You've given me a lot of trouble, you know. I was up all last night. Chauffeur doesn't sleep in, of course. But who is he?"
"We call him Bunco in the Force," said the Superintendent meekly. "He's a jewel thief. Quite in the front of the profession. American-Austrian, I think. I believe Nastitch is his name—Alexander Nastitch or Supilo."
"Croat, I think," Reggie said. "This knife—they use 'em down that way."
"Coo! Tell us something you don't know," said the little Jew.
Reggie laughed. You may have noticed that he had his vanities. He passed his cigar-case round. "Where will I begin?" said he.
"At the beginning, please." Mordan grinned.
"The Inspector touches the spot as ever. Well, it hasn't been quite fair. I had the start of you. On the day before the murder Birdie Bolton consulted me. She hadn't been sleeping well. Heard noises at night. Now you see your way, don't you? No? Dear, dear. And I showed you that broken rose! Well, well. These two beauties. Flora and Nastitch, I suppose they got their situations to have a go for the jewels. Nastitch, as Ford's chauffeur, would have an excuse for hanging round the house and a car to use. He's had the car out of the garage till the small hours several times. I think he got in by the window last week—more than once, perhaps.
