He was told that no such interview could be considered for days—­that she still lay in a stupor, with brief flashes of acute consciousness, during which she would scream “No! no!”—­that brain fever was feared and that increased excitement might be fatal.

Another bar to progress!  He had hoped to help her memory into supplying him with a fact which would greatly simplify a task whose anomalies secretly alarmed him.  She had been in a fair state of mind before her nerve was attacked by the event which robbed the little Angeline of life and herself of reason, and if carefully approached, might possibly recall some of the impressions made upon her previous to that moment.  If, for instance, she could describe even in a general way the appearance of any person she may have seen advancing in the direction of the northern gallery at the moment she herself turned to enter the southern one, what a stability it would give to his theory, and what certainty to his future procedure!

But he must wait for this, as he must wait for Angeline’s story from Madame Duclos.  Meantime, a word with Sweetwater—­after which, rest.

It was Mr. Gryce’s custom, especially when engaged upon a case of marked importance, to receive this, his recognized factotum, in his own home.  No prying ears, no watchful eyes, were to be feared there.  He was the absolute master of everything, even of Sweetwater, he sometimes thought.  For this young fellow loved him—­had reason to; and when Sweetwater played the violin, as he sometimes did after one of their long talks, the aged detective came as near happiness as he ever did, now that his little grandchild was married and had gone with her husband to the other side of the world.

To-night he was not anticipating any such relaxation as this, yet to Sweetwater, arriving later than he wished, he had never looked more in need of it, as, sitting in his old and somewhat dingy library, he mused over some little object he held in his half-closed palm, with an intent, care-worn gaze which it distressed his young subordinate to see.  Uncertainty incites the young and fires them to action; but it wearies the old and saps what little strength they have; and Sweetwater detected uncertainty in his patron’s troubled brow and prolonged stare at the insignificant article absorbing his attention.

However, Gryce roused quickly at the young detective’s cheery greeting, and looking up with an answering welcome, plunged at once into business.

“So you have seen Turnbull!  What did the man say?”

“That it was the left-hand upper corner of the tapestry he saw shaking, and not the right-hand one as we had blindly supposed.”

“Good!  Then we can take it for granted that our new theory is well founded.  Certain things have come to light in your absence.  That tapestry was pulled aside not merely for the purpose of flinging in the bow, but to let the flinger pass through the door at its back down to the Curator’s office and so out into the court.”