LITMIR.BIZ

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be surprised how clearly you hear everything in these safes--you'd think they were too thick," said Guerchard, in his gentle, husky voice.

      "How on earth did you get into it?" cried M. Formery.

      "Getting in was easy enough. It's the getting out that was awkward. These jokers had fixed up some kind of a spring so that I nearly shot out with the door," said Guerchard, rubbing his elbow.

      "But how did you get into it? How the deuce DID you get into it?" cried M. Formery.

      "Through the little cabinet into which that door behind the safe opens. There's no longer any back to the safe; they've cut it clean out of it--a very neat piece of work. Safes like this should always be fixed against a wall, not stuck in front of a door. The backs of them are always the weak point."

      "And the key? The key of the safe upstairs, in my bedroom, where the coronet is--is the key there?" cried M. Gournay-Martin.

      Guerchard went back into the empty safe, and groped about in it. He came out smiling.

      "Well, have you found the key?" cried the millionaire.

      "No. I haven't; but I've found something better," said Guerchard.

      "What is it?" said M. Formery sharply.

      "I'll give you a hundred guesses," said Guerchard with a tantalizing smile.

      "What is it?" said M. Formery.

      "A little present for you," said Guerchard.

      "What do you mean?" cried M. Formery angrily.

      Guerchard held up a card between his thumb and forefinger and said quietly:

      "The card of Arsene Lupin."

      CHAPTER XIV

      GUERCHARD PICKS UP THE TRUE SCENT

      The millionaire gazed at the card with stupefied eyes, the inspector gazed at it with extreme intelligence, the Duke gazed at it with interest, and M. Formery gazed at it with extreme disgust.

      "It's part of the same ruse--it was put there to throw us off the scent. It proves nothing--absolutely nothing," he said scornfully.

      "No; it proves nothing at all," said Guerchard quietly.

      "The telegram is the important thing--this telegram," said M. Gournay-Martin feverishly. "It concerns the coronet. Is it going to be disregarded?"

      "Oh, no, no," said M. Formery in a soothing tone. "It will be taken into account. It will certainly be taken into account."

      M. Gournay-Martin's butler appeared in the doorway of the drawing-room: "If you please, sir, lunch is served," he said.

      At the tidings some of his weight of woe appeared to be lifted from the head of the millionaire. "Good!" he said, "good! Gentlemen, you will lunch with me, I hope."

      "Thank you," said M. Formery. "There is nothing else for us to do, at any rate at present, and in the house. I am not quite satisfied about Mademoiselle Kritchnoff--at least Guerchard is not. I propose to question her again--about those earlier thefts."

      "I'm sure there's nothing in that," said the Duke quickly.

      "No, no; I don't think there is," said M. Formery. "But still one never knows from what quarter light may come in an affair like this. Accident often gives us our best clues."

      "It seems rather a shame to frighten her--she's such a child," said the Duke.

      "Oh, I shall be gentle, your Grace--as gentle as possible, that is. But I look to get more from the examination of Victoire. She was on the scene. She has actually seen the rogues at work; but till she recovers there is nothing more to be done, except to wait the discoveries of the detectives who are working outside; and they will report here. So in the meantime we shall be charmed to lunch with you, M. Gournay-Martin."

      They went downstairs to the dining-room and found an elaborate and luxurious lunch, worthy of the hospitality of a millionaire, awaiting them. The skill of the cook seemed to have been quite unaffected by the losses of his master. M. Formery, an ardent lover of good things, enjoyed himself immensely. He was in the highest spirits. Germaine, a little upset by the night-journey, was rather querulous. Her father was plunged in a gloom which lifted for but a brief space at the appearance of a fresh delicacy. Guerchard ate and drank seriously, answering the questions of the Duke in a somewhat absent-minded fashion. The Duke himself seemed to have lost his usual flow of good spirits, and at times his brow was knitted in an anxious frown. His questions to Guerchard showed a far less keen interest in the affair.

      To him the lunch seemed very long and very tedious; but at last it came to an end. M. Gournay-Martin seemed to have been much cheered by the wine he had drunk. He was almost hopeful. M. Formery, who had not by any means trifled with the champagne, was raised to the very height of sanguine certainty. Their coffee and liqueurs were served in the smoking-room. Guerchard lighted a cigar, refused a liqueur, drank his coffee quickly, and slipped out of the room.

      The Duke followed him, and in the hall said: "I will continue to watch you unravel the threads of this mystery, if I may, M. Guerchard."

      Good Republican as Guerchard was, he could not help feeling flattered by the interest of a Duke; and the excellent lunch he had eaten disposed him to feel the honour even more deeply.

      "I shall be charmed," he said. "To tell the truth, I find the company of your Grace really quite stimulating."

      "It must be because I find it all so extremely interesting," said the Duke.

      They went up to the drawing-room and found the red-faced young policeman seated on a chair by the door eating a lunch, which had been sent up to him from the millionaire's kitchen, with a very hearty appetite.

      They went into the drawing-room. Guerchard shut the door and turned the key: "Now," he said, "I think that M. Formery will give me half an hour to myself. His cigar ought to last him at least half an hour. In that time I shall know what the burglars really did with their plunder--at least I shall know for certain how they got it out of the house."

      "Please explain," said the Duke. "I thought we knew how they got it out of the house." And he waved his hand towards the window.

      "Oh, that!--that's childish," said Guerchard contemptuously. "Those are traces for an examining magistrate. The ladder, the table on the window-sill, they lead nowhere. The only people who came up that ladder were the two men who brought it from the scaffolding. You can see their footsteps. Nobody went down it at all. It was mere waste of time to bother with those traces."

      "But the footprint under the book?" said the Duke.

      "Oh, that," said Guerchard. "One of the burglars sat on the couch there, rubbed plaster on the sole of his boot, and set his foot down on the carpet. Then he dusted the rest of the plaster off his boot and put the book on the top of the footprint."

      "Now, how do you know that?" said the astonished Duke.

      "It's as plain as a pike-staff," said Guerchard. "There must have been several burglars to move such pieces of furniture. If the soles of all of them had been covered with plaster, all the sweeping in the world would not have cleared the carpet of the tiny fragments of it. I've been over the carpet between the footprint and the window with a magnifying glass. There are no fragments of plaster on it. We dismiss the footprint. It is a mere blind, and a very fair blind too--for an examining magistrate."

      "I understand," said the Duke.

      "That narrows the problem, the quite simple problem, how was the furniture taken out of the room. It did not go through that window down the ladder. Again, it was not taken down the stairs, and out of the front door, or the back. If it had been, the concierge and his wife would have heard the noise.

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