“I told Godfrey I couldn’t stand any more of this,” I muttered, and stumbled into my bedroom, undressed with difficulty, and turned out the light.

Then, as I lay there, staring up into the darkness, a stinging thought brought me upright.

Godfrey—­where was Godfrey?  Was he on the track of Crochard?  Was he daring a contest with him?  Perhaps, even at this moment....

Scarcely knowing what I did, I groped my way to the telephone and asked for Godfrey’s number—­hoping against hope absurdly—­and at last, to my intense surprise and relief, I heard his voice—­not a very amiable voice....

“Hello!” he said.

“Godfrey,” I began, “it’s Lester.  He got away.”

“Of course he got away.  You didn’t call me out of bed to tell me that, I hope?”

“Then you knew about it?”

“I knew he’d get away.”

“When the wagon got to the bank there was nobody inside but Simmonds.  Simmonds went along, you know.”

“Was he hurt?”

“He was unconscious, but he came around all right.”

“That’s good—­but Crochard wouldn’t hurt him.  He got away with the jewels, of course?”

“Of course,” I assented, surprised that Godfrey should take it so coolly.  “When you rushed out that way,” I added, “I thought maybe you were going after him.”

“With him twenty minutes in the lead?  I’m no such fool!  He got away from me the other day with a start of about half a second.”

“I tried to get you,” I explained, “as soon as Simmonds told me they were going to look at the cabinet.  I ’phoned the office.  The city editor said he had sent you out into Westchester.”

Godfrey laughed shortly.

“It was a wild-goose chase,” he said, “cooked up by our friend Crochard.  But even then, I’d have got back, if we hadn’t punctured a tire when we were five miles from anywhere.  I knew what was up—­but there I was.  Oh, he’s made fools of us all, Lester.  I told you he would!”

“Then you didn’t get my message?”

“Yes—­they gave it to me when I ’phoned in that the Westchester business was a fake.  I rushed for the station, though I knew I’d be too late.”

“But, Godfrey,” I said, “I can’t understand, even yet, how he did it.  Grady and Simmonds left the boat with Pigot and were with him all evening, showing him the sights.  How did Crochard get into it?  What did he do with Pigot?  Where is Pigot?”

“He’s on the Savoie. I rushed a wireless down to her as soon as I left the station.  They made a search and found Pigot bound and gagged under the berth in his stateroom.”

I could only gasp.

“And to think I didn’t suspect!” added Godfrey, bitterly.  “We stood there and saw that yacht with the French flag walk away from us; we saw her put a man aboard the Savoie; we saw that man talking to Pigot....”

“Yes,” I said, breathlessly; “yes.”