“Was it to tell me that you got me over here?”

“No,” said Godfrey, “all this is just incidental—­you began the discussion yourself, didn’t you?  I got you here to meet....”

The outer door opened again, and Godfrey looked toward it, smiling.

“Moosseer Piggott!” announced the office-boy.

And then I almost bounced from my seat, for I would have sworn that the man who stood on the threshold was the man who had opened the secret drawer.

He came forward, looking from face to face; then his eyes met Godfrey’s and he smiled.

“Behold that I am here, monsieur,” he said and I started anew at the voice, for it was the voice of Crochard.  “I hope that I have not kept you waiting.”

“Not at all, M. Pigot,” Godfrey assured him, and placed a chair for him.

I could see Grady and Simmonds gripping the arms of their chairs and staring at the newcomer, their mouths open; and I knew the thought that was flashing through their brains.  Was this Pigot?  Or was the man who had opened the cabinet Pigot?  Or was neither Pigot?  Was it possible that this could be a different man than the one who had opened the cabinet?

I confess that some such thought flashed through my own mind—­a suspicion that Godfrey, in some way, was playing with us.

Godfrey looked about at us, smiling as he saw our expressions.

“I went down the bay this morning and met the Savoie,” he said.  “I related to M. Pigot last night’s occurrences, and begged him to be present at this meeting.  He was good enough to agree.  I assure you,” he added, seeing Grady’s look, “that this is M. Pigot, of the Paris Service du Surete, and not Crochard.”

“Oh, yes,” said M. Pigot, with a deprecating shrug.  “I am myself—­and greatly humiliated that I should have fallen so readily into the trap which Crochard set for me.  But he is a very clever man.”

“It was certainly a marvellous disguise,” I said.  “It was more than that—­it was an impersonation.”

“Crochard has had occasion to study me,” explained M. Pigot, drily.  “And he is an artist in whatever he does.  But some day I shall get him—­every pitcher to the well goes once too often.  There is no hope of finding him here in New York?”

“I am afraid not,” said Godfrey.

“Don’t be too sure of that!” broke in Grady ponderously.  “I ain’t done yet—­not by no manner of means!”

“Pardon me for not introducing you, M. Pigot,” said Godfrey.  “This gentleman is Mr. Grady, who has been the head of our detective bureau; this is Mr. Simmonds, a member of his staff; this is Mr. Lester, an attorney and friend of mine; and this is Mr. Shearrow, my personal counsel.  Mr. Grady, Mr. Simmonds and Mr. Lester were present, last night,” he added blandly, “when Crochard opened the secret drawer.”

Grady reddened visibly, and even I felt my face grow hot.  M. Pigot looked at us with a smile of amusement.