He was seated on the parapet, quietly smoking. He greeted me grimly.
“Well, you have made a nice mess of things. I should have known that failure is always the result of one’s mixing up business and sentiment. There can be no search for the casket to-night. Come, let’s be going.”
“Nonsense, St. Hilary,” I cried sharply. “You know very well we shall finish our search to-night. It is natural that you should feel some annoyance–not with me, but with circumstances. I promised you I would not betray myself; but could you have lain quiet in my place?”
“Of course I could,” he mumbled.
“As to there being no further search, why did you wait here if you intended to relinquish it? Why did you not go on with it alone? You have waited, hoping I should return.”
“But you deliberately told the duke that you were hiding, waiting for a chance to find the casket. At least you hinted as much. He understood you to mean that. For aught we know he has put the palace on its guard.”
“Yes,” I answered angrily, “I told him that–deliberately. What else could I do? He must have guessed. But after discovering me, would he think it likely that I should return to continue the search? No. He has seen me leave the palace. He has followed me, or had me followed, to my rooms. He thinks that I am in bed. I am certain that no one has followed me here. He has seen me go out of the palace. He has not seen me return. There is the matter in a nutshell.”
“But has he seen me go out?” demanded St. Hilary.
“Are you sure he knows you were at the ball?”
“Ah, that’s the question. I think we ought to fling up our search for to-night.”