"No, your Grace; so far, all the luck has been with the burglars. For all that any one seems to have seen them, they might have vanished into the bowels of the earth through the floor of the cellars in the empty house next door. That means that they were very quick loading whatever vehicle they used with their plunder. I should think, myself, that they first carried everything from this house down into the hall of the house next door; and then, of course, they could be very quick getting them from hall to their van, or whatever it was. But still, some one saw that van—saw it drive up to the house, or waiting at the house, or driving away from it."
"Is M. Formery coming back?" said the Duke.
"Not to-night," said Guerchard. "The affair is in my hands now; and I have my own men on it—men of some intelligence, or, at any rate, men who know my ways, and how I want things done."
"It must be a relief," said the Duke.
"Oh, no, I'm used to M. Formery—to all the examining magistrates in Paris, and in most of the big provincial towns. They do not really hamper me; and often I get an idea from them; for some of them are men of real intelligence."
"And others are not: I understand," said the Duke.
The door opened and Bonavent, the detective, came in.
"The housekeeper's awake, M. Guerchard," he said.
"Good, bring her down here," said Guerchard.
"Perhaps you'd like me to go," said the Duke.
"Oh, no," said Guerchard. "If it would interest you to hear me question her, please stay."
Bonavent left the room. The Duke sat down in an easy chair, and Guerchard stood before the fireplace.
"M. Formery told me, when you were out this afternoon, that he believed this housekeeper to be quite innocent," said the Duke idly.
"There is certainly one innocent in this affair," said Guerchard, grinning.
"Who is that?" said the Duke.
"The examining magistrate," said Guerchard.
The door opened, and Bonavent brought Victoire in. She was a big, middle-aged woman, with a pleasant, cheerful, ruddy face, black- haired, with sparkling brown eyes, which did not seem to have been at all dimmed by her long, drugged sleep. She looked like a well-to- do farmer's wife, a buxom, good-natured, managing woman.
As soon as she came into the room, she said quickly:
"I wish, Mr. Inspector, your man would have given me time to put on a decent dress. I must have been sleeping in this one ever since those rascals tied me up and put that smelly handkerchief over my face. I never saw such a nasty-looking crew as they were in my life."
"How many were there, Madame Victoire?" said Guerchard.
"Dozens! The house was just swarming with them. I heard the noise; I came downstairs; and on the landing outside the door here, one of them jumped on me from behind and nearly choked me—to prevent me from screaming, I suppose."
"And they were a nasty-looking crew, were they?" said Guerchard. "Did you see their faces?"
"No, I wish I had! I should know them again if I had; but they were all masked," said Victoire.
"Sit down, Madame Victoire. There's no need to tire you," said Guerchard. And she sat down on a chair facing him.
"Let's see, you sleep in one of the top rooms, Madame Victoire. It has a dormer window, set in the roof, hasn't it?" said Guerchard, in the same polite, pleasant voice.
"Yes; yes. But what has that got to do with it?" said Victoire.
"Please answer my questions," said Guerchard sharply. "You went to sleep in your room. Did you hear any noise on the roof?"
"On the roof? How should I hear it on the roof? There wouldn't be any noise on the roof," said Victoire.
"You heard nothing on the roof?" said Guerchard.
"No; the noise I heard was down here," said Victoire.
"Yes, and you came down to see what was making it. And you were seized from behind on the landing, and brought in here," said Guerchard.
"Yes, that's right," said Madame Victoire.
"And were you tied up and gagged on the landing, or in here?" said Guerchard.
"Oh, I was caught on the landing, and pushed in here, and then tied up," said Victoire.
"I'm sure that wasn't one man's job," said Guerchard, looking at her vigorous figure with admiring eyes.
"You may be sure of that," said Victoire. "It took four of them; and at least two of them have some nice bruises on their shins to show for it."
"I'm sure they have. And it serves them jolly well right," said Guerchard, in a tone of warm approval. "And, I suppose, while those four were tying you up the others stood round and looked on."
"Oh, no, they were far too busy for that," said Victoire.
"What were they doing?" said Guerchard.
"They were taking the pictures off the walls and carrying them out of the window down the ladder," said Victoire.
Guerchard's eyes flickered towards the Duke, but the expression of earnest inquiry on his face never changed.
"Now, tell me, did the man who took a picture from the walls carry it down the ladder himself, or did he hand it through the window to a man who was standing on the top of a ladder ready to receive it?" he said.
Victoire paused as if to recall their action; then she said, "Oh, he got through the window, and carried it down the ladder himself."
"You're sure of that?" said Guerchard.
"Oh, yes, I am quite sure of it—why should I deceive you, Mr. Inspector?" said Victoire quickly; and the Duke saw the first shadow of uneasiness on her face.
"Of course not," said Guerchard. "And where were you?"
"Oh, they put me behind the screen."
"No, no, where were you when you came into the room?"
"I was against the door," said Victoire.
"And where was the screen?" said Guerchard. "Was it before the fireplace?"
"No; it was on one side—the left-hand side," said Victoire.
"Oh, will you show me exactly where it stood?" said Guerchard.
Victoire rose, and, Guerchard aiding her, set the screen on the left-hand side of the fireplace.
Guerchard stepped back and looked at it.
"Now, this is very important," he said. "I must have the exact position of the four feet of that screen. Let's see … some chalk … of course… . You do some dressmaking, don't you, Madame Victoire?"
"Oh, yes, I sometimes make a dress for one of the maids in my spare time," said Victoire.
"Then you've got a piece of chalk on you," said Guerchard.
"Oh, yes," said Victoire, putting her hand to the pocket of her dress.
She paused, took a step backwards, and looked wildly round the room, while the colour slowly faded in her ruddy cheeks.
"What am I talking about?" she said in an uncertain, shaky voice. "I haven't any chalk—I—ran out of chalk the day before yesterday."
"I think you have, Madame Victoire. Feel in your pocket and see," said Guerchard sternly. His voice had lost its suavity; his face its smile: his eyes had grown dangerous.
"No, no; I have no chalk," cried Victoire.
With a sudden leap Guerchard sprang upon her, caught her in a firm grip with his right arm, and his left hand plunged into her pocket.
"Let me go! Let me go! You're hurting," she cried.
Guerchard