And then (it seemed most astonishing!) nothing happened. The net outcome
of all this fuss and fluster was precisely _nil_. With the collapse of
the flimsy structure of prejudice and suspicion in which Manvers had
sought to trap Iff, the interest of all concerned seemed to simmer off
into apathy. Nobody did anything helpful, offered any useful suggestion
or brought to light anything illuminating. Staff couldn't understand it,
for the life of him....
There was, to be sure, a deal more talk in the captain's cabin--talk in
which the purser took little or no part. As a matter of fact, Manvers
kept far in the background and betrayed every indication of a desire to
crawl under the table and be a good dog. The captain had his say,
however, and in the end (since he was rather emphatic about it) his way.
He earnestly desired that the matter should be kept quiet; it would do
no good, he argued, to noise it about amongst the passengers; the news
would only excite them and possibly (in some obscure and undesignated
fashion) impede official investigation. He would, of course, spare no
pains to fathom the mystery; drastic measures would be taken to secure
the detection of the culprit and the restitution of the necklace to its
rightful owner. The ship would be minutely, if quietly, searched; not a
member of the crew, from captain to stoker, would be spared, nor any
passenger against whom there might develop the least cause for
suspicion. Detectives would meet the ship at New York and co-operate
with the customs officials in a most minute investigation of the
passengers' effects. Everything possible would be done--trust the
captain! In the meantime, he requested all present to regard the case as
confidential.
Iff concurred, somewhat gravely, somewhat diffidently. He was disposed
to make no secret of the fact that his presence on board was directly
due to the missing necklace. He had been set to watch Miss Landis, to
see that she didn't smuggle the thing into the United States. He hoped
she wouldn't take offense of this: such was his business; he had
received his orders and had no choice but to obey them. (And, so far as
was discernible, Miss Landis did not resent his espionage; but she
seemed interested and, Staff fancied, considerably diverted.) Mr. Iff
could promise Miss Landis that he would leave no stone unturned in his
private inquiry; and his work, likewise, would be considerably
facilitated if the affair were kept quiet. He ventured to second the
captain's motion.
Miss Landis offered no objection; Staff and Manvers volunteered to
maintain discretion, Jane was sworn to it. Motion seconded and carried:
the meeting adjourned _sine die_; the several parties thereto separated
and went to their respective quarters.
Staff accompanied Alison as far as her stateroom, but didn't tarry long
over his second good-nights. The young woman seemed excusably tired and
nervous and anxious to be alone--in no mood to discuss this overwhelming
event. So Staff spared her.
In his own stateroom he found Mr. Iff half-undressed, sitting on the
transom and chuckling noiselessly, apparently in such a transport of
amusement that he didn't care whether he ever got to bed or not. Upon
the entrance of his roommate, however, he dried his eyes and made an
effort to contain himself.
"You seem to think this business funny," suggested Staff, not at all
approvingly.
"I do," laughed the little man--"I do, indeed. It's a grand young
joke--clutch it from me, my friend."
"In what respect, particularly, do you find it so vastly entertaining?"
"Oh ... isn't that ass Manvers enough?"
Further than this, Mr. Iff declined to be interviewed. He clambered
briskly into his berth and chuckled himself to sleep. Staff considered
his behaviour highly annoying.
But it was on the following day--the last of the voyage--that he found
reason to consider the affair astonishing because of the lack of
interest displayed by those personally involved. He made no doubt but
that the captain was keeping his word to the extent of conducting a
secret investigation, though no signs of any such proceeding appeared on
the surface of the ship's life. But Alison he could not understand; she
seemed to have cast care to the winds. She appeared at breakfast in the
gayest of spirits, spent the entire morning and most of the afternoon on
deck, the centre of an animated group shepherded by the indefatigable
Mrs. Ilkington, dressed herself radiantly for the grand final dinner,
flirted with the assiduously attentive Arkroyd until she had reduced
Staff to the last stages of corroded jealousy, and in general (as Staff
found a chance to tell her) seemed to be having the time of her life.
"And why not?" she countered. "Spilt milk!"
"Judged by your conduct," observed Staff, "one would be justified in
thinking the Cadogan collar an _article de Paris_."
"One might think any number of foolish things, dear boy. If the collar's
gone, it's gone, and not all the moping and glooming imaginable will
bring it back to me. If I do get it back--why, that'll be simply good
luck; and I've never found it profitable yet to court Fortune with a
doleful mouth."
"You certainly practise your theory," he said. "I swear I believe I'm
more concerned about your loss than you are."
"Certainly you are, you silly boy. For my part, I feel quite confident
the necklace will be returned."