“When I come to look for No. 7,” continued Fraisier, “I find a portrait of a lady, signed ‘Chardin,’ without a number on it! I went through the pictures with the catalogue while the master of ceremonies was making up the number of pall-bearers, and found that eight of those indicated as works of capital importance by M. Pons had disappeared, and eight paintings of no special merit, and without numbers, were there instead.... And finally, one was missing altogether, a little panel-painting by Metzu, described in the catalogue as a masterpiece.”
“And was I in charge of the pictures?” demanded La Cibot.
“No; but you were in a position of trust. You were M. Pons’ housekeeper, you looked after his affairs, and he has been robbed—”
“Robbed! Let me tell you this, sir: M. Schmucke sold the pictures, by M. Pons’ orders, to meet expenses.”
“And to whom?”
“To Messrs. Elie Magus and Remonencq.”
“For how much?”
“I am sure I do not remember.”
“Look here, my dear madame; you have been feathering your nest, and very snugly. I shall keep an eye upon you; I have you safe. Help me, I will say nothing! In any case, you know that since you deemed it expedient to plunder M. le President Camusot, you ought not to expect anything from him.”
“I was sure that this would all end in smoke, for me,” said La Cibot, mollified by the words “I will say nothing.”