I was half fainting with fear lest Ivor had regained the treaty, only to lose it again in this dreadful way; but I controlled myself.

“I rather hope it was not a letter from me,” I said.  “You know so much, that you probably know I admitted to the police at the Elysee Palace a strong friendship for Mr. Dundas.  We knew each other well in London.  But London ways are different from the ways of Paris.  It isn’t agreeable to be gossipped about, however unjustly, even if one is—­only an actress.”

“You turn things cleverly, as always.  Yes, you are afraid there might have been—­a letter.  Yet the public adores you.  It would pardon you any indiscretion, especially a romantic one—­any indiscretion except treachery.  There might, however, be a few persons less indulgent.  Du Laurier, for instance.”

I shivered.  “We were speaking of the scene with the Juge d’Instruction,” I reminded him.  “You have wandered from the point again.”

“There are so many points—­all sharp as swords for those they may pierce.  Well, the important question was in relation to a letter—­yes.  But the letter was not from you, Mademoiselle.  It was written in English, and it made an appointment at the very address where the crime was committed.  It was, as nearly as I could make out, a request from a person calling himself a jeweller’s assistant, for the receiver of the letter to call and return a case containing jewels.  This case had been committed to Mr. Dundas’ care, it appeared, while travelling from London to Paris, and without his knowledge, another packet being taken away to make room for this.  Mr. Dundas replied to the Juge d’Instruction that his own packet, stolen from him on the journey, contained nothing but papers entirely personal, concerning himself alone.

“’What was in the case which the man afterwards murdered slipped into your pocket?’ asked the Juge d’Instruction—­Lenormand tells me.

“‘A necklace,’ answered Mr. Dundas.

“‘A necklace of diamonds?’

“‘Possibly diamonds, possibly paste, I wasn’t much interested in it.’

“’Ah, was this not the necklace which you—­staying at the Elysee Palace under another name—­gave to Mademoiselle Maxine de Renzie last evening?’ was the next question thrown suddenly at Mr. Dundas’ head.  Now, you see, Mademoiselle, that my story is not dull.”

“Am I to hear the rest—­according to your protege?” I asked, twisting my handkerchief, as I should have liked to twist Godensky’s neck, till he had no more breath or wickedness left in him.

“Mr. Dundas tried his best to convince the Juge d’Instruction, a most clever and experienced man, that if he had, as an old friend, brought you a present of diamonds, it was something entirely different, and therefore far removed from this case.

“‘Are you not Mademoiselle de Renzie’s lover?’ was the next enquiry.  ’I admire her, as do thousands of others, who also respect her as I do,’ your friend returned very prettily.  At last, dearest lady, you begin to see what there is in this string of questions and answers to bring me straight to you?”