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