Poirot shook his head.
"The case is not over, my friend. It will not be over until we find out who stole the pearls."
"But the maid did!"
"Why do you say that?"
"Why," I stammered, "they were found—actually in her mattress."
"Ta, ta, ta!" said Poirot impatiently. "Those were not the pearls."
"What?"
"Imitation, mon ami."
The statement took my breath away. Poirot was smiling placidly.
"The good inspector obviously knows nothing of jewels. But presently there will be a fine hullabaloo!"
"Come!" I cried, dragging at his arm.
"Where?"
"We must tell the Opalsens at once."
"I think not."
"But that poor woman—"
"Eh bien; that poor woman, as you call her, will have a much better night believing the jewels to be safe."
"But the thief may escape with them!"
"As usual, my friend, you speak without
