“Marcelle! Marcelle!” he murmured. “My love! I am going to know—and, if need be, to avenge!”
At that moment the door opened and the frail little figure of the German woman appeared upon the threshold.
“Meine Herren?” she said, in timid enquiry.
The doctor looked up. His companions marvelled to see the expression of his face change to a smiling courtesy. But there was a glitter in the usually sombre eyes which spurred their hardly repressed excitement.
“Will you have the kindness to enter, gnädige Frau?” said the doctor. His voice was suave, but there was a note in it which his companions, although they did not understand the words, recognized as compelling.
The German woman glanced at him apprehensively, and obeyed. The doctor drew up an armchair for her, close to the fire.
“Will you not seat yourself, gnädige Frau?” he asked still in the suave voice with the undertone of command.
She inclined her head speechlessly and sat down. They noticed that her hands were trembling. The doctor motioned his companions to resume their seats. He himself remained standing, his back to the fireplace, his form hiding the clock on the mantelpiece from the eyes of the woman had she looked up. He smiled at her in a reassuring manner, as she waited dumbly for him to state the reason for his summons.
“We are very much interested in your collection of porcelain, gnädige Frau,” he said, smoothly. “It is French, is it not?”