In the confusion consequent on the departure of so many guests the locket had been lost sight of, and Monsieur de Gemosac forgot to make inquiry for it. It was in Barebone’s pocket.
Colville put together with the toe of his boot the logs which were smouldering in a glow of incandescent heat. He turned and glanced over his shoulder toward his companion.
Barebone was taking the locket from his waistcoat pocket and approaching the table where the candles burnt low in their sockets.
“You never really supposed you were the man, did you?” asked Colville, with a ready smile. He was brave, at all events, for he took the only course left to him with a sublime assurance.
Barebone looked across the candles at the face which smiled, and smiled.
“That is what I thought,” he answered, with a queer laugh.
“Do not jump to any hasty decisions,” urged Colville instantly, as if warned by the laugh.
“No! I want to sift the matter carefully to the bottom. It will be interesting to learn who are the deceived and who the deceivers.”
Barebone had had time to think out a course of action. His face seemed to puzzle Colville, who was rarely at fault in such judgments of character as came within his understanding. But he seemed for an instant to be on the threshold of something beyond his understanding; and yet he had lived, almost day and night, for some months with Barebone. Since the beginning—that far-off beginning at Farlingford—their respective positions had been quite clearly defined. Colville, the elder by nearly twenty years, had always been the guide and mentor and friend—the compulsory pilot he had gaily called himself. He had a vast experience of the world. He had always moved in the best French society. All that he knew, all the influence he could command, and the experience upon which he could draw were unreservedly at Barebone’s service. The difference in years had only affected their friendship in so far as it defined their respective positions and prohibited any thought of rivalry. Colville had been the unquestioned leader, Barebone the ready disciple.
And now in the twinkling of an eye the positions were reversed. Colville stood watching Barebone’s face with eyes rendered almost servile by a great suspense. He waited breathless for the next words.