He stopped helplessly and his gaze alternated inquiringly between the benevolent face of the chief and the expressionless countenance of Mr. Grimm.
"If he left the embassy?" Mr. Grimm repeated. "If your search of the house proved conclusively that he wasn't there, he did leave it, didn't he?"
Monsieur Rigolot stared at him blankly for a moment, then nodded.
"And there are windows, you know," Mr. Grimm went on, then: "As I understand it, Monsieur, no one except you and the stenographer saw the ambassador after ten o'clock in the morning?"
"Oui, Monsieur. C'est—" Monsieur Rigolot began excitedly. "I beg pardon. I believe that is correct."
"You saw him about ten, you say; therefore no one except the stenographer saw him after ten o'clock?"
"That is also true, as far as I know."
"Any callers? Letters? Telegrams? Telephone messages?"
"I made inquiries in that direction, Monsieur," was the reply. "I have the words of the servants at the door and of the stenographer that there were no callers, and the statement of the stenographer that there were no telephone calls or telegrams. There were only four letters for him personally. He left them all on his desk—here they are."
Mr. Grimm looked them over leisurely. They were commonplace enough, containing nothing that might be construed into a reason for the disappearance.