It was a white-faced pair that finished a frantic, but thoroughly fruitless search, through every room of the suite for the lost sketch of the butterfly. The captain was too upset and nervous and unstrung by the occurrence to comment on the subject, for a time, and Patricia too bewildered and unhappy to ask any questions. But when they had hunted through every conceivable nook and cranny in vain, they gave it up and sat down wearily to rest. The Crimson Patch was gone!
"But, Daddy," moaned Patricia, "why did you never tell me there was anything important about these sketches? I never dreamed of such a thing. I would never, never have done what I did to-day if I had known."
"That's just the trouble," muttered Captain Meade. "There's nothing important about any of them except just that one—and that's—well, vital! I never told you about it, because it's safer for you and best all around that you know as little as possible of my affairs. Of course, it never crossed my mind that you'd be moved to show them to any one. They're not a matter of general interest."
"But what is there about this sketch, the Crimson Patch butterfly, that is so important, Daddy, and why didn't you keep it safely locked up? I shouldn't have thought you'd leave it just lying loose in your trunk."
"The secret about this particular sketch, I do not think it best for you to know, even now. You'll always be in a safer position if you can truthfully say you know nothing about it. It looks very much the same as the others—but it isn't! That is all I can tell you. And I had an excellent reason for doing just as I did about it. Had I kept an important secret always about my person, or even under lock and key, it would, as a rule, be in far greater danger of discovery than if carefully concealed in some such fashion as this and left around as if there were nothing unusual about it. Don't you understand? But tell me again the whole history of the thing, and who came into the room while you had the sketches out, and when. We've got to find the sketch as speedily as possible. Every moment that it is out of my hands is a dangerous loss of time."
Patricia patiently went over the history of the afternoon, recounting every detail she could remember. The captain listened intently, and sat for several moments in deep thought when she had finished.
"Tell me one thing," he suddenly demanded. "Do you distinctly remember seeing the Crimson Patch among the sketches when you first looked them over? Think hard."
"Oh, I know it was there, because Virginie spoke of the curious name and I told her it was given because of the two brilliant red spots on the wings. I know it was there."
"Then, as far as I can see," went on Captain Meade, "there were no less than four people in the room, each of whom came in contact with those sketches, and any one of the four may have been the guilty party who took it. Your little friend, Virginie, handled them first, and when she left for the night, you say, she gathered up her own sketches?"
"Daddy dear, you must not suspect her—you simply must not!" cried Patricia, sensing at once what he was driving at. "I would rather be suspected myself than have any one dream she could do such a thing. And how on earth could she ever know that the sketch was of any particular value, anyway?"