"Then I can only say that, so far, the matter is inexplicable. Now let us come back to Valentin. He claims to be working to capture the kidnappers—in order to clear the nurse, whom he loves."
"That is as I understand it."
"He denies that he smokes, yet offers no explanation of the presence of the cigarettes in his room."
"None. Further, someone sends a note to Valentin, advising him that the writer is suspicious of François—suggesting that he watch him. Can this mean that François is in the plot, and they fear he may be weakening—preparing to turn against them?"
"It certainly looks that way."
"I wish I could see one of these famous cigarettes."
Grace laughed suddenly. "Why," she exclaimed, "I have one in my pocketbook. I had quite forgotten it." She opened her purse and took out the slender white cylinder.
Lefevre examined the thing closely. "An Egyptian cigarette of American make," he mused. "Expensive, here in Paris, and rarely used, except by Americans."
"That is true; yet I understand that this man Valentin has lived a great deal in America."
For a moment the Prefect did not reply. Then a puzzled look crossed his face. "This is a woman's cigarette," he exclaimed. "No man would smoke such a thing." He brought his hand down sharply upon his knee. "My girl, it is not impossible that the child was stolen not by a man at all, but by a woman."