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determined to go on regarding the necklace as a myth.

V
    It was next day that his cousin Daphne rang up. He heard the telephone as he put his key in the lock. It herded with the sink, and the gas-cooker, and the bath in a manner which everyone except Gertrude Lushington found extremely inconvenient. Gertrude herself merely observed vaguely that it was so nice not to have to get out of your bath when people rang you up.
    James said, “Be quiet, you brute!” switched on the light, tripped over a hot-water can, and unhooked the receiver. The voice of his cousin Daphne came fluting sweetly to his ear. She had not married any of the three men to whom she had become engaged at her first ball, and was now the wife of Bonzo Strickland, the oil magnate.
    â€œDarling, I’ve been trying to get you for hours. Where have you been?”
    â€œWorking,” said James. “Some of us have to, you know.”
    Daphne managed to transmit a shudder.
    â€œToo horrid! My poor angel!”
    â€œCut it out!” said James austerely. “What do you want, Daph?”
    â€œDarling—how unkind! Couldn’t I just want to hear your voice?”
    â€œYou could, I suppose, but you don’t. What is it?”
    â€œDarling, I really do think you’ve got the most foully suspicious mind.”
    â€œOh, come off it!” said James. He spoke loudly and fiercely in the telephone. “What—do—you—want?”
    â€œWell, Bonzo’s gone to see his mother. He does, you know—too filial. And I’m throwing a party here—just a few bright spirits. I thought we’d dance. You’ll come, won’t you?”
    â€œI don’t dance,” said James.
    â€œDarling—what a lie ! Why, you proposed to me in the middle of a waltz.”
    James grinned at his end of the telephone.
    â€œThat’s why—too dangerous—I mightn’t get off the next time.”
    â€œDarling, you must come. I won’t let anyone propose to you—I really won’t. And I’m a man short. You wouldn’t like to spoil my party—would you? And I’ve really got a secret, particular reason why I want you to come. I can’t tell you about it, because I promised.”
    â€œAnd you’ve never been known to break a promise—have you?” said James in a nasty sarcastic voice.
    â€œDarling, what a bad temper you’re in. How’s chauffing?”
    â€œNot too bad. I sold a Rolls yesterday.”
    â€œWell, I don’t say for certain, but I think you might sell another, perhaps day after tomorrow. Bonzo hasn’t exactly promised, but he always comes back very fond of me, so I should think there’s quite a decent chance of our blowing in one day this week. Now will you come to my party?”
    â€œThat’s bribery and corruption.”
    Daphne cooed back at him.
    â€œI know. Shocking, isn’t it? You will come, won’t you, darling?”
    â€œI suppose so,” said James.
    The Stricklands had an immense house, in which their opposite tastes contended without mingling. The hall contained portraits of Bonzo’s grandparents, marble busts of his father and mother, a tessellated floor, and the heads and horns which he had collected on his various shooting expeditions. James counted eight tigers mounted on red cloth, two rhinoceri, and a quantity of antlers and horns. The dining-room was also pure Bonzo. It had the bright red walls of the Victorian period. His mother had had a bright red wallpaper in her dining-room when he was a little boy, and at forty he was still unable to think of a dining-room except in terms of Pompeian red. Daphne knew when she was beaten, and having to give way, she did so with the greatest charm. Bonzo was permitted, even encouraged, to go the whole hog. There was a blue and crimson carpet, red velvet curtains, and a massive mahogany suite.
    But the drawing-room was Daphne’s, floor, walls, and