"Oh, yes, he has. I have his dossier from the Paris police. If you get him here and make him tell the truth, I promise you that marriage won't take place."
"I will call him," said Simone, sickly pale. She flitted across the room to the telephone.
Sanders rubbed his hands, and nodded to Jack. But Jack was glancing at his wrist-watch.
"What am I to do?" he asked the detective in a low voice. "The time's almost here for me to keep my appointment with Mademoiselle Pavoya."
"Go to it!" said Sanders. "I'm equal to Simone and Defasquelle. Now I've got proof enough to bluff on—my waiter man 'phoned that the pair were talking about the pearls and apparently blackguarding each other! I'll strip them of their secrets like a tree of ripe fruit. But look here, I have a 'hunch' that there's more in this Inner Circle business than meets the eye. Simone's been a catspaw. There may be wheels within wheels. When you go to meet Mademoiselle Pavoya take my tip and accept Old Nick's offer."
"What, have him with me?"
"Yes, wherever Pavoya sends you."
"She may not send me anywhere."
"I think she will send you somewhere. Meanwhile, I'll pump Simone and Defasquelle dry. When you get back I may have the pearls in pink cotton!"
Manners was torn. He wished to hear what Simone said over the telephone. He wished to stay and witness the scene through between her, Defasquelle, and Sanders. But most of all he wished not to be late for Lyda. Nothing was worth that!