LITMIR.BIZ

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don’t understand, you idiot!” cried Guerchard. “You’ve sent Victoire away in a sham prison-van—a prison-van belonging to Lupin. Oh, that scoundrel! He always has something up his sleeve.”

      “He certainly shows foresight,” said the Duke. “It was very clever of him to foresee the arrest of Victoire and provide against it.”

      “Yes, but where is the leakage? Where is the leakage?” cried Guerchard, fuming. “How did he learn that the doctor said that she would recover her wits at ten o’clock? Here I’ve had a guard at the door all day; I’ve imprisoned the household; all the provisions have been received directly by a man of mine; and here he is, ready to pick up Victoire the very moment she gives herself away! Where is the leakage?”

      He turned on Bonavent, and went on: “It’s no use your standing there with your mouth open, looking like a fool. Go upstairs to the servants’ quarters and search Victoire’s room again. That fool of an inspector may have missed something, just as he missed Victoire herself. Get on! Be smart!”

      Bonavent went off briskly. Guerchard paced up and down the room, scowling.

      “Really, I’m beginning to agree with you, M. Guerchard, that this Lupin is a remarkable man,” said the Duke. “That prison-van is extraordinarily neat.”

      “I’ll prison-van him!” cried Guerchard. “But what fools I have to work with. If I could get hold of people of ordinary intelligence it would be impossible to play such a trick as that.”

      “I don’t know about that,” said the Duke thoughtfully. “I think it would have required an uncommon fool to discover that trick.”

      “What on earth do you mean? Why?” said Guerchard.

      “Because it’s so wonderfully simple,” said the Duke. “And at the same time it’s such infernal cheek.”

      “There’s something in that,” said Guerchard grumpily. “But then, I’m always saying to my men, ‘Suspect everything; suspect everybody; suspect, suspect, suspect.’ I tell you, your Grace, that there is only one motto for the successful detective, and that is that one word, ‘suspect.’”

      “It can’t be a very comfortable business, then,” said the Duke. “But I suppose it has its charms.”

      “Oh, one gets used to the disagreeable part,” said Guerchard.

      The telephone bell rang; and he rose and went to it. He put the receiver to his ear and said, “Yes; it’s I—Chief-Inspector Guerchard.”

      He turned and said to the Duke, “It’s the gardener at Charmerace, your Grace.”

      “Is it?” said the Duke indifferently.

      Guerchard turned to the telephone. “Are you there?” he said. “Can you hear me clearly?… I want to know who was in your hot-house yesterday…who could have gathered some of your pink salvias?”

      “I told you that it was I,” said the Duke.

      “Yes, yes, I know,” said Guerchard. And he turned again to the telephone. “Yes, yesterday,” he said. “Nobody else?… No one but the Duke of Charmerace?… Are you sure?…quite sure?…absolutely sure?… Yes, that’s all I wanted to know…thank you.”

      He turned to the Duke and said, “Did you hear that, your Grace? The gardener says that you were the only person in his hot-houses yesterday, the only person who could have plucked any pink salvias.”

      “Does he?” said the Duke carelessly.

      Guerchard looked at him, his brow knitted in a faint, pondering frown. Then the door opened, and Bonavent came in: “I’ve been through Victoire’s room,” he said, “and all I could find that might be of any use is this—a prayer-book. It was on her dressing-table just as she left it. The inspector hadn’t touched it.”

      “What about it?” said Guerchard, taking the prayer-book.

      “There’s a photograph in it,” said Bonavent. “It may come in useful when we circulate her description; for I suppose we shall try to get hold of Victoire.”

      Guerchard took the photograph from the prayer-book and looked at it: “It looks about ten years old,” he said. “It’s a good deal faded for reproduction. Hullo! What have we here?”

      The photograph showed Victoire in her Sunday best, and with her a boy of seventeen or eighteen. Guerchard’s eyes glued themselves to the face of the boy. He stared at it, holding the portrait now nearer, now further off. His eyes kept stealing covertly from the photograph to the face of the Duke.

      The Duke caught one of those covert glances, and a vague uneasiness flickered in his eyes. Guerchard saw it. He came nearer to the Duke and looked at him earnestly, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

      “What’s the matter?” said the Duke. “What are you looking at so curiously? Isn’t my tie straight?” And he put up his hand and felt it.

      “Oh, nothing, nothing,” said Guerchard. And he studied the photograph again with a frowning face.

      There was a noise of voices and laughter in the hall.

      “Those people are going,” said the Duke. “I must go down and say good-bye to them.” And he rose and went out of the room.

      Guerchard stood staring, staring at the photograph.

      The Duke ran down the stairs, and said goodbye to the millionaire’s guests. After they had gone, M. Gournay-Martin went quickly up the stairs; Germaine and the Duke followed more slowly.

      “My father is going to the Ritz to sleep,” said Germaine, “and I’m going with him. He doesn’t like the idea of my sleeping in this house tonight. I suppose he’s afraid that Lupin will make an attack in force with all his gang. Still, if he did, I think that Guerchard could give a good account of himself—he’s got men enough in the house, at any rate. Irma tells me it’s swarming with them. It would never do for me to be in the house if there were a fight.”

      “Oh, come, you don’t really believe that Lupin is coming tonight?” said the Duke, with a sceptical laugh. “The whole thing is sheer bluff—he has no more intention of coming tonight to steal that coronet than—than I have.”

      “Oh, well, there’s no harm in being on the safe side,” said Germaine. “Everybody’s agreed that he’s a very terrible person. I’ll just run up to my room and get a wrap; Irma has my things all packed. She can come round tomorrow morning to the Ritz and dress me.”

      She ran up the stairs, and the Duke went into the drawing-room. He found Guerchard standing where he had left him, still frowning, still thinking hard.

      “The family are off to the Ritz. It’s rather a reflection on your powers of protecting them, isn’t it?” said the Duke.

      “Oh, well, I expect they’d be happier out of the house,” said Guerchard. He looked at the Duke again with inquiring, searching eyes.

      “What’s the matter?” said the Duke. “Is my tie crooked?”

      “Oh, no, no; it’s quite straight, your Grace,” said Guerchard, but he did not take his eyes from the Duke’s face.

      The door opened, and in came M. Gournay-Martin, holding a bag in his hand. “It seems to be settled that I’m never to sleep in my own house again,” he said in a grumbling tone.

      “There’s no reason to go,” said the Duke. “Why are you going?”

      “Danger,” said M. Gournay-Martin. “You read Lupin’s telegram: ‘I shall come tonight between a quarter to twelve and midnight to take the coronet.’ He knows that it was in my bedroom. Do you think I’m going to sleep in that room with the chance of that scoundrel turning up and cutting my throat?”

      “Oh, you can have a dozen policemen in the room if you like,” said the

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