15
A horde of dressing-gowned figures descended upon Basil and Felicity Thynne’s room from all sides of the square hallway.
Uncle Harlan wore a dressing gown spotted with milking cows. Felicity, the countess, wore a serious beige flannel affair, while her husband preferred the drabbest brown colour Fina had ever seen. They all pressed into the room, though quite a few guests lingered in the doorway.
Gerald Standish, resplendent in a silver and black silk gown, held up his hands at the doorway, as if he were a policeman directing traffic. “Please, everyone. No one is injured or hurt, but the countess tells me someone has stolen her pearls.”
“Stolen? But we had the alarm set last night, early in the evening. Isn’t that correct, Snave?” Lady Shillington’s head was adorned in a gauzy confe
