us time," said M. Formery in a tone of warm
encouragement.

The face of the millionaire brightened a little.

"And, after all, you have the consolation, that the burglars did not
get hold of the gem of your collection. They have not stolen the
coronet of the Princesse de Lamballe," said M. Formery.

"No," said the Duke. "They have not touched this safe. It is unopened."

"What has that got to do with it?" growled the millionaire quickly.
"That safe is empty."

"Empty ... but your coronet?" cried the Duke.

"Good heavens! Then they HAVE stolen it," cried the millionaire
hoarsely, in a panic-stricken voice.

"But they can't have--this safe hasn't been touched," said the Duke.

"But the coronet never was in that safe. It was--have they entered my
bedroom?" said the millionaire.

"No," said M. Formery.

"They don't seem to have gone through any of the rooms except these
two," said the Duke.

"Ah, then my mind is at rest about that. The safe in my bedroom has
only two keys. Here is one." He took a key from his waistcoat pocket
and held it out to them. "And the other is in this safe."

The face of M. Formery was lighted up with a splendid satisfaction. He
might have rescued the coronet with his own hands. He cried
triumphantly, "There, you see!"

"See? See?" cried the millionaire in a sudden bellow. "I see that they
have robbed me--plundered me. Oh, my pictures! My wonderful pictures!
Such investments!"

CHAPTER XII

THE THEFT OF THE PENDANT

They stood round the millionaire observing his anguish, with eyes in
which shone various degrees of sympathy. As if no longer able to bear
the sight of such woe, Sonia slipped out of the room.

The millionaire lamented his loss and abused the thieves by turns, but
always at the top of his magnificent voice.

Suddenly a fresh idea struck him. He clapped his hand to his brow and
cried: "That eight hundred pounds! Charolais will never buy the Mercrac
now! He was not a bona fide purchaser!"

The Duke's lips parted slightly and his eyes opened a trifle wider than
their wont. He turned sharply on his heel, and almost sprang into the
other drawing-room. There he laughed at his ease.

M. Formery kept saying to the millionaire: "Be calm, M. Gournay-Martin.
Be calm! We shall recover your masterpieces. I pledge you my word. All
we need is time. Have patience. Be calm!"

His soothing remonstrances at last had their effect. The millionaire
grew calm:

"Guerchard?