know that,” said the Duke, “but the question for me is, whether one ought not to sacrifice some of its value to increasing its beauty.”
“You do have such mad ideas,” said the millionaire, in a tone of peevish exasperation.
“Ah, well, it’s a nice question,” said the Duke.
He snapped the case briskly, put it back on the shelf, locked the safe, and handed the key to the millionaire. Then he strolled across the room and looked down into the street, whistling softly.
“I think—I think—I’ll go home and get out of these motoring clothes. And I should like to have on a pair of boots that were a trifle less muddy,” he said slowly.
M. Gournay-Martin sat up with a jerk and cried, “For Heaven’s sake, don’t you go and desert me, my dear chap! You don’t know what my nerves are like!”
“Oh, you’ve got that sleuth-hound, Guerchard, and the splendid Formery, and four other detectives, and half a dozen ordinary policemen guarding you. You can do without my feeble arm. Besides, I shan’t be gone more than half an hour—three-quarters at the outside. I’ll bring back my evening clothes with me, and dress for dinner here. I don’t suppose that anything fresh will happen between now and midnight; but I want to be on the spot, and hear the information as it comes in fresh. Besides, there’s Guerchard. I positively cling to Guerchard. It’s an education, though perhaps not a liberal education, to go about with him,” said the Duke; and there was a sub-acid irony in his voice.
“Well, if you must, you must,” said M. Gournay-Martin grumpily.
“Good-bye for the present, then,” said the Duke. And he went out of the room and down the stairs. He took his motor-cap from the hall-table, and had his hand on the latch of the door, when the policeman in charge of it said, “I beg your pardon, sir, but have you M. Guerchard’s permission to leave the house?”
“M. Guerchard’s permission?” said the Duke haughtily. “What has M. Guerchard to do with me? I am the Duke of Charmerace.” And he opened the door.
“It was M. Formery’s orders, your Grace,” stammered the policeman doubtfully.
“M. Formery’s orders?” said the Duke, standing on the top step. “Call me a taxi-cab, please.”
The concierge, who stood beside the policeman, ran down the steps and blew his whistle. The policeman gazed uneasily at the Duke, shifting his weight from one foot to the other; but he said no more.
A taxi-cab came up to the door, the Duke went down the steps, stepped into it, and drove away.
Three-quarters of an hour later he came back, having changed into clothes more suited to a Paris drawing-room. He went up to the drawing-room, and there he found Guerchard, M. Formery, and the inspector, who had just completed their tour of inspection of the house next door and had satisfied themselves that the stolen treasures were not in it. The inspector and his men had searched it thoroughly just to make sure; but, as Guerchard had foretold, the burglars had not taken the chance of the failure of the police to discover the opening between the two houses. M. Formery told the Duke about their tour of inspection at length. Guerchard went to the telephone and told the exchange to put him through to Charmerace. He was informed that the trunk line was very busy and that he might have to wait half an hour.
The Duke inquired if any trace of the burglars, after they had left with their booty, had yet been found. M. Formery told him that, so far, the detectives had failed to find a single trace. Guerchard said that he had three men at work on the search, and that he was hopeful of getting some news before long.
“The layman is impatient in these matters,” said M. Formery, with an indulgent smile. “But we have learnt to be patient, after long experience.”
He proceeded to discuss with Guerchard the new theories with which the discovery of the afternoon had filled his mind. None of them struck the Duke as being of great value, and he listened to them with a somewhat absent-minded air. The coming examination of Sonia weighed heavily on his spirit. Guerchard answered only in monosyllables to the questions and suggestions thrown out by M. Formery. It seemed to the Duke that he paid very little attention to him, that his mind was still working hard on the solution of the mystery, seeking the missing facts which would bring him to the bottom of it. In the middle of one of M. Formery’s more elaborate dissertations the telephone bell rang.
Guerchard rose hastily and went to it. They heard him say: “Is that Charmerace?… I want the gardener.… Out? When will he be back?… Tell him to ring me up at M. Gournay-Martin’s house in Paris the moment he gets back.… Detective-Inspector Guerchard…Guerchard…Detective-Inspector.”
He turned to them with a frown, and said, “Of course, since I want him, the confounded gardener has gone out for the day. Still, it’s of very little importance—a mere corroboration I wanted.” And he went back to his seat and lighted another cigarette.
M. Formery continued his dissertation. Presently Guerchard said, “You might go and see how Victoire is, inspector—whether she shows any signs of waking. What did the doctor say?”
“The doctor said that she would not really be sensible and have her full wits about her much before ten o’clock tonight,” said the inspector; but he went to examine her present condition.
M. Formery proceeded to discuss the effects of different anesthetics. The others heard him with very little attention.
The inspector came back and reported that Victoire showed no signs of awaking.
“Well, then, M. Formery, I think we might get on with the examination of Mademoiselle Kritchnoff,” said Guerchard. “Will you go and fetch her, inspector?”
“Really, I cannot conceive why you should worry that poor child,” the Duke protested, in a tone of some indignation.
“It seems to me hardly necessary,” said M. Formery.
“Excuse me,” said Guerchard suavely, “but I attach considerable importance to it. It seems to me to be our bounden duty to question her fully. One never knows from what quarter light may come.”
“Oh, well, since you make such a point of it,” said M. Formery. “Inspector, ask Mademoiselle Kritchnoff to come here. Fetch her.”
The inspector left the room.
Guerchard looked at the Duke with a faint air of uneasiness: “I think that we had better question Mademoiselle Kritchnoff by ourselves,” he said.
M. Formery looked at him and hesitated. Then he said: “Oh, yes, of course, by ourselves.”
“Certainly,” said the Duke, a trifle haughtily. And he rose and opened the door. He was just going through it when Guerchard said sharply:
“Your Grace—”
The Duke paid no attention to him. He shut the door quickly behind him and sprang swiftly up the stairs. He met the inspector coming down with Sonia. Barring their way for a moment he said, in his kindliest voice: “Now you mustn’t be frightened, Mademoiselle Sonia. All you have to do is to try to remember as clearly as you can the circumstances of the earlier thefts at Charmerace. You mustn’t let them confuse you.”
“Thank you, your Grace, I will try and be as clear as I can,” said Sonia;
