“Even those owned by Jephson’s?” asked Arthur.

“Yes; unless they were acquired lately.  I have spoken in this manner in order that you may understand the statements I am about to make, and I beg you to listen carefully:  Three daring pearl robberies have taken place within the past two years.  The first was a collection scarcely inferior to that of the Countess Ahmberg.  A bank messenger was carrying it through the streets of London one evening, to be delivered to Lady Grandison, when he was stabbed to the heart and the gems stolen.  Singularly enough, Jack Andrews was passing by and found the dying messenger.  He called for the police, but when they arrived the messenger had expired.  The fate of the pearls has always remained a mystery, although a large reward has been offered for their recovery.”

“Oh; a reward.”

“Naturally, sir.  Four months later Princess Lemoine lost her wonderful pearl necklace while sitting in a box at the Grand Opera in Paris.  This was one of the cleverest thefts that ever baffled the police, for the necklace was never recovered.  We know, however, that Jack Andrews occupied the box next to that of the princess.  A coincidence—­perhaps.  We now come to the robbery of the Countess Ahmberg, the third on the list.  Jack Andrews was a guest at her house, as I have explained to you.  No blame has ever attached to this youthful adventurer, yet my firm, always interested in the pearls they have sold, advised me to keep an eye on him when he returned to America.  I did so.

“Now, Mr. Merrick, I will add to the tale I told you the other night.  Andrews behaved very well for a few weeks after he landed at New York; then he disposed of seven fine pearls and—­disappeared.  They were not notable pearls, especially, but two of them I was able to trace to the necklace of Princess Lemoine.  I cabled my firm.  They called attention to the various rewards offered and urged me to follow Andrews.  That was impossible; he had left no clue.  But chance favored me.  Coming here to Los Angeles on business, I suddenly ran across my quarry:  Jack Andrews.  He has changed a bit.  The mustache is gone, he is in poor health, and I am told he was nearly drowned in the ocean the other day.  So at first I was not sure of my man.  I registered at this hotel and watched him carefully.  Sometimes I became positive he was Andrews; at other times I doubted.  But when he began distributing pearls to you, his new friends, all doubt vanished.  There, gentlemen, is my story in a nutshell.  What do you think of it?”

Both Mr. Merrick and young Weldon had listened with rapt interest, but their interpretation of the tale, which amounted to a positive accusation of A. Jones, showed the difference in the two men’s natures.

“I think you are on the wrong trail, sir,” answered Mr. Merrick.  “Doubtless you have been misled by a casual resemblance, coupled with the fact that Andrews is suspected of stealing pearls and Jones is known to possess pearls—­the pearls being of rare worth in both cases.  Still, you are wrong.  For instance, if you have the weight and measurement of the Tremloe black pearl, you will find they do not fit the pearl I am now wearing.”