walked across the room to the fireplace, pushed the chairs which stood bound together on the hearth-rug to one side of the fireplace, and ran the heavy fire-screen on its casters to the other side of it, revealing to their gaze the wide, old-fashioned fireplace itself. The iron brazier which held the coals had been moved into the corner, and a mattress lay on the floor of the fireplace. On the mattress lay the figure of a big, middle-aged woman, half-dressed. There was a yellow gag in her mouth; and her hands and feet were bound together with blue cords.
“She is sleeping soundly,” said Guerchard. He stooped and picked up a handkerchief, and smelt it. “There’s the handkerchief they chloroformed her with. It still smells of chloroform.”
They stared at him and the sleeping woman.
“Lend a hand, inspector,” he said. “And you too, Bonavent. She looks a good weight.”
The three of them raised the mattress, and carried it and the sleeping woman to a broad couch, and laid them on it. They staggered under their burden, for truly Victoire was a good weight.
M. Formery rose, with recovered breath, but with his face an even richer purple. His eyes were rolling in his head, as if they were not under proper control.
He turned on the inspector and cried savagely, “You never examined the fireplace, inspector!”
“No, sir,” said the downcast inspector.
“It was unpardonable—absolutely unpardonable!” cried M. Formery. “How is one to work with subordinates like this?”
“It was an oversight,” said Guerchard.
M. Formery turned to him and said, “You must admit that it was materially impossible for me to see her.”
“It was possible if you went down on all fours,” said Guerchard.
“On all fours?” said M. Formery.
“Yes; on all fours you could see her heels sticking out beyond the mattress,” said Guerchard simply.
M. Formery shrugged his shoulders: “That screen looked as if it had stood there since the beginning of the summer,” he said.
“The first thing, when you’re dealing with Lupin, is to distrust appearances,” said Guerchard.
“Lupin!” cried M. Formery hotly. Then he bit his lip and was silent.
He walked to the side of the couch and looked down on the sleeping Victoire, frowning: “This upsets everything,” he said. “With these new conditions, I’ve got to begin all over again, to find a new explanation of the affair. For the moment—for the moment, I’m thrown completely off the track. And you, Guerchard?”
“Oh, well,” said Guerchard, “I have an idea or two about the matter still.”
“Do you really mean to say that it hasn’t thrown you off the track too?” said M. Formery, with a touch of incredulity in his tone.
“Well, no—not exactly,” said Guerchard. “I wasn’t on that track, you see.”
“No, of course not—of course not. You were on the track of Lupin,” said M. Formery; and his contemptuous smile was tinged with malice.
The Duke looked from one to the other of them with curious, searching eyes: “I find all this so interesting,” he said.
“We do not take much notice of these checks; they do not depress us for a moment,” said M. Formery, with some return of his old grandiloquence. “We pause hardly for an instant; then we begin to reconstruct—to reconstruct.”
“It’s perfectly splendid of you,” said the Duke, and his limpid eyes rested on M. Formery’s self-satisfied face in a really affectionate gaze; they might almost be said to caress it.
Guerchard looked out of the window at a man who was carrying a hod-full of bricks up one of the ladders set against the scaffolding of the building house. Something in this honest workman’s simple task seemed to amuse him, for he smiled.
Only the inspector, thinking of the unexamined fireplace, looked really depressed.
“We shan’t get anything out of this woman till she wakes,” said M. Formery, “When she does, I shall question her closely and fully. In the meantime, she may as well be carried up to her bedroom to sleep off the effects of the chloroform.”
Guerchard turned quickly: “Not her own bedroom, I think,” he said gently.
“Certainly not—of course, not her own bedroom,” said M. Formery quickly.
“And I think an officer at the door of whatever bedroom she does sleep in,” said Guerchard.
“Undoubtedly—most necessary,” said M. Formery gravely. “See to it, inspector. You can take her away.”
The inspector called in a couple of policemen, and with their aid he and Bonavent raised the sleeping woman, a man at each corner of the mattress, and bore her from the room.
“And now to reconstruct,” said M. Formery; and he folded his arms and plunged into profound reflection.
The Duke and Guerchard watched him in silence.
CHAPTER XI
THE FAMILY ARRIVES
In carrying out Victoire, the inspector had left the door of the drawing-room open. After he had watched M. Formery reflect for two minutes, Guerchard faded—to use an expressive Americanism—through it. The Duke felt in the breast-pocket of his coat, murmured softly, “My cigarettes,” and followed him.
He caught up Guerchard on the stairs and said, “I will come with you, if I may, M. Guerchard. I find all these investigations extraordinarily interesting. I have been observing M. Formery’s methods—I should like to watch yours, for a change.”
“By all means,” said Guerchard. “And there are several things I want to hear about from your Grace. Of course it might be an advantage to discuss them together with M. Formery, but—” and he hesitated.
“It would be a pity to disturb M. Formery in the middle of the process of reconstruction,” said the Duke; and a faint, ironical smile played round the corners of his sensitive lips.
Guerchard looked at him quickly: “Perhaps it would,” he said.
They went through the house, out of the back door, and into the garden. Guerchard moved about twenty yards from the house, then he stopped and questioned the Duke at great length. He questioned him first about the Charolais, their appearance, their actions, especially about Bernard’s attempt to steal the pendant, and the theft of the motor-cars.
“I have been wondering whether M. Charolais might not have been Arsène Lupin himself,” said the Duke.
“It’s quite possible,” said Guerchard. “There seem to be no limits whatever to Lupin’s powers of disguising himself. My colleague, Ganimard, has come across him at least three times that he knows of, as a different person. And no single time could he be sure that it was the same man. Of course, he had a feeling that he was
