However, I conceded that Lady Clifford would know a maid she'd lived with for years better than would Milton Pomeroy. Interest stirred beneath my port-laden state.

"As I understand the story," I said, "your maid was upstairs in your rooms the afternoon the necklace disappeared. Before you and your husband and Mrs. Dale went out for the day, the necklace was in place. Gone when you, Lady Clifford, returned home."

Her lip curled. "Likely Mrs. Dale was nowhere near Egyptian House as she claims. She could have come back and stolen it."

My injured leg gave a throb. I rose and paced toward the windows to loosen it, stopping in front of one of Grenville's curio shelves. According to the newspaper, the other Clifford servants had sworn that Mrs. Dale and Lord Clifford hadn't returned to the house all afternoon. "You want very much for Mrs. Dale to have stolen your necklace."

"Perhaps I do. What of it?"

I touched a piece of jade carved into the shape of a baboon. "You must know that however much you want Mrs. Dale to have taken it, someone else entirely might be guilty."

"Well, Waters is not."

I studied the jade. Thousands of years old, Grenville had told me. The carving was intricate and detailed, done with remarkable workmanship. I rested the delicate thing on my palm. "You might be wrong," I said. "Are you prepared to be?"

"Mr. Grenville promised you would help me," Lady Clifford said, tears in her voice. "Waters is a good girl. She doesn't deserve to be in a gaol cell with common criminals. Oh, I cannot bear to think what she is suffering."

She broke into another flood of weeping. Some ladies could cry daintily, even prettily, but not Lady Clifford. Her large body heaved, her sobs choked her, and she blew her nose with a snorting sound.