“If you had, it might possibly have been worse—­mightn’t it?  The burglar—­or burglars—­knew precisely the location of the safe.  They were coming to my room, and if they had found me awake ...  I think it quite possible, my friend, that your appetite for cigarettes may have saved my life.”

“There’s consolation in that,” he confessed—­“if it’s any to you, who have lost so much.”

“But perhaps I shall get my jewellery back.”

“What makes you think that?”

“There’s always the chance, isn’t there?  And I believe I have a clue, as they call it, an indefinite one but something to work from, perhaps.”

“What is that?”

“It seems to me it must have been what the police at home call ’an inside job’; because whoever it was apparently knew the combination of the safe.”

“You mean it wasn’t broken open.  That signifies nothing.  I’ve never seen yours, but I know something about safes, and I’ll undertake to open it without the combination within ten minutes.”

“You, Monsieur Duchemin?”

He nodded gloomily.  “It’s no great trick, once one knows it; with an ordinary safe, that is, such as you’re apt to find in a private home.  Have you looked for finger-prints?”

“Not yet.”

“Have you any idea how the thieves broke in?”

“Through this very window, I imagine.  You see, I was up early and, in my agitation, dressed hurriedly and came downstairs hours before I usually do.  The servants were already up, but hadn’t opened the living rooms for the day.  I myself found this window unlatched.  The fastening is insecure, you see; it has been out of order for some time.”

Duchemin was on his feet, examining the latch.  “True,” he said; “but might not the wind—?”

“There was no wind to speak of last night, monsieur, and what there was didn’t blow from that quarter.”  She added as Duchemin stepped out through the window:  “Where are you going?”

“To look for footprints on the tiling.  It was misting when I went to bed, and with the mud—­”

“But there was a heavy shower just before daybreak.  If the thieves had left any tracks on the terrasse, the rain must have washed them clean away.  I have already looked.”

With a baffled gesture, Duchemin turned back to her side.

“You have communicated with the police, of course.”

She interrupted with an accent almost of impatience:  “I have told nobody but you, monsieur, not even my mother and Louise.”

“But why?”

“I wanted to consult you first, and...”  She broke off sharply to ask:  “Yes, Jean:  what is it?”

The footman had entered to bring her cards over which Eve de Montalais arched her brows.

“Show the gentlemen in, please.”

The servant retired.

“The men from Paris, madame?”

“Yes.  You will excuse me—?”

Duchemin bowed.  “But one word:  You can hardly do better than put the case in the hands of these gentlemen.  They are apt to be of a good order of intelligence when selected to serve bankers, you know.”