‘Simon,’ Hugo ordered immediately afterwards, handing Simon the token, ‘run down and get me the best gold watch in the place.’

Throughout the morning Hugo’s thoughts were far away.  Most frequently they were in Belgium, but now and then they paid a strange incomprehensible visit with Ravengar to the vault.

While he was lunching under the dome, Albert Shawn came in with the early edition of the Evening Herald, containing a prominent item headed, ‘Feared Suicide of Mr. Louis Ravengar.’  The paper stated that Mr. Ravengar had gone to Dover on the previous evening, had been seen to board the Calais steamer, and had been missed soon after the boat had left the harbour.  His hat, umbrella, rug, and bag had been found on deck.  As the night was quite calm, there could be no other explanation than that of suicide.  The Evening Herald gave a sympathetic biography of Mr. Ravengar (’one of our proprietors’), and attributed his suicide to a fit of depression caused by the entirely groundless rumours which had circulated during the late afternoon connecting him with the scandalous disturbances at Hugo’s sale.

Hugo dropped the organ of public opinion.

‘H’m!’ he observed to Albert.

‘I’m not surprised, sir,’ said Albert.

‘Aren’t you?’ said Hugo.  ‘Then, there’s nothing more to be said.’

Since Louis Ravengar had certainly been talking with Hugo that selfsame morning, it was obviously impossible that he should have committed suicide in the English Channel some twelve hours earlier.  Why, then, had he arranged for this elaborate deception to be practised?  What was his scheme?  His voice through the telephone had been so quiet, so resigned, so pathetic; only towards the end had it become malevolent.

Hugo perceived that he must go down to the vault.  No!  He dared not go himself.  The sight of that vault, after yesterday’s emotions, would surely be beyond his power to bear!

‘Albert,’ he said, ‘go to the Safe Deposit.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And inquire if anyone named—­’

Hugo stopped.

‘Named what, sir?’

‘Never mind.  I’ll go myself.  By the way,’ he said, ’I must run over to Belgium to-night.  Perhaps I may take you with me.’

’Don’t forget the inquest on Bentley to-morrow, sir.  You’ll have to attend that.’

Hugo made a gesture of excessive annoyance.  He had forgotten the inquest.

‘Take this telegram,’ he said, suddenly inspired; and he scribbled out the following words:  ’Darcy, 16, Boulevard des Italiens, Paris.  Please come instantly; urgent case.—­HUGO, London.’

‘At any rate, I’ve made a beginning,’ he murmured when Albert had gone.  ’I can find out all that is to be known about Camilla from Darcy—­if he comes.  I wonder if he’ll come.  He’d better.’

And then, collecting his powers of self-control, he went slowly down to the Safe Deposit, and entered those steely and dreadful portals.