"Behold that I am here, monsieur," he said and I started anew at the voice, for it was the voice of Crochard. "I hope that I have not kept you waiting."
"Not at all, M. Pigot," Godfrey assured him, and placed a chair for him.
I could see Grady and Simmonds gripping the arms of their chairs and staring at the newcomer, their mouths open; and I knew the thought that was flashing through their brains. Was this Pigot? Or was the man who had opened the cabinet Pigot? Or was neither Pigot? Was it possible that this could be a different man than the one who had opened the cabinet?
I confess that some such thought flashed through my own mind—a suspicion that Godfrey, in some way, was playing with us.
Godfrey looked about at us, smiling as he saw our expressions.
"I went down the bay this morning and met the Savoie," he said. "I related to M. Pigot last night's occurrences, and begged him to be present at this meeting. He was good enough to agree. I assure you," he added, seeing Grady's look, "that this is M. Pigot, of the Paris Service du Sûreté, and not Crochard."
"Oh, yes," said M. Pigot, with a deprecating shrug. "I am myself—and greatly humiliated that I should have fallen so readily into the trap which Crochard set for me. But he is a very clever man."
"It was certainly a marvellous disguise," I said. "It was more than that—it was an impersonation."
"Crochard has had occasion to study me," explained M. Pigot, drily. "And he is an artist in whatever he does. But some day I shall get him—every pitcher to the well goes once too often. There is no hope of finding him here in New York?"
"I am afraid not," said Godfrey.