“Can you have lost them, my Lord, or do you think they have been stolen?”
“They have been stolen,” replied the duke, “and it is the cardinal who has dealt this blow. Hold; see! The ribbons which held them have been cut with scissors.”
“If my Lord suspects they have been stolen, perhaps the person who stole them still has them in his hands.”
“Wait, wait!” said the duke. “The only time I have worn these studs was at a ball given by the king eight days ago at Windsor. The Comtesse de Winter, with whom I had quarreled, became reconciled to me at that ball. That reconciliation was nothing but the vengeance of a jealous woman. I have never seen her from that day. The woman is an agent of the cardinal.”
“He has agents, then, throughout the world?” cried D’Artagnan.
“Oh, yes,” said Buckingham, grating his teeth with rage. “Yes, he is a terrible antagonist. But when is this ball to take place?”
“Monday next.”
“Monday next! Still five days before us. That’s more time than we want. Patrick!” cried the duke, opening the door of the chapel, “Patrick!” His confidential valet appeared.
“My jeweler and my secretary.”
The valet went out with a mute promptitude which showed him accustomed to obey blindly and without reply.