The Affair of the Pink Pearl: An Agatha Christie Short Story

‘I see,’ said Tommy, a little puzzled. ‘You have not called in the police?’

‘No,’ said Miss Kingston Bruce, ‘we haven’t. It would be idiotic to call in the police and then find the silly thing had rolled under the fireplace, or something like that.’

‘Oh!’ said Tommy. ‘Then the jewel may only be lost after all?’

Miss Kingston Bruce shrugged her shoulders.

‘People make such a fuss about things,’ she murmured. Tommy cleared his throat.

‘Of course,’ he said doubtfully. ‘I am extremely busy just now –’

‘I quite understand,’ said the girl, rising to her feet. There was a quick gleam of satisfaction in her eyes which Tuppence, for one, did not miss.

‘Nevertheless,’ continued Tommy. ‘I think I can manage to run down to Wimbledon. Will you give me the address, please?’

‘The Laurels, Edgeworth Road.’

‘Make a note of it, please, Miss Robinson.’

Miss Kingston Bruce hesitated, then said rather ungraciously.

‘We’ll expect you then. Good-morning.’

‘Funny girl,’ said Tommy when she had left. ‘I couldn’t quite make her out.’

‘I wonder if she stole the thing herself,’ remarked Tuppence meditatively. ‘Come on, Tommy, let’s put away these books and take the car and go down there. By the way, who are you going to be, Sherlock Holmes still?’

‘I think I need practice for that,’ said Tommy. ‘I came rather a cropper over that bus ticket, didn’t I?’

‘You did,’ said Tuppence. ‘If I were you I shouldn’t try too much on that girl – she’s as sharp as a needle. She’s unhappy too, poor devil.’