"Come in, Officer," Stanief invited pleasantly.
"Yes, sir," answered an embarrassed voice, a voice which for months had represented autocracy for Allard. "We just want to report a complete search, sir. I'm sorry to trouble."
Stanief lighted a cigar, letting the man slowly take in the scene. The gorgeous, velvet-draped salon, the last course of the dinner, the serene "distinguished visitor,"—there was no clue here. And certainly there was nothing to suggest a desperate convict in the gentleman in evening dress whose back was to the door, and who stirred his café noir so indifferently.
"Why did you fancy he came to the yacht?" Stanief inquired.
"Oh, excuse me, sir; it was only one chance. We thought he might have got to the river and swam for here. You see, it would be pretty hard to get out the other way in his clothes."
Allard raised his head impulsively.
"Why," he began, then remembered the punctilious Vasili and checked himself. "I beg pardon, your Royal Highness."
A gleam of amusement flickered across Stanief's black eyes at the quickly-learned etiquette.
"Faîtes, my dear John," he granted, waiving the point.
"It occurred to me that your Royal Highness had ordered a rain coat to be left on the bench by the rear door, and when we returned it was not there. Could it be possible—"
"That it was stolen?" caught up Stanief, grasping the audacity of the idea. "Undoubtedly so. I fancied my order neglected and intended rebuking the one responsible. Officer, behold your clue: a hatless man in an English rain coat."
The phrase captivated the man's dull imagination.
"A hatless man in an English rain coat," he echoed, fascinated. "Yes, sir, thank you, sir. We will telegraph all around. If I may go, sir—"
"You are quite certain he is not aboard? I do not wish to carry any dangerous stowaways, and we sail at once."
"Quite sure, sir. I must waste no more time."
"Good night, then. I imagine you will have no more trouble with that prisoner."
"Oh, no, sir," not understanding the double meaning. "Not after this. A hatless man in an English rain coat! Good night, sir."
"Marzio," said Stanief, when the door closed, "you may bring some cognac, and leave us. No one enters."
Voices on deck, hurrying feet, and presently the retreating throb of a little engine.
"Drink your cognac, Monsieur John."
"Thank you."
"Bah, your nerves are superb, but they pay beneath your stillness. Drink; I warn you that I have the habit of domination."
Allard drank.