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wasn’t busted open, though, some one used the key.”
    “Where did you keep the key?”
    “In my pocketbook. It stays there all of the time. I keep the pocketbook in the pocket of my slacks all day, and at night I sleep with it under my pillow.”
    “And you’ve never loaned the key to any one?”
    “Never. These jewels are genuine, Mr Vachell, not copies, and they’re worth too much money to trust any one with the key. Even my maid isn’t allowed to open that safe. I’m certain I haven’t had my pocket picked, and I can’t figure out how any one can have taken the pocketbook from under my pillow without waking me. I wonder if the
    thief could have drugged my after-dinner coffee, or something? I’m counting on you to find out.”
    ” I’ll do my best,” Vachell said. “Have you had a thorough search made in the native quarters?”
    Lady Baradale shook her head.
    “Why not?”
    “Because I don’t believe a native stole my
    jewels. Look, I’ll show you.” She knelt down by the table, twiddled the key, and flung open the doors of the safe. Inside were two compartments.
    The top one was occupied by a red leather jewel case. The lower section was filled with papers done up in bundles in elastic bands, some of them obviously personal letters.
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    Lady Baradale pulled out the jewel case and
    opened it, and Vachell looked over her shoulder.
    He saw that none of the drawers in the case was empty. Diamonds, sapphires, topaz and zircons gleamed at him invitingly from the shadows.
    There were no emeralds, rubies, or pearls.
    “I get it,” he said. “This was a selective
    burglary. He knew enough to pick out the plums and leave the small-time stuff. A native would have cleaned out the lot — anything that sparkled.”
    Lady Baradale locked the safe again and stood up. “That’s how it looks to me,” she said. “I hate to have to admit it, but I’m afraid you won’t have to look farther than the white section of the camp for the thief.”
    “How about this maid?” Vachell asked. “How
    long has she been with you?”
    “Two years. I like her, but I guess I don’t know a great deal about her history. She claims to be a Russian of good family. Her father was killed in the revolution and her mother brought her over to the United States when she was a baby. She was raised in Los Angeles. My daughter, whose home is in Hollywood, found her for me. She’s had
    ample opportunities to steal from me before, but she hasn’t used them.”
    “And the chauffeur, Rutley?”
    Vachell watched her face carefully as he spoke.
    The mask remained expressionless, under perfect control.
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    “He came to me with excellent references, and I have no cause to doubt his honesty. He has no need to steal. I see no reason to suspect him of this.”
    “What are his relations with the maid?” Vachell leant forward in his chair and kept his eyes fixed on Lady Baradale’s face.
    “He has nothing to do with Paula.” A new and
    harder note had stiffened her voice. She took up an orange-stick from the table and started to treat her nails. Her lips were pressed together in a hard line.
    “Looks like most any one could have sneaked in here and extracted the key while you slept,”
    Vachell commented. “Is there any lead on that dope angle? Do you remember any occasion on the night before the theft when a member of the party might have had a chance to monkey with your
    coffee?”
    “I’ve thought of that,” she answered. “I can’t call anything to mind.”
    “Why did you fire Englebrecht?”
    “I should have thought that was obvious, Mr
    Vachell. My stepdaughter has gotten herself into a very foolish state of mind about that young man.
    It’s nothing serious, of course, but both Lord Baradale and I feel that in Cara’s own interests it would be best to dispense with his services.
    Although he has not behaved honourably, I have no reason to suspect him of theft.”
    “I shall search his baggage before he leaves, of