I introduced myself as Mr. Sanford, the name I had been told to give at the Elysee Palace Hotel.  This seemed best, as it was in the hotel that I had been recommended to Monsieur Girard, and complications might arise if George Sandford suddenly turned into Ivor Dundas.  Besides, as there were a good many things which I did not want brought to light, Sandford seemed the man to fit the situation.  Later, he could easily disappear and leave no trace.

I said that I had been robbed of a thing which was of immense value to me, but as it was the gift of a lady whose name must not on any account appear in the case, I did not wish to consult the police.  All I asked of Monsieur Girard’s well-known ability was the discovery of the supposed thief, whom I thereupon described.  I added the fact that we had travelled together, mentioned the incident at the gangway, and explained that I had not suspected my loss until I arrived at the Elysee Palace Hotel.

Girard listened quietly, evidently realising that I talked to him from behind a screen of reserve, yet not seeking to force me to put aside that screen.  He asked several intelligent questions, very much to the point, and I answered them—­as seemed best.  When he touched on points which I considered too delicate to be handled by a stranger, even a detective in my employ, I frankly replied that they had nothing to do with the case in hand.  Shrugging his shoulders almost imperceptibly, yet expressively, he took my refusals without comment; and merely bowed when I said that, if the scoundrel could be unearthed within twenty-four hours, I would pay a hundred pounds:  if within twelve, a hundred and fifty:  if within six, two hundred.  I added that there was not a second to waste, as the fellow might slip out of Paris at any minute; but whatever happened, Monsieur Girard was to keep the matter quiet.

The detective promised to do his best, (which was said to be very good), held out hopes of success, and assured me of his discretion.  On the whole, I was pleased with him.  He looked like a man who thoroughly knew his business; and had it not been for the solemn warning of the Foreign Secretary, and the risk for Maxine, I would gladly have put more efficient weapons in Girard’s hands, by telling him everything.

By the time that the detective had been primed with such facts and details as I could give, it was past ten o’clock.  I could see my way to do nothing more for the moment, and as I was half famished, I whizzed back in my hired automobile to the Elysee Palace Hotel.  There I had food served in my own sitting-room, lest George Sandford should chance inconveniently upon some acquaintance of Ivor Dundas, in the restaurant.  I did not hurry over the meal, for all I wanted now was to arrive at Maxine de Renzie’s house at twelve o’clock, and tell her my news—­or lack of news.  She would be there waiting for me, I was sure, no matter how prompt I might be, for though in ordinary circumstances, after the first performance of a new play, either Maxine would have gone out to supper, or invited guests to sup with her, she would have accepted no invitation, given none, for to-night.  She would hurry out of the theatre, probably without waiting to remove her stage make-up, and she would go home unaccompanied, except by her maid.