“No,” said M. Formery.
“They don’t seem to have gone through any of the rooms except these two,” said the Duke.
“Ah, then my mind is at rest about that. The safe in my bedroom has only two keys. Here is one.” He took a key from his waistcoat pocket and held it out to them. “And the other is in this safe.”
The face of M. Formery was lighted up with a splendid satisfaction. He might have rescued the coronet with his own hands. He cried triumphantly, “There, you see!”
“See? See?” cried the millionaire in a sudden bellow. “I see that they have robbed me—plundered me. Oh, my pictures! My wonderful pictures! Such investments!”
CHAPTER XII
THE THEFT OF THE PENDANT
They stood round the millionaire observing his anguish, with eyes in which shone various degrees of sympathy. As if no longer able to bear the sight of such woe, Sonia slipped out of the room.
The millionaire lamented his loss and abused the thieves by turns, but always at the top of his magnificent voice.
Suddenly a fresh idea struck him. He clapped his hand to his brow and cried: “That eight hundred pounds! Charolais will never buy the Mercrac now! He was not a bona fide purchaser!”
The Duke’s lips parted slightly and his eyes opened a trifle wider than their wont. He turned sharply on his heel, and almost sprang into the other drawing-room. There he laughed at his ease.