“I can assure you,” Sabatini repeated, “that not only am I ignorant as to how the man met with his death, but I have no idea what he was doing in the house at all.  The night Rosario was there it was different.  They were on his track then, without a doubt, and they meant mischief.  Since then, however, there has been a pronounced difference of opinion between the two branches of the revolutionary party—­the one which I represent and the one which includes Lalonde and his friends.  The consequence is that although we may be said to be working for the same ends, we have drawn a little apart.  We have had no communications whatever with Lalonde and his friends since the murder of Rosario.  Therefore, I can only repeat that I am entirely in the dark as to what that man was doing in my sister’s rooms or how he met with his death.  You must remember that these fellows are all more or less criminals.  Lalonde, I believe, is something of an exception, but the rest of them are at war with Society to the extent of enriching themselves at the expense of their wealthier neighbors on every possible occasion.  It is quite likely that the night they were watching Rosario it may have occurred to them that my sister’s room contained a good many valuable trifles and was easily entered, especially as they seem to have had a meeting place close at hand.  That, however, is pure surmise.  You follow me?”

Arnold sighed.

“In a way, I suppose I do,” he admitted.  “But—­it isn’t easy, is it?”

“These matters are not easy,” Sabatini agreed.  “There are motives and counter-motives to be taken note of with which at present I do not weary you.  I give you the clue.  It is enough.”

“But the mystery of the man’s body being removed?” Arnold began.

Sabatini shrugged his shoulders.

“Our knowledge ends with what I have told you,” he said.  “We have no idea who killed the man, and what we know about his removal we know only from what you saw.”

Arnold sat thinking for several moments.  The telephone rang and some one inquired for Mr. Weatherley.  When he had answered it, he turned once more to his visitor.

“Do you know,” he remarked, “that nothing that you have yet told me throws the slightest light upon the disappearance of Mr. Weatherley?”

Sabatini smiled.

“Ah! well,” he said, “I am afraid that as yet I have not fully appreciated that incident.  In France it is by no means unusual that a man should take a hurried journey from his family.  I, perhaps, have not sufficiently taken into account Mr. Weatherley’s exactness and probity of life.  His disappearance may, indeed, have a more alarming significance than either my sister or I have been inclined to give it, but let me assure you of this, my dear Chetwode, that even if Mr. Weatherley has come to serious grief, neither Fenella nor I can suggest the slightest explanation for it.  She knows of no reason for his absence.  Neither do I. She is, however, just as convinced as I am that he will turn up again, and before very long.”