The latter had heard him in silence, and then followed a long conference, with the result that Dufrenne returned to Brussels, bearing the mysterious message subsequently given to Grace by Lablanche, to play The Rosary upon the phonograph.
Since then, the Prefect had been in a state of profound agitation, although he carefully concealed the fact from his subordinates. The gravity of the issues at stake tortured him ceaselessly, and to add to his discomfort, Monsieur de Grissac arrived from London, determined to ascertain what progress, if any, had been made toward the recovery of his lost property.
He was bitterly disappointed to find that Lefevre was unable to give him the slightest encouragement. The box had not, he believed, passed into the hands of their enemies, but beyond that he could say nothing.
It was on the day of the Ambassador's arrival that Dufrenne appeared at the Prefecture a second time, his face pale and haggard, his eyes bloodshot and sunken from loss of sleep, his whole manner indicating that he had lately passed through some terrible experience. De Grissac was closeted with the Prefect at the time, but the man's appearance, his urgent request that he see Monsieur Lefevre at once, gained him an immediate audience.
The Prefect and the Ambassador stood awaiting his entrance, their faces tense with anxiety. The expression upon the old man's countenance confirmed their worst fears. He staggered into the room, grasping the back of a chair to support himself. "He has given it up—the scoundrel—the traitor; he has given it up, to save himself and his wife."
The Ambassador turned away with a groan of despair. Lefevre stepped up to Dufrenne. "You mean to tell me," he cried, "that Richard Duvall has proven false to his duty? I cannot believe it."
Dufrenne nodded. "He gave it to Hartmann last night. I saw him do it. Hartmann had promised to let him go free. They had been torturing him, in some way, I do not know how. It was the woman who weakened first. The man—Duvall—gave up the box to save her from doing so."
"Then she knew where it was?"
"Yes."
The Prefect went over to the window and looked out over the Seine. His emotions almost overcame him. The loss of the box—Duvall's faithlessness—his own failure, all plunged him into the deepest despair. "Mon Dieu!" he muttered to himself. "Duvall—it is incredible!"