The door opened, and in came M. Formery, the Duke, and the inspector. M. Formery looked round the room with eyes which seemed to expect to meet a familiar sight, then walked to the other drawing-room and looked round that. He turned to the policeman, who had stepped inside the drawing-room, and said sharply, “M. Guerchard is not here.”
“I left him here,” said the policeman. “He must have disappeared. He’s a wonder.”
“Of course,” said M. Formery. “He has gone down the ladder to examine that house they’re building. He’s just following in our tracks and doing all over again the work we’ve already done. He might have saved himself the trouble. We could have told him all he wants to know. But there! He very likely would not be satisfied till he had seen everything for himself.”
“He may see something which we have missed,” said the Duke.
M. Formery frowned, and said sharply “That’s hardly likely. I don’t think that your Grace realizes to what a perfection constant practice brings one’s power of observation. The inspector and I will cheerfully eat anything we’ve missed—won’t we, inspector?” And he laughed heartily at his joke.
“It might always prove a large mouthful,” said the Duke with an ironical smile.
M. Formery assumed his air of profound reflection, and walked a few steps up and down the room, frowning:
“The more I think about it,” he said, “the clearer it grows that we have disposed of the Lupin theory. This is the work of far less expert rogues than Lupin. What do you think, inspector?”
“Yes; I think you have disposed of that theory, sir,” said the inspector with ready acquiescence.
“All the same, I’d wager anything that we haven’t disposed of it to the satisfaction of Guerchard,” said M. Formery.