hat you had changed your clothes, your Grace," said Guerchard.
"I thought that you had done it here."

"No," said the Duke, "I went home. The policeman protested; but he went
no further, so I did not throw him into the middle of the street."

"Whatever our station, we should respect the law," said M. Formery
solemnly.

"The Republican Law, M. Formery? I am a Royalist," said the Duke,
smiling at him.

M. Formery shook his head sadly.

"I was wondering," said the Duke, "about M. Guerchard's theory that the
burglars were let in the front door of this house by an accomplice.
Why, when they had this beautiful large opening, did they want a front
door, too?"

"I did not know that that was Guerchard's theory?" said M. Formery, a
trifle contemptuously. "Of course they had no need to use the front
door."

"Perhaps they had no need to use the front door," said Guerchard; "but,
after all, the front door was unbolted, and they did not draw the bolts
to put us off the scent. Their false scent was already prepared"--he
waved his hand towards the window--"moreover, you must bear in mind
that that opening might not have been made when they entered the house.
Suppose that, while they were on the other side of the wall, a brick
had fallen on to the hearth, and alarmed the concierge. We don't know
how skilful they are; they might not have cared to risk it. I'm
inclined to think, on the whole, that they did come in through the
front door."

M. Formery sniffed contemptuously.

"Perhaps you're right," said the Duke. "But the accomplice?"

"I think we shall know more about the accomplice when Victoire awakes,"
said Guerchard.

"The family have such confidence in Victoire," said the Duke.

"Perhaps Lupin has, too," said Guerchard grimly.

"Always Lupin!" said M. Formery contemptuously.

There came a knock at the door, and a footman appeared on the
threshold. He informed the Duke that Germaine had returned from her
shopping expedition, and was awaiting him in her boudoir. He went to
her, and tried to persuade her to put in a word for Sonia, and
endeavour to soften Guerchard's rigour.

She refused to do anything of the kind, declaring that, in view of the
value of the stolen property, no stone must be left unturned to recover
it. The police knew what they were doing; they must have a free hand.
The Duke did not press her with any great vigour; he realized the
futility of an appeal to a nature so shallow, so self-centred, and