Grace dared not look at him. The enormity of the thing she was about to do appalled her. Yet there was Richard, her husband; Richard, whom she loved with all her soul, in the room below, facing madness, death. The love she felt for him overmastered all other considerations. She turned to Hartmann with quivering face. "The box is in the room below," she cried, in a voice shaking with emotion.
"Mon Dieu—mon Dieu!" she heard Dufrenne gasp, as he started from the couch. "You have ruined us all."
Hartmann and Mayer gazed at each other incredulously. "Impossible!" the former gasped. "Impossible!" Then he turned to Grace. "Girl, are you telling me the truth?"
She nodded, bowing her head upon her hands. She could not trust herself to speak.
"Where? Where in that room could it be hidden? Tell me!" he shook her angrily by the arm. "Haven't we wasted enough time over this thing?"
Still she made no reply. Now that she had told them, a sudden revulsion swept over her. She hated herself for what she had done, hated Hartmann, hated Monsieur Lefevre for placing her in this cruel situation.
Hartmann dragged her roughly to her feet. "If the box is in the room below, come with me and find it."
He hurried her toward the staircase. "Come along, Mayer," he called over his shoulder. "Bring that fellow with you. It won't be safe to leave him." As she descended the steps, Grace heard the other two close behind her. The Frenchman staggered along like a man in a daze, offering no resistance.
When they burst into the room in which Duvall was confined, they found the latter standing beneath the electric lamp, a look of determination upon his face. He regarded them steadily, in spite of his reddened and burning eyes.
Hartmann paid little attention to him. He was too greatly interested in the movements of Grace. "Now," he said, "where is it? You say the snuff box is here—in this room. Find it."