their heels, walked off without any further
words.

VI

THE MAN WITH THE LONG NOSE

The next day, the next, and three other succeeding days, I spent nearly
wholly with Pierrette and Madame.

A telegram I received from Bindo from the Maritime Station at Calais
asked if Mademoiselle was still at Beaulieu, and to this I replied in
the affirmative to Clifford Street.

I took the pair up the beautiful Var valley to Puget Theniers, to Grasse
and Castellane, and through the Tenda tunnel to Cuneo, in Piedmont--runs
which, in that clear, cloudless weather, both of them enjoyed. When
alone with my dainty little companion, as I sometimes contrived to be, I
made inquiry about her missing father.

Mention of him brought to her a great sadness. She suddenly grew
thoughtful and apprehensive--so much so, indeed, that I felt convinced
her story as told to me was the truth.

Once, when we were seated together outside a little cafe up at Puget
Theniers, I ventured to mention the matter to Madame.

"Ah! M'sieur Ewart," exclaimed the old lady, holding up both her hands,
"it is extraordinary--very extraordinary! The whole affair is a complete
mystery."

"But is there no suspicion of foul play? Do not the police, for
instance, suspect Monsieur Martin?"

"Suspect him? Certainly not," was her quick response. "Why should they?"

"Well, he has disappeared also, I understand. He is missing, as well as
the jewels."

"Depend upon it, m'sieur, both gentlemen are victims of some audacious
plot. Your London is full of clever thieves."

I smiled within myself. Little did Madame dream that she was at that
moment talking with a member of the smartest and boldest gang of
jewel-thieves who had ever emerged from "the foggy island."

"Yes," I said sympathetically, "there are a good many expert
jewel-thieves in the metropolis, and it seems very probable that they
knew, by some means, that Monsieur Dumont and his clerk were staying at
the Charing Cross Hotel and----" I did not finish my sentence.

"And--what?" asked Madame.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"It must be left to the police, I think, to solve the mystery."

"But they are powerless," complained Madame. "Monsieur Lepine, in Paris,
expressed his utter contempt for your English police methods. And, in
the meantime, Monsieur the father of Mademoiselle has disappeared as
completely as if the earth had opened and swallowed him up."

"What I fear is that my dear father is dead," exclai