CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE“Then there are these, sir,” Bull said. He took a little chamois bag out of his pocket. “They’re a few of the Royce diamonds. They were on Peskett’s table. There’s nothing very valuable here; wouldn’t come to £50.”
“It’s a plant?”
“It’s a plant, sir. We’re supposed to think he’s put the rest of them away somewhere.”
Debenham took the little assortment of old-fashioned diamond-set trinkets in his hand. He shook his head.
“There’s more to it than that, Bull,” he said slowly. “I don’t understand this.”
Bull looked curiously at him.
“Don’t you think, sir, that we’re dealing with somebody who knows jewels? That stuffs trash compared with stones that used to be worth £ 35,000.”
The Commissioner shook his head again.
“I know what you mean, Bull. But I don’t think so. I
