"Quantity is a poor measure of the artistic merits of a collection, Mr. Francis. I'm fortunate that my husband possessed such exquisite taste," I said. "I've let his standards for acquisition guide me, although I confess that I'm guilty of keeping for myself some pieces he would argue belong in a museum." I twisted the gold ring with its image of the Trojan horse that I wore on my right hand. I'd been given it in Paris last year after trapping the man who had murdered Philip.

"But I understand that you've made many significant donations yourself," Mr. Francis said.

"Yes, but there are times when I'm quite overwhelmed with sentiment and find that I can't donate things that I ought."

"Peut-être Monsieur Bingham is attached to this dish you are trying to get from him," Cécile said.

"No, he's keeping it for himself simply out of spite. He's made no secret of the fact that he doesn't care for it." My gaze fell on Mr. Francis, and I felt compelled once again to return to the topic of the thefts, despite a worry that I was being too forward. "I really must implore you to report the loss of your diamond to the police. It is not something that affects only you. Surely you can't believe that there is more than one burglar in England seeking objects that belonged to Marie Antoinette?"

"Of course not," he replied.

"The police need to have as complete a picture as possible of this man's activities. Perhaps there is something at your house that may assist them in their investigation. Or a pattern of behavior that would be revealed by adding your location to the list of the crime scenes."

"She is right," Cécile said. "If you were the sole victim of this intruder, you could choose to keep quiet about it. But you are not."

"I suppose it would be wrong of me to do anything that might keep you from getting your earrings back," Mr. Francis said, smiling good-naturedly.