Her husband endeavored to console her. "They may be a few moments late, my dear. Don't excite yourself. I am sure they will keep their word."
Vernet went over to Monsieur Lefevre and explained the events of the evening in a few words. The Prefect smiled grimly. "So Monsieur Duvall has failed again!" he remarked, in a low voice. "Mon Dieu! If we do not soon hear from Mademoiselle Goncourt, I shall begin to feel nervous myself."
Slowly the hands of the clock crept around. As the half hour was reached, and the telephone bell remained silent, Mrs. Stapleton uttered a groan of despair, and sank upon the couch, weeping pitifully. Mr. Stapleton, watch in hand, paced up and down the room. "They have been interfered with," he stormed, "or they would have communicated with me before now!" He turned to Monsieur Lefevre. "You have done nothing, I hope, to again prevent me from recovering my son?"
"Nothing, Monsieur."
Mr. Stapleton waited another five minutes. It now wanted twenty minutes to nine. The telephone bell remained persistently silent. The banker closed his watch with a snap and thrust it into his pocket. His face was pale with rage and suffering. Drops of perspiration collected on his forehead. "The scoundrels!" he cried. "They have broken their word, and robbed me of a hundred thousand dollars in the bargain. I will give another hundred thousand to the man who will capture them, dead or alive, and find my boy!"
There was a profound silence, broken only by the quick sobbing of Mrs. Stapleton. Neither Lefevre nor Vernet ventured to speak.
Suddenly there arose sounds of a commotion among the servants gathered in the hall without. In their devotion to their employer they had collected there to welcome the lost boy. There were exclamations, cries of astonishment—and dismay.
The occupants of the room turned in surprise toward the door. As they did so, Richard Duvall appeared in the doorway. He staggered, and with difficulty supported himself by clutching the side of the door. His face was covered with blood, his clothes torn and disheveled.
He swayed a moment, unsteadily in the door.
"What is it—what is wrong?" cried Stapleton, starting toward him.