ment. "I should have brought mine."

"There would have been danger, my friend," Hanaud objected gravely, "if
you had brought yours."

They reached Geneva as the dusk was falling, and drove straight to the
restaurant by the side of the lake and mounted to the balcony on the
first floor. A small, stout man sat at a table alone in a corner of the
balcony. He rose and held out his hands.

"My friend, M. Lemerre, the Chef de la Surete of Geneva," said Hanaud,
presenting the little man to his companion.

There were as yet only two couples dining in the restaurant, and Hanaud
spoke so that neither could overhear him. He sat down at the table.

"What news?" he asked.

"None," said Lemerre. "No one has come out of the house, no one has
gone in."

"And if anything happens while we dine?"

"We shall know," said Lemerre. "Look, there is a man loitering under
the trees there. He will strike a match to light his pipe."

The hurried conversation was ended.

"Good," said Hanaud. "We will dine, then, and be gay."

He called to the waiter and ordered dinner. It was after seven when
they sat down to dinner, and they dined while the dusk deepened. In the
street below the lights flashed out, throwing a sheen on the foliage of
the trees at the water's side. Upon the dark lake the reflections of
lamps rippled and shook. A boat in which musicians sang to music,
passed by with a cool splash of oars. The green and red lights of the
launches glided backwards and forwards. Hanaud alone of the party on
the balcony tried to keep the conversation upon a light and general
level. But it was plain that even he was overdoing his gaiety. There
were moments when a sudden contraction of the muscles would clench his
hands and give a spasmodic jerk to his shoulders. He was waiting
uneasily, uncomfortably, until darkness should come.

"Eat," he cried--"eat, my friends," playing with his own barely tasted
food.

And then, at a sentence from Lemerre, his knife and fork clattered on
his plate, and he sat with a face suddenly grown white.

For Lemerre said, as though it was no more than a matter of ordinary
comment:

"So Mme. Dauvray's jewels were, after all, never stolen?"

Hanaud started.

"You know that? How did you know it?"

"It was in this evening's paper. I bought one on the way here. They
were found under the floor of the bedroom."

And even as he spoke a newsboy's voice rang out in the street below
them. Lemerre was alarmed by the