To make the situation more deplorable still, the Committee of Public Safety had in some unexplainable way got wind of the affair, and the two worthies had the mortification of seeing citizen Chauvelin presently appear upon the scene.

It was then two o’clock in the afternoon.  Gourdon, after he had snatched a hasty dinner at a neighbouring cabaret, had returned to the task of pulling the chateau of Gentilly about his own ears if need be, with a view to finding the concealed treasure.

For the nonce he was standing in the centre of the finely proportioned hall.  The rich ormolu and crystal chandelier lay in a tangled, broken heap of scraps at his feet, and all around there was a confused medley of pictures, statuettes, silver ornaments, tapestry and brocade hangings, all piled up in disorder, smashed, tattered, kicked at now and again by Gourdon, to the accompaniment of a savage oath.

The house itself was full of noises; heavy footsteps tramping up and down the stairs, furniture turned over, curtains torn from their poles, doors and windows battered in.  And through it all the ceaseless hammering of pick and axe, attacking these stately walls which had withstood the wars and sieges of centuries.

Every now and then Tournefort, his face perspiring and crimson with exertion, would present himself at the door of the hall.  Gourdon would query gruffly:  “Well?”

And the answer was invariably the same:  “Nothing!”

Then Gourdon would swear again and send curt orders to continue the search, relentlessly, ceaselessly.

“Leave no stone upon stone,” he commanded.  “Those diamonds must be found.  We know they are here, and, name of a dog!  I mean to have them.”

When Chauvelin arrived at the chateau he made no attempt at first to interfere with Gourdon’s commands.  Only on one occasion he remarked curtly: 

“I suppose, citizen Gourdon, that you can trust your search party?”

“Absolutely,” retorted Gourdon.  “A finer patriot than Tournefort does not exist.”

“Probably,” rejoined the other dryly.  “But what about the men?”

“Oh! they are only a set of barefooted, ignorant louts.  They do as they are told, and Tournefort has his eye on them.  I dare say they’ll contrive to steal a few things, but they would never dare lay hands on valuable jewellery.  To begin with, they could never dispose of it.  Imagine a va-nu-pieds peddling a diamond tiara!”

“There are always receivers prepared to take risks.”

“Very few,” Gourdon assured him, “since we decreed that trafficking with aristo property was a crime punishable by death.”

Chauvelin said nothing for the moment.  He appeared wrapped in his own thoughts, listened for a while to the confused hubbub about the house, then he resumed abruptly: 

“Who are these men whom you are employing, citizen Gourdon?”

“A well-known gang,” replied the other.  “I can give you their names.”