's upstairs in my bedroom too ... open."

She spoke in a faltering voice, and her troubled eyes could not meet
those of the detective.

"You were going out, I think," said Guerchard gently.

"I was asking leave to go out. There is some shopping that must be
done," said Sonia.

"You do not see any reason why Mademoiselle Kritchnoff should not go
out, M. Formery, do you?" said Guerchard.

"Oh, no, none whatever; of course she can go out," said M. Formery.

Sonia turned round to go.

"One moment," said Guerchard, coming for-ward. "You've only got that
wrist-bag with you?"

"Yes," said Sonia. "I have my money and my handkerchief in it." And she
held it out to him.

Guerchard's keen eyes darted into it; and he muttered, "No point in
looking in that. I don't suppose any one would have had the audacity--"
and he stopped.

Sonia made a couple of steps toward the door, turned, hesitated, came
back to the couch, and picked up her cloak.

There was a sudden gleam in Guerchard's eyes--a gleam of understanding,
expectation, and triumph. He stepped forward, and holding out his
hands, said: "Allow me."

"No, thank you," said Sonia. "I'm not going to put it on."

"No ... but it's possible ... some one may have ... have you felt in
the pockets of it? That one, now? It seems as if that one--"

He pointed to the pocket which had held the packet.

Sonia started back with an air of utter dismay; her eyes glanced wildly
round the room as if seeking an avenue of escape; her fingers closed
convulsively on the pocket.

"But this is abominable!" she cried. "You look as if--"

"I beg you, mademoiselle," interrupted Guerchard. "We are sometimes
obliged--"

"Really, Mademoiselle Sonia," broke in the Duke, in a singularly clear
and piercing tone, "I cannot see why you should object to this mere
formality."

"Oh, but--but--" gasped Sonia, raising her terror-stricken eyes to his.

The Duke seemed to hold them with his own; and he said in the same
clear, piercing voice, "There isn't the slightest reason for you to be
frightened."

Sonia let go of the cloak, and Guerchard, his face all alight with
triumph, plunged his hand into the pocket. He drew it out empty, and
stared at it, while his face fell to an utter, amazed blankness.

"Nothing? nothing?" he muttered under his breath. And he stared at his
empty hand as if he could not believe his eyes.

By a violent effort he forced an apologetic smile on his face, and said
to S