“Find out who brought it, inspector,” he said.
The inspector hurried to the top of the staircase and called to the policeman in charge of the front door. He came back to the drawing-room and said: “It was brought by an ordinary post-office messenger, sir.”
“Where is he?” said M. Formery. “Why did you let him go?”
“Shall I send for him, sir?” said the inspector.
“No, no, it doesn’t matter,” said M. Formery; and, turning to M. Gournay-Martin and the Duke, he said, “Now we’re really going to have trouble with Guerchard. He is going to muddle up everything. This telegram will be the last straw. Nothing will persuade him now that this is not Lupin’s work. And just consider, gentlemen: if Lupin had come last night, and if he had really set his heart on the coronet, he would have stolen it then, or at any rate he would have tried to open the safe in M. Gournay-Martin’s bedroom, in which the coronet actually is, or this safe here”—he went to the safe and rapped on the door of it—“in which is the second key.”
“That’s quite clear,” said the inspector.
“If, then, he did not make the attempt last night, when he had a clear field—when the house was empty—he certainly will not make the attempt now when we are warned, when the police are on the spot, and the house is surrounded. The idea is childish, gentlemen”—he leaned against the door of the safe—“absolutely childish, but Guerchard is mad on this point; and I foresee that his madness is going to hamper us in the most idiotic way.”
He suddenly pitched forward into the middle of the room, as the door of the safe opened with a jerk, and Guerchard shot out of it.
“What the devil!” cried M. Formery, gaping at him.
“You’d be surprised how clearly you hear everything in these safes—you’d think they were too thick,” said Guerchard, in his gentle, husky voice.