“That only makes me all the more frantic to get back,” exclaimed the prima donna.  “Come along, now, Weiss—­you’ve got a car outside, I suppose?  Hurry, then, and let me get it over.”

When the vastly relieved concert-director had led his bundle of silks and laces safely out, Fullaway laughed and turned to the other men.

“Now, gentlemen,” he said, “perhaps we can have a little quiet talk about this affair.”  He flung himself into a seat and nodded at the hotel-manager.  “Just tell us exactly what’s happened since Mademoiselle arrived here,” he said.  “Let’s get an accurate notion of all her doings.  She came—­when?”

“She got here about the beginning of yesterday afternoon,” answered the manager, who did not appear to be too well pleased about this disturbance of his usual proceedings.  “She has always had this suite of rooms whenever she has sung in Edinburgh before, and it was understood that whenever she wrote or wired for them we were to arrange for a grand piano, properly tuned to concert-pitch, to be put in for her.  She wrote for the suite over a fortnight ago from Russia, and, of course, we had everything in readiness for her.  She turned up, as I say, yesterday, alone—­she explained something about her maid having been obliged to leave her on arrival in England, and since she came she’s had the services of one of our smartest chambermaids, whom she herself picked out after carefully inspecting a whole dozen of them.  That chambermaid can tell you that Mademoiselle’s scarcely left her rooms since then, and it’s an absolute mystery to me that any person could get in here, open this box, and abstract its contents.  As I say—­if anybody wanted to steal her jewels, why didn’t he pick up this box and carry it bodily off instead of hanging about to pick the lock?  I don’t believe—­”

“Ah, quite so!” interrupted Fullaway.  “I quite agree with you.  Now, at what time did Mademoiselle announce the loss of her jewels?”

“Oh, about—­say, an hour ago.  This chambermaid—­she’s there in the bedroom now—­was helping her to dress for the concert.  She—­Mademoiselle—­went to this box to get out what ornaments she wanted.  According to the girl, she let out an awful scream, and, just as she was, rushed to the head of the main stairs—­these rooms, as you see, are on our first floor—­and began to shout for me, for anybody, for everybody.  The hall below was just then full of people—­coming in and out of the dining-room and so on.  She set the whole place going with the noise she made,” added the manager, visibly annoyed.  “It would have been far better if she’d shown some reserve—­”

“Reserve is certainly an admirable quality,” commented Fullaway, “but it is foreign to young ladies of Mademoiselle’s temperament.  Well—­and then?”