Part 21 (1/2)

The Frenchman sank back, all his anger swept away. ”It is pitiful, monsieur, pitiful,” he said, quietly. ”Yet in what I now do, I am but doing my duty.” He turned to Grace. ”Madame, I feel for you in your suffering. You acted through love. Of that I am sure. But there is a greater love than that of woman for man--the love of country. That is the only love I understand.” He turned away and sat for a long while gazing out of the window.

In what seemed to Grace a very short time, they reached Paris, and here she and Richard were conducted to a taxicab and soon found themselves at the Prefecture.

Dufrenne left them, to announce his arrival to Monsieur Lefevre, and she and her husband sat in an anteroom, closely guarded, waiting until the time should arrive for them to be summoned before the Prefect.

The detective was still silent and preoccupied. He said little, but from the caressing way in which he placed his hand upon hers, bidding her cheer up, Grace knew that his love for her, at least, was left to her.

”Oh, Richard,” she said, softly, turning her face to his, ”I am so sorry, so sorry! But I could not let you suffer, dear, for I love you--I love you.”

CHAPTER XXII

It was characteristic of Monsieur Etienne Lefevre, Prefect of Police of Paris, that when he had once placed a case in the hands of one of his men, he rarely ever interfered in any way with the latter's conduct of it. Reports of progress he did not desire, nor encourage. Success was the only report that he asked, and by thus throwing his subordinates upon their own responsibility, he obtained from them far better results than would have been the case had he kept in constant touch with their movements.

Hence when he dispatched Richard Duvall, and Monsieur Dufrenne, the little curio dealer of the _Rue de Richelieu_, to London, and the former's wife and later on Lablanche to Brussels, he felt that he had done all that it was possible to do, to secure the recovery of Monsieur de Grissac's stolen snuff box.

He did not, it is true, dismiss the matter from his mind--it was, indeed, of too grave and sinister a character to be treated thus lightly, but he had the utmost confidence in Duvall, and believed that the latter would without doubt succeed in his quest.

Since Duvall's departure, he had waited anxiously for the detective's appearance. He did not expect to hear from him, but felt convinced that within the next day or two he would walk into his office with the missing snuff box in his pocket.

It was with some dismay, therefore, that he received, on the fourth day, a sudden visit from Dufrenne. The latter had been released, the day before, by the Brussels police, after a most uncomfortable night in a cell, an experience for which he knew he had Hartmann to thank, and in desperation had decided to place the condition of affairs before his chief.

The latter had heard him in silence, and then followed a long conference, with the result that Dufrenne returned to Brussels, bearing the mysterious message subsequently given to Grace by Lablanche, to play _The Rosary_ upon the phonograph.

Since then, the Prefect had been in a state of profound agitation, although he carefully concealed the fact from his subordinates. The gravity of the issues at stake tortured him ceaselessly, and to add to his discomfort, Monsieur de Grissac arrived from London, determined to ascertain what progress, if any, had been made toward the recovery of his lost property.

He was bitterly disappointed to find that Lefevre was unable to give him the slightest encouragement. The box had not, he believed, pa.s.sed into the hands of their enemies, but beyond that he could say nothing.

It was on the day of the Amba.s.sador's arrival that Dufrenne appeared at the Prefecture a second time, his face pale and haggard, his eyes bloodshot and sunken from loss of sleep, his whole manner indicating that he had lately pa.s.sed through some terrible experience. De Grissac was closeted with the Prefect at the time, but the man's appearance, his urgent request that he see Monsieur Lefevre at once, gained him an immediate audience.

The Prefect and the Amba.s.sador stood awaiting his entrance, their faces tense with anxiety. The expression upon the old man's countenance confirmed their worst fears. He staggered into the room, grasping the back of a chair to support himself. ”He has given it up--the scoundrel--the traitor; he has given it up, to save himself and his wife.”

The Amba.s.sador turned away with a groan of despair. Lefevre stepped up to Dufrenne. ”You mean to tell me,” he cried, ”that Richard Duvall has proven false to his duty? I cannot believe it.”

Dufrenne nodded. ”He gave it to Hartmann last night. I saw him do it.

Hartmann had promised to let him go free. They had been torturing him, in some way, I do not know how. It was the woman who weakened first. The man--Duvall--gave up the box to save her from doing so.”

”Then she knew where it was?”

”Yes.”

The Prefect went over to the window and looked out over the Seine. His emotions almost overcame him. The loss of the box--Duvall's faithlessness--his own failure, all plunged him into the deepest despair. ”_Mon Dieu!_” he muttered to himself. ”Duvall--it is incredible!”

Suddenly he turned. The Amba.s.sador had begun to question Dufrenne. ”What did this Dr. Hartmann do, when the box was given to him?” he asked in a voice trembling with excitement.

”He pressed the large pearl, pushed aside the cross, and removed the paper that was hidden beneath it. He read the paper. It contained nothing but a row of numbers. I saw it as he held it beneath the light.”

De Grissac became as white as chalk, and turning to Lefevre, cried out, in a broken voice, ”It is all over. Nothing can be done now. It is too late. _Mon Dieu!_ What will become of France?”

”Where is Duvall?” cried the Prefect, suddenly. ”I must see him. He is not the man to do such a thing as this. I must talk to him. Do not tell me that he has run away.”