As they left the house, Duvall saw Grace standing near the door, her face pale, her eyes seeking his. He avoided her glances, making no sign that he recognized her. The doctor, somewhat annoyed, requested her, with elaborate but firm politeness, to withdraw. She did so, without looking back, but her heart was beating until it shook her whole body, and she longed to run to her husband and drive off with him, in spite of the doctor's presence. Somehow she felt that the necessity which had kept her a prisoner in this house no longer existed—that Richard had succeeded in recovering the ivory snuff box, and would soon send her word to join him, so that they might return to Paris together. She went to her room, ordered some luncheon brought to her, and sat down to await his message.
Meanwhile, Duvall, with Seltz beside him, drove rapidly away from the house, his arm about the man's unconscious figure. At the gate of the park he saw another cab waiting, and in a moment perceived that it contained Dufrenne, who in accordance with his instructions had been following Seltz. Duvall nodded to him, then pointed silently down the street. Dufrenne at once ordered his driver to follow. In a short time they had reached the Hotel Metropole, and Seltz, with the assistance of two of the porters, had been carried upstairs and placed on the bed. Duvall explained to the manager of the hotel that the man was a friend of his, who had been taken ill, and needed to sleep for a few hours. He also engaged the adjoining room at once, and thither he and Dufrenne presently repaired to examine the snuff box which, until now, had been reposing safely in the detective's waistcoat pocket.
He drew it out, when they were alone, and silently handed it to Dufrenne. The little old Frenchman took one look at it, then threw up his hands with a cry of joy. "It is the Ambassador's snuff box. Heavens be praised!" he cried, as the tears coursed down his withered cheeks.
CHAPTER XII
Richard Duvall looked at the tense figure, the agitated face of his companion, and once again a feeling of surprise swept over him, as he observed the little Frenchman's joy at the recovery of Monsieur de Grissac's snuff box.
Throughout the exciting events of the morning, and of the night before, the detective had lost sight of the apparent insignificance of the object of their search; now that he for the first time saw it before him, his curiosity was once more aroused. Surely there must be something of vast interest about this apparently worthless bit of ivory, to make its theft the reason for a brutal murder, its recovery a matter of such extreme importance that Monsieur Lefevre should consider the honor of his country at stake.
He took the box from Dufrenne's trembling fingers and examined it carefully. It was about two and a half inches in circumference, and quite shallow, not over half an inch in depth, in all. The ivory was old and yellow from use and time, and very thin and smooth. The lightness of the box surprised him—it seemed to weigh almost nothing, as he balanced it on the palm of his hand.
The circular top of the box was curiously ornamented with a circle of small colorless pearls, of trifling value, set at regular intervals about the edge of the cover. Within this row of pearls was an inscription in Latin, carved in tiny letters in the ivory. From its first words, "Pater noster," Duvall saw that it was the Lord's Prayer. The letters extended around the circumference of the box in several concentric lines, or rings, inside of the ring of pearls. In the center of the box was a cross of ivory, carved so as to be slightly raised above its general surface. Beyond this, the box contained no other ornamentation.
Along the front edge of the box Duvall noticed a small spring. He pressed it, in considerable excitement. Evidently the reason for the box's value must be within—some papers, no doubt, of extreme importance. He saw the cover of the box fly upward and glanced hastily inside. The box contained nothing but a few pinches of snuff.