me,” said Lupin. “If he finds it gone, he’ll accuse you of taking it, won’t he?”
“Certainly.”
“Then go and put it back, as fast as you can.”
“Oh dear, oh dear!” she moaned. “I hope he won’t have had time to find out. Give it to me, quick.”
“Here you are,” said Lupin.
He felt in the pocket of his overcoat.
“Well?” said Victoire, holding out her hand.
“Well,” he said, after a moment, “it’s gone.”
“What!”
“Yes, upon my word, it’s gone… somebody’s taken it from me.”
He burst into a peal of laughter, a laughter which, this time, was free from all bitterness.
Victoire flew out at him:
“Laugh away!… Putting me in such a predicament!…”
“How can I help laughing? You must confess that it’s funny. It’s no longer a tragedy that we’re acting, but a fairy-tale, as much a fairy-tale as Puss in Boots or Jack and the Beanstalk. I must write it when I get a few weeks to myself: The Magic Stopper; or, The Mishaps of Poor Arsene.”
“Well… who has taken it from you?”
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