"It's not simply about recovering the earrings," I said.

"Je ne sais pas," Cécile said. "I would very much like to get my earrings back. They're a favorite pair."

"Of course," I said. "But isn't catching the thief and preventing further thefts of primary importance?" Cécile shrugged but did not answer. "If nothing else, I call on you, as a gentleman, to see to it that you do all you can to keep the name of poor Marie Antoinette from being subject to more intrigue and scandal."

"You are most persistent, Lady Ashton. I will talk to the police in the morning if you insist that it is the right thing to do. In the meantime, tell me what you thought of the play we saw tonight."

"I adored it," I said. "Hedda's plight is fascinating. She's incapable of taking pleasure in those things it is assumed will bring a woman happiness."

"So miserable, yet she seems the perfect wife," Mr. Barber said.

"It's rarely wise to accept at face value the image presented by a society wife," I said.

"Or a husband," said Mr. Francis.

"Quite." I smiled, all the while wondering what layers could be found beneath my guest's polished façade.

Mr. Francis was true to his word and spoke to the police about the pink diamond the very next morning. Within two days, the newspapers were filled with sensationalised stories about the thefts. All of society was buzzing about it, and Charles Berry made a great show of issuing a plea to the burglar through the Times, asking that all the objects that belonged to his great-great-grandmother be returned to their rightful owners. Those in possession of such items were thrown into a frenzy, desperate to protect themselves from the thief. Lady Middleton, who owned a chair purported to have been in the queen's bedroom at Versailles, caused a scene when she sent it to her bank and insisted that it be stored in the vault.