Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 26, No. 4. Whole No. 143, October 1955

She had never been delegated to wear the pearls before that day. I was fairly sure of that but we checked the records Mr. Wazey had kept. I could not remember when I had actually looked at the pearls myself so, for accuracy, I ran down the entire list of names.

Some of the girls whose names appeared there had married or drifted to other jobs; and many of the girls had worn the pearls twice or even three times, but practically every girl in the bank had worn the pearls at some time. Miss Busch had worn them three times; Miss Smith, twice; Miss Evans (Muriel Evans, the girl in the apartment), twice; Miss Wilkins, three times — Miss Dune, only once.

But she’d have known all about them from my Wagstaff file, so she had prepared herself for an opportunity. And she had reminded me of the date and made the opportunity. My heart was heavy as I watched Mr. Wazey lock up the vaults. Then I went back through the dismal, rainy night to Miss Dune’s apartment.

I had been gone scarcely an hour, but the search of the apartment had been so thorough that it looked as if a hurricane had struck it. Muriel Evans still sat in the armchair. She was pale, and something in the texture of her face made me think (although absently) of a magnolia. The lieutenant had unbuttoned his blue coat and was wiping his forehead. “They’re not here, Mr. Wickwire,” he said rather desperately. “No pawn ticket. Nothing.”

I have never been one to shirk my duty, even if unpleasant. I had to report not only to the insurance company but to the trustees of the estate and the officers of the bank, exactly how I had permitted this thing to happen. I made my way past the debris of cushions, books, untidy heaps of clothing to the window and looked down, so far down to the street that I felt queerly dizzy and sick again. Poor tragic Miss Dune who had paid with her life for the pearls, entrusted to me! Again I could almost see the still beautiful woman who had put her delicate old hands in mine and given the pearls into my keeping. I could almost see her smile, and hear her voice.

I stood at the window, it seemed to me, for a long time; in fact I suppose it was only a few seconds while I made up my mind to undertake the only course of action that I could determine. I turned back to the lieutenant. “Is it all right for me to go now?”

The lieutenant nodded. “I’ll report to you. We’ll get started with the pawn shops and jewelers. We’ll get the pearls back.”

I thanked him. I said to Miss Evans, “Do you mind coming to my house with me? I have to dictate a full report of this.”

The light fell fully on her magnolia face. She nodded, and picked up her coat. While she preceded me to the elevator I lingered, to speak to the lieutenant. I gave a concise word or two of directions and joined Miss Evans as the elevator came.

We found a taxi at once. Neither of us spoke all the way uptown. When we got to my house I got out my latch key. “My manservant is on his vacation,” I said, and let her into the hall. “I’m going to have a whiskey and soda. Will you join me?”

She refused but thanked me with a lift of her shadowed, lovely blue eyes. Then I said, “You might know. Did Miss Dune have a... well, I suppose one would say a boy friend? Some man—”

She gave me a quiet but intelligent look. “That occurred to me, too. You mean, someone might have planned this and might have influenced her to take the pearls. Yes, I think so. Once or twice I’ve seen her with a man. I’m not sure that I could identify him. I might be able to. But I feel sure that she wouldn’t have done that unless she was urged to do it. Some man, someone younger perhaps— But it seems cruel to say or think it.”

My study is at the right of the hall, and I took her there and told her to sit down. A tray with decanter and glasses stood on my desk. I mixed myself a rather strong whiskey and soda, then I opened a drawer of the desk and took out my revolver.

“What—” Miss Evans began, sitting upright.

I took out the box of shells and loaded the gun. “I don’t like the idea of a man. By now he knows what has happened. He might be dangerous.” I put the loaded gun down on the table and went into the hall to the street door. I opened it. The street was deserted. I went back to the study and closed the door. The house was extraordinarily quiet.

I picked up my glass and went to the window. The curtains had not been closed; the room behind me was reflected in the glittering, black windowpanes. I took rather a long drink. Then I said, “Where are the pearls?”

The figure in the cherry red dress stiffened.

I said, “You’ve worn the pearls twice — once six months ago, once a year and a half ago. One of those times you changed them for false pearls. No one saw the difference until today. Miss Dune saw that they were not the Wagstaff pearls; probably she looked up the record herself. She sent for you tonight to tell you to give them up and you—”

Her head lifted. “I reported the suicide. I wouldn’t have done that if—”