selection. Jewellers call them blue pearls. I will show you what they
looked like."
She went into the adjoining room for a moment, returning with a string
of dusky, gleaming pearls hanging from her hand. They were lovely
things. My unaccustomed eyes could not distinguish the blue in them
until she pointed it out. It was like the last gleam of light in the
evening sky.
"The lost necklace was exactly like this," she said.
"Had you two?" I asked in surprise.